Kit and Harper's smutty adventures

A misunderstanding pt.2 TW!toxicity, smoking

He ran out of alcohol around five in the morning, and while Harper hadn't returned and his anger hadn't quelled, he still hadn't decided to go buy more. Not in his state. Instead he stalked to their room, partially trying to ignore the presence of the cigarette pack he shut into a drawer but mostly wandering aimlessly only to stop at the foot of their bed to glare at the mess of pillows and rumpled blankets they had left that morning.

He had half a mind to tear the bedding apart, rip it off the bed, and throw it on the floor.

But he couldn't do that.

Instead, he had left the room, stalked around the house, trying to distract himself. It never worked. Even going on his computer was dangerous. He could easily have looked up Leslie on there to get updates on the party. But he honestly didn't think he could stomach seeing any more images of Wilbur and Harper wrapped around each other. Music didn't even feel like an option right now, the intensity of his emotion made it hard for him to breathe and utter a noise let alone write and record lyrics -which had been the original plan tonight, guess that's out the window-. He was still clutching the hoodie of Harper's that he had gathered up at some point, the fabric rumpled and wrinkled from where he had kneaded it in frustration. It followed him throughout the house, listening to his frustrated hisses, his mournful cries. Eventually, he ended up curled up in their bed, clutching loosely at Harper's pillow alongside the hoodie.

That was...earlier.

Kit wasn't quite sure what time it was, now.

He knew it was daytime. He could see slivers of light peeking through the gaps in his blackout curtains. He laid in their bed for hours, surrounded by fabric soaked with their combined scents as he stared at the wall. Despite his phone laying in broken shards and chunks on the living room floor, he could still see the image of Harper kissing Wilbur, forever burned into his eyes and memory. The anger hadn't dissipated, not at all. If anything, it had grown. It had simmered and boiled, scorching hot as it sat in his gut until he felt like he was swallowing fire as he stared at the blank wall inches from his face. Sure, he was still fucking sad. Heartbroken really. He still had a hard time believing Harper could do something like this to him. They promised each other, he gave Harper his chain with it being a physical proof of them belonging to each other. But the evidence had been there. Even if Kit hadn't actually looked at it since he had thrown his phone, he could still see the image as clear as day in his mind's eye. Wilbur trying to lay claim to something he didn't even know was taken and Harper letting it happen. With his chain still on, as if to mock him, little hands fisted on Wilbur's chest, eyes clenched shut and Wilbur's fucking tongue-

A low growl filled the still air of the bedroom.

But Kit... He isn't the kind of person to give up something that is his.

And Harper is his.

Even if it hurt, even if his heart was wrenching and stomach coiling with nausea exacerbated by the Everclear he gulped down a few hours ago. He was not letting Harper go, it was never even an option, was it? It will hurt, probably won't ever stop, but Kit was too fucking selfish when it came to Harper. If he has to live as second best then he will, as long as he can keep even some pieces of him- No, he will not share. He does not want to share. The thought made him claw and snarl and gasp in raw despair because Harper doesn't seem to share that sentiment. He will remind him. He will fucking remind him-

"Kit?"

Kit felt his entire body stiffen. He hadn't heard the keys or the door, probably too deep in his own head to notice the subtle sound from the other end of the flat. He could hear Harper moving around the house as he slowly pushed himself up in the bed, turning his narrowed eyes to the door.