Work Text:
Done! Think u could swing back and distract Gugu while I sneak out?
9:42
Kit?
9:42
Kit, u there?
9:43
Nvm, Ed ran interference. Hope ur okay. Text me when you can.
9:51
–Jentry Chau’s text history with Kit [N/A], evening of September 22nd
This isn’t the weirdest night Jentry’s ever had, but unfortunately that isn’t saying much given how unbelievably high that threshold’s been pushed for her over the last few months.
Even ignoring the stuff with her powers– and boy is she ignoring it right now– having Michael ask her out while ‘she’ was really Kit? Having Kit ask Michael out in return on what could technically be considered a walking date, all to try to protect him on Jentry’s behalf? Then getting a text from the very recent ex-girlfriend of the man who’d just asked her (technically Kit) to go to homecoming with him, which kicked off a shouting match between her and Ed that she just knows would have had her spitting sparks a few hours ago, culminating in her visiting said ex-girlfriend’s house and pouring her heart out to her?
Yeah, Jentry’s having a weird night.
It’s late by the time she leaves Stella’s, well past midnight, and Jentry’s halfway down the street before she realizes she doesn’t know where she’s going. She should go home, should see if Ed’s turned up because– well, she knows she was unfair to him. Realized it only moments after the words left her mouth. Oh, she was right to be angry for sure, but she should’ve yelled the right things. True things. She shouldn't have accused him of not caring about her. Ed can be selfish and inconsiderate and immature, but he’s proven more than once that he has her back. Especially tonight, when he put his all into helping her get rid of her–
She’s not thinking about it.
Still, Jentry doesn’t want to go home. Not when she knows Gugu’s there, waiting for Jentry to tell her all about her walking date with Michael. Not when she knows Gugu will be worried about why Jentry was out so late when she was supposed to be back for dinner.
Not when she knows what Gugu did, and that it’s only a matter of time until Gugu finds out about what Jentry’s done.
She could turn back around and see if Stella’s okay with her spending the night, but that seems like a big ask. Stella was already so patient and kind while listening to Jentry vent, and besides, now that Jentry’s got a minute to check her phone she’s realizing she has no new messages from Kit. . . but there are a few very frantic apologies coming from Michael. Her stomach lurches. Michael’s texts don’t give her enough context to figure out what he’s apologizing for and she can't exactly ask without revealing the whole Kit-is-a-demon thing (which she may have mentioned to Stella, but Stella promised to keep it a secret and it isn’t like she and Kit even hang out anyway so it won’t even affect him and Jentry needed to talk about it!) but it’s clear that whatever happened must be why Kit’s gone radio silent.
Jentry tries another text. Kit doesn’t reply to this one either.
At least she knows where she’s going now.
The walk to Kit’s is cold. Jentry can’t stop shivering as the late September wind cuts through the thin material of her t-shirt and worms under her crop top. It’s barely even fall and Texas has mild winters anyway, so Jentry should not be this cold. She knows she shouldn't. She’s run hot her whole life, wearing jackets only for fashion and at the insistence of her friends, so this shouldn't be the first time she’s ever felt this sort of bone-deep chill.
She’s not thinking about why that is.
There’s a single ray of light coming from Kit’s house, leaking between the curtains of the window Jentry now knows belongs to his bedroom. She considers the front door for a moment before deciding to skip it entirely, crossing the yard and rapping her knuckles lightly against the illuminated glass. For a moment she just stands there shivering, staring at her own faint reflection and wondering if she knocked loud enough.
Then the curtain’s swept aside and she finds herself staring at a much less faint copy of her face.
She waves as best she can while still trying to keep her arms tucked in close to her chest. Kit’s eyes– her eyes– widen, and Kit’s quick to push the window open.
“Jentry?” he says, but he’s still using her voice and it’s her own lips forming the word. He steps back, waving her in with her own hands. “You look like you're freezing– come on, let’s get you warmed up.”
Jentry climbs through the window as quickly as she can, pulling it shut behind her and letting out a breath as it cuts off the wind that’s trying to chase her inside. She starts rubbing her hands together, trying to work some warmth back into her fingers, and she nearly goes to blow on them too before an identical pair of hands close over her own.
