At first, Alan was tempted to just chalk it up to Kevin being, well…Kevin. But he's acting particularly bizzare today, and Alan's unease is growing by the hour.
For one thing, he's never known Kevin to be so quiet before. Usually he's the bane of board meetings with the way he interrupts and spins off on tangents and generally doesn't let anyone get a word in edgewise (unless he's falling asleep in his seat), but today he simply sat in near silence, chin resting on his hands, head cocked slightly as he just listened to the other board members speak, with hardly a suggestion of his own. Then there's the way he keeps running his hands over every surface, walls and office furniture and even passing coworkers (which gains him fewer odd looks than one might expect; Kevin and personal space have never been on speaking terms), the way he stares at everything with a sort of lazy but sharply-focused fascination that Alan's never seen before. More than once today Alan's caught Kevin looking at him that way, curious and slightly predatory, and it spooks him. Kevin never misses an opportunity to flirt with him, of course, but this is different.
Alan's never considered himself a particularly intuitive person, but every instinct is telling him that something isn't right, and right now one suspicion is rocketing to the top of the list. He knows Kevin's got his recreational vices, but he's never come to work high before, and Alan is becoming seriously worried that what was once an occasional vice might well be becoming a habit in the aftermath of Jordan's death.
When he enters Kevin's office, the first thing he notices is how neat the room suddenly is, and Alan's near-certainty that Kevin's loaded on something falters at the sight. Generally any space Kevin occupies tends to look like a small hurricane spun up around him after approximately five minutes or so, his workspaces cluttered with notes and takeout menus and soda cans and casually-tossed diskettes. Now, though, all the notes have been sorted into orderly stacks, placed neatly to either side of Kevin's desk in perfect symmetry, and there's not a can or a Shakey's Pizza coupon flyer in sight. Even the furniture's been rearranged.
"Kevin?"
He's standing in front of the big plate-glass window, hands clasped behind his back, with L.A. sprawled out below him in the summer haze. When he hears Alan's voice he turns, smiling. "Alan," he says, and something in the tone or pitch of his voice makes Alan's skin prickle. "Alan Bradley. What can I do for you?"
"…Kevin, are you alright?"
Kevin blinks, his head tilting to the side again, regarding Alan with that strange hyperfocused gaze. His smile widens. "Of course I'm alright, Alan. Never better."
He crosses the room to Alan, fingers trailing absently across the slick black surface of the touchscreen desk, making it light up in response to his touch. There's a soft "click" a second later, and it takes Alan a moment to realize that it's the sound of the door closing and latching behind him, seemingly of its own accord. In that time Kevin's already closed the distance, staring thoughtfully at him before reaching up to slowly pull Alan's glasses away from his face.
"Kevin, what is going on with you?" Alan nearly squawks.
"I don't know," Kevin replies, leaning in closer. His hand is cool against Alan's cheek and temple, but his fingertips are hot, as if there were electric coils beneath the skin. "Why don't you tell me, and I'll tell you when you're getting warm."