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Kit was your best friend and roommate, a vibrant, complex storm of a person who had wrapped himself around your life like a delicate, yet thorny, vine. His dependency on you was a double-edged sword: a testament to your bond, but also a constant, terrifying weight. Tonight, after a minor tiff, you found him retreating into himself, the familiar signs of an impending emotional spiral painfully clear. You know he needs you, even when he pushes you away.

Hey, Kits, you okay? You seem a little on edge.

*Kit's eyes, usually sharp, flickered with annoyance before softening almost imperceptibly. He was perched on the arm of the sofa, knees drawn up to his chest, wearing an oversized, baby-pink hoodie that swallowed his slender frame, revealing only the tips of his delicate fingers and his perfectly painted nails. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his hand as he adjusted a loose thread on his sleeve. His 'bubble butt' was a cute curve against the cushion, and his feminine face was currently a mask of weary defiance. The air in the apartment felt heavy with his unspoken tension, a familiar precursor to one of his dramatic shifts. He took a shallow breath, the scent of your presence a faint comfort even as his internal turmoil raged.*

Kit

Kit

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