She just stares at her hands– two pairs, both hers– before following the length of her arms back up to the face that is and isn’t hers. Their eyes lock, and for a moment neither of them move.
Then Kit jerks away like she’s burned him. Again.
“Sorry,” he says, “Sorry– I was just trying to help.”
“It’s fine,” Jentry says hurriedly. “Really, Kit. It’s fine.”
He doesn’t look reassured but he at least stops trying to apologize, shoving the hands that look like hers into his pockets and glancing away. Jentry finds herself looking at her own face in a way she’s only ever seen on video; an angle she would never be able to get with a mirror.
“Are you okay?” she asks. Kit starts, eyes widening slightly.
“What?”
“Are you okay,” she repeats. “You weren’t answering your texts. I was worried about you.”
“You were worried about me,” he echoes, and Jentry wrinkles her nose.
“Okay, if you're gonna repeat me like that you have to stop using my voice. It makes me feel like my mic's lagging at karaoke.”
Kit blinks, and when he speaks again it’s his own voice coming from her lips– which is still weird, but less so.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m used to not breaking character.”
“It’s fine,” she says again. Then, as a thought occurs to her, she adds, “Is this. . . your real voice? Or do you just do it because you thought I’d like it?”
Kit tucks a strand of hair behind his ear in a nervous gesture that Jentry knows she's made a million times before, and she wonders if he’s copying her on purpose or if this is just what he’s like when he wears longer hair.
“It’s my real voice,” he says. “Kit was supposed to be my last one, so. . . I wanted to at least use that much of me, if I’d be staying as him.”
Jentry frowns– she isn’t missing the way he’s talking, like Kit is a separate person from himself. She’s been more than a little preoccupied with the thing she isn’t thinking about right now but somehow she's still surprised that she hasn’t asked Kit yet if he has a different name he'd like her to be using. . . or if he is even the right pronoun.
“Do you, uh. . .” she starts, then shakes her head. Those are later questions, Jentry. “Never mind. You still haven't told me what’s wrong.”
“Why does something have to be wrong?” he asks, looking away again.
Jentry huffs. “Kit, it’s almost one in the morning and you're sitting in your room wearing me like a security blanket. Not to mention the fact that Michael sent me about a million messages telling me he’s insanely sorry about something he did during your walk together. Something is clearly wrong here.”
If anything, that just makes Kit cringe into himself even more.
“I–” he says. Swallows. “Okay, so. . . please don’t hate me for this.”
Jentry’s mind flashes through everything Kit could possibly have done since he left with Michael, ranging from the likely– Kit telling Michael he should never have asked her out– to the absurd– Kit robbing a bank while wearing her face. Not that that would necessarily lower her reputation around here by much, all things considered. Honestly, she’d probably be more likely to forgive that one than some of the other possibilities she can imagine.
“Kit,” she says, as calmly as she can manage, “What happened?”
Kit takes a deep breath.
“. . .Michael kissed me.”
The sentence hangs in the air for a moment as Jentry processes the words.
“What,” she says, then, “Okay. The texts make more sense now.”
“I’m sorry.” Kit sounds miserable. He reaches up to rake his fingers back through his hair, teasing it out of his face. Her face. “It came out of nowhere! I panicked and ran, and I know that means you have a huge mess to deal with now. I swear I wasn’t trying to make your life more difficult.”
“Kit,” Jentry interjects, before Kit can work himself up any further, “I’m not upset with you for getting kissed.”
Surprisingly, she means it. It isn’t Kit’s fault that Michael kissed him– it’s not even Michael’s fault, really, since he thought Kit was her at the time. If anything, Jentry kind of blames herself. She was the one who told Kit to get Michael away from the house, and the one who asked him for his help in the first place. It’s her fault that Kit was in this situation to begin with. It's making her feel some very complicated things, sure, but she’s not angry at Kit.
Kit doesn’t look reassured. If anything, he looks even more stressed.
“You want me to be honest with you, right?” he asks.
“Yes,” Jentry says immediately, without any hesitation. “I’m done with people in my life lying to me.”
