Once again, we don't get too many things from Kit's perspective in the begging. This is his reaction to his change in situation after he was rescued by Emma, Jem, and Tessa.
Kit couldn't take it anymore, too much had happened in too short a time. He paced in front of the bed in the vacant bedroom he had chosen in the institute. There wasn't anything particularly suspicious or special about it. It had a few pieces of furniture; a bed, a dresser, bedside table, and a bathroom connected to it. That bit was a relief, he wouldn't have to leave the room for anything anytime soon. He didn't want to face them, any of them. Not Emma, not the tall, dark man, or the brunette with the friendly face who seemed to go with him, like a matching set. Tessa, she had said her name was. Tessa Gray though she said it had once been Herondale, the name she claimed he shared with her. He especially didn't want to face the boy who had held the knife, the beautiful boy, he thought begrudgingly. The beautiful boy he had still not quite understood his own feelings for. He hadn't thought much about it since that day, he'd tried desperately not to, afraid of the conclusion he might come to, for none of them could be good for Johnny Rook's son. He had laughed when he had seen the boy, when he had brought up his previous attack on him, because of the boy's response. "It was just personal," he had said. Kit laughed, part in hysterics about his father and part because of his apparent relief that boy seemed to hold nothing against him. It wasn't always to tell when someone was holding something pointy at your throat.
Still, try as he might he couldn't block out those piercing gray eyes from sneaking up on him in his dreams. In one dream he had plunged straight into them, completely losing himself in their depth, not caring if he drowned for he longed to discover what lie behind them. In another dream they had appeared before him again, this time appearing remote and close off from him. He had been unable to even glimpse their intricacy. He wasn't sure which outcome had scared him most, both had left him drenched in sweat and unable to go back to sleep. Though, he supposed what he ought to fear most was the fact that he had such strong feelings on the matter at all.
He strode into the bathroom and splash some cool water on his face. He admonished himself for even thinking about any of this now as he buried his face in a towel. He had more important things to focus on, like how surely it was impossible for him to be an effing shadowhunter?! One of the ridiculously strict, overbearing, yet somehow wild wild west like enforcers of the law? Well, their laws anyways, the hardly consulted anyone else when writing it. He tried to roll his eyes at the thought, but just couldn't manage it. The truth was he was more hurt than anything else that Johnny his this from him. His father had always had many secrets, sure, you didn't get the nickname "Rook the crook" from being open and honest with everyone. But the fact that he kept such a large secret that involved Kit himself, he wasn't sure he'd ever get past that.
Kit gripped the sides of the sink and stared into the mirror. Did he look any different now that he knew the angel's blood ran in his veins? He didn't think so, he still had the same blond hair that tuffed out at weird angles after he ran his fingers through it, a bad habit Johnny had always tried to break him of. He still had the same pale blue eyes, sitting below light blond lashes, not at all as alluring as the long, dark lashes that framed those slate colored eyes and gave splashes of color to those otherwise pale cheeks . . .dammit! He was doing it again. He groaned in frustration and threw himself down on the bed.
He just laid there, enjoying the silence and the way staring at the nondescript ceiling seemed to calm his mind. His whole body ached from the earlier battle with the mantid demons, and his mind and soul ached from all the revelations that had followed. Kit closed his eyes sleepily and finally let go, allowing himself to relax enough to drift off.
He awoke with a start, clutching a pillow close to his body like a shield. He had a feeling nightmares would be a regular part of life for awhile after today. He looked around the room, feeling disoriented and remembered where he was. Sleeping had only seemed to make his aches and pains feel worse, he realized when he sat up. He eased himself up gingerly from the bed, standing up to take inventory of himself. He had a scratch on his face, a long gash along his arm and various bruises and sore muscles but that seemed to be all. He was sure most people would call him lucky because of that, though he sure didn't feel it.
He looked toward the bathroom intent on taking a shower when he realized he didn't have any clean clothes to change into. He set his shoulders, knowing he had to finally leave this room ad venture out into the institute. He shot one more wistful look at the bathroom, the enticing idea of a hot shower at the forefront of his mind, as he opened the door. He tripped on his first step out into the hallway on something big and warm, which turned out to be none other than the beautiful boy, lying in the hallway. Kit cursed loudly when he hit the floor, and curse again, this time silently, at the description that appeared in his mind on sight.
Kit sat up, rubbing the arm he had landed on, and looked at him. "What are you doing down here?" he asked. He took off his headphones and looked at Kit, well at the bottom half of his face anyways. His lack of eye contact gave Kit a chance to study him before he answered. His eyes and their lashes were as captivating as he remembered. His hair was an inky black that brushed the top of his ears. From what Kit could see of him sprawled on the floor he appeared to be tall and lanky, with long limbs.
"I was just waiting out here for you, for whenever you were ready to come out." He shrugged as if to say that was a perfectly reasonable answer that people gave for lying on the floor all the time.
"Thank you?" was all Kit could really think to say in response. He looked down, avoiding the boy's eyes by examining his own grimy clothes. Well, at least he didn't have to go searching far for someone to ask.
"Do you know where I can get some clean clothes?" He glanced up and noticed the boy's gaze had followed his own down to his clothes.
"You can borrow some of mine," he offered.
"Thanks . . ?" Kit left the end of the sentence hanging in the air like a question. "Ty," he answered, "it's Tiberius but everyone calls me Ty."
Not everyone, Kit thought, though he could hardly imagine himself telling Ty what he had been secretly calling him. He repeated the name back to him, getting used to the feel of it on his tongue. "Ty. Thanks Ty."
Damn. He really needed to work on calling him that. And only that.
