Lost in London [Completed]

Vingt Cinq

Kay breathlessly shoved the door to his apartment open, allowing a panting Fido through the door first where he immediately took up residence on the couch. Kay followed him inside, closing and locking the door before sitting on the edge of the couch, fussing over the tired dog.

God, he needed a shower.

He ruffled the dog's ears once more before standing up and heading to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and locking it. Despite being alone in the apartment, being able to lock the door was a blessing. It was having that choice which was important.

Kay turned the dial on the shower, watching the water begin to flow. He tugged off his shirt and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. As quickly as it had happened, Kay looked away and focused completely on undressing.

He deliberately avoided looking at himself in the mirror, stepping into the shower and allowing himself to relax under the steady stream of water. Kay didn't keep track of how long he stayed there – how long he stayed with his eyes closed and head tilted backwards underneath the warm water.

It was only when he could no longer take it that he finally opened his eyes and reached for the shower gel, catching yet another glimpse of the brand on his arm. Even remembering stung.

He'd moved on.

He'd moved on – he was allowed to move on now.

With the bottle of shower gel still in his hand, Kay twisted his arm, bringing the brand into full view. For the first time in... forever, he was able to look at it without flinching. Without shame. Without regret. It had happened, and now he could move on.

It had taken time to get to this point – many nights of constant nightmares. Too many showers taken in the dark.

But he was here.

At one point, Kay had thought that the struggle for moving on would kill him. Shatter everything he had into pieces.

It hadn't.

Nearly. It had nearly gotten to him – almost beat him. But Kay was stubborn. Finally, he was moving on.

Slowly, he tore his gaze away from the writing up his arm, allowing it to fall to the uneven scar on the inside of his wrist: Broken wrist. His forearms again: littered track marks from incorrectly inserted needles. And down to his stomach – the healed scar just to the right: Knife wound. And just above it, the recently healed surgery scar.

For the first time, looking at them didn't hurt. Didn't make Kay feel worthless.

His gaze drifted down to his feet, down to the faded bumblebee hand-poked tattoo on his ankle that a friend of Halden's had given him. It had caused a nasty infection, but that had hardly mattered. It had been the first of several tattoos, and Kay had certainly learned his lesson about keeping open wounds clean.

Kay closed his eyes again as he showered, letting the shampoo sit in his hair longer than necessary before rinsing it out, fingers catching on several tiny, circular raised bumps on the back of his neck. He couldn't remember where those had come from. Probably for the best.

It was a while before Kay stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he looked in the mirror. This time, he didn't look away. He even went as far as twisting around slightly to glance at the several marks on his back.

His breath hitched and he glanced away. That was enough. He was moving on. He was doing well at moving on.

Of course, he would have been incapable of doing so without the unconditional support from London – Kay would have to find a better way to thank him. There was no way that London knew just how much his support meant to Kay.