It's getting late and colder. The wind makes him shiver and his fingers turn a light purple. He can't feel his toes, so he goes running all the way to his house; he knows that maybe that way he'll feel warmth.
Actually, he thinks, he's not going to run at full speed on winter. No matter how far he is from home. As he approaches the porch, the wind blows again, shakes the trees and his hoodie isn't enough to keep the cold away. He shivers furiously as the sweat in his back makes him remember the time Dave dropped ice cubes under his shirt. It must be the really bad ending to a normal day, because drops of rain begin pouring from the sky and he's soaked before grabbing the handle of the fence. He didn't have any more energy, not since five blocks ago, so he just walks— his feet drag his body for a few more yards.
He's glad that his father has already made dinner and understands what his flushed cheeks and shivering body mean. His father doesn't ask anything and he takes out the dishes.
The only sign of him noticing his son is a glance; his smiling eyes look up from where he's setting the table. "Shower quickly, and then dinner and you go to bed, okay?"
He runs all the way to his room after nodding twice. The water is really warm, albeit burning him at the first touch and leaving his skin lobster-red when he submerges in the tub filled with steaming water. Sighing, he searches for something in his mind. Something he has forgotten, something he's eager to find. Be it because of just wanting to know or just plain worry. He remembers that he has got three tests and two projects; and because it was a bad day, he doesn't know who his partners in any of the projects are. With a grunt, he slumps lower, the water covering his head. For some seconds, he gets warmer surrounded by the water.
Dinner is nice, even though he feels there's something missing. Like a vest, coat, sketch (he has made sure those are hidden from his father), magazine issue or a scarf. He has already made a list and swears to Coco Chanel that he doesn't recall leaving anything out of its place. Really, he didn't wear any scarf, vest or coat, and his magazines are in a box in his closet.
His father doesn't notice or perhaps he's focused on reading the newspaper he didn't read this morning. His coffee is there, next to his plate and the steam from the drink disappears in soft, thin waves. The food is warm, so he eats slowly, he doesn't have to hurry.
When he's brushing his teeth, he remembers that he was searching for something. Then, he realizes, the something wasn't a thing, it wasn't an object. It was a memory, something that happened. Knowing too well that he would waste his time trying to do so, he focuses on how he will start on his projects the next day. Probably the memory would come to him in a few days.
Kurt grabs the book on his nightstand after he has pulled the duvet up to his waist; he flips the pages till he finds the bookmark. He stops doing everything he was doing for a moment and looks around.
"Mom?"