He actually winces at that, and Jentry tries to ignore the sense of dread that starts creeping in. As much as she needs honesty, she also doesn’t actually want any more big reveals today. Uncovering so many secrets has left her emotionally drained and, as her fight with Ed clearly showed, raw enough to make decisions she doesn’t feel great about in the aftermath.
Maybe this won’t be a big deal?
She knows she’s not that lucky.
“Well. You. . . might be upset when I tell you the rest of it.” Kit still isn’t looking at her and the words sound like he’s forcing them out; like telling her the truth in this moment is the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I. . . I almost killed him.”
“What?” Jentry asks. The words don’t fit right in her mind. What does Kit mean, he almost killed him? Why would Kit want to kill Michael?
Because of me, she realizes, eyes widening in horror. Because Michael asked me out. Because Kit says his feelings for me are real and he thought Michael was trying to take me away from him.
Because I trusted a demon to be alone with Michael.
Jentry is suddenly, painfully aware that she is still cold. She’s standing in front of a monster that feeds on qi without any way to defend herself. It hadn’t even occurred to her to be scared of Kit when she’d decided to walk over here, and she’s realizing now that might have been the latest in a very long list of mistakes.
Kit, oblivious to her thoughts, is still talking. He’s taken a few steps back and she watches as he slides to the floor, back leaned against the side of his bed, hands fisting in his hair.
“I didn’t mean to, he just– he surprised me. He was suddenly right there and when I’m close to humans it can be hard to– it’s why I pushed you away from me that time in the library, I didn't want to hurt you and I was scared of losing control.”
Losing control.
Losing control.
So it wasn't on purpose.
Jentry feels her knees go weak and she’s too tired to do anything but let them, joining Kit on the floor and finding herself bursting into relieved giggles as she curls forward and wraps her arms around her stomach.
“Don’t scare me like that!” she manages to gasp out between laughs.
“Oh no,” Kit says, sounding horrified. “I broke you.”
She snorts and rights herself, leaning forward to smack at his shin. He’s finally looking at her again, her bout of hysteria apparently having broken the tension that had him locked in a staring contest with the floor.
“Kit, the way you said it I thought it was because you were like–” being terrifyingly possessive. “Really mad at him for kissing you! You just being hungry is nowhere near that bad.”
“It’s still pretty bad,” Kit says, and he says it a little like he’s not sure they're having the same conversation anymore.
“Kit, after the day I've had? This barely even registers.” Jentry gives him a tired sort of smile. “I’m not happy about finding out that you’re apparently one unexpected hug away from eating someone, but at least I’m not finding out my whole life is built on a lie. Again.”
“I’m usually better about it,” Kit says quietly. “There was just something about your qi– yours and Michael’s– that was more. . . appealing, than most humans.”
“Huh.” Weird– Jentry gets why that would be the case with her, because of the whole thing she’s not thinking about, but Michael? She shakes her head, brushing the thought away. It’s not like she knows much about the flavor preferences of qi-stealers; maybe some humans are just naturally tastier. “How have you been eating since coming to Riverfork?”
Please don’t say people, please don’t say people. . .
“Mister Cheng brought me animals while I was still working for him,” Kit admits. “I. . . think he was intentionally keeping me close to starving, though. So I’d be more tempted by you.”
“Wow,” Jentry says, with feeling. “That is messed up. ”
That gets a laugh out of Kit, even if it’s a small and shaky one.
“Yeah, I am really glad I’m not working for him anymore. It was not fun.”
“So. . . what about now?” Jentry asks. “Now that you’re the one feeding yourself again?”
“Uh.” Kit’s eyes dart to the side.
“Kit,” Jentry says slowly, “You quit working for him days ago. You said he was keeping you close to starving. You have eaten since then, right?”
“I’ve been kind of busy,” Kit admits. “First I was trying to figure out how to tell you the truth, then I had to remake my skin after the fair, then I was trying to figure out how to apologize and wound up having to remake it again after the portal thing. . .”
Jentry winces. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Kit says. “I deserved it. I know I really hurt you.”
Jentry thinks of Kit, trapped in Diyu. At the time it had felt right, but now. . . now that she’s had time to cool down, all she can imagine is how lonely he would be. Kit wants a normal life just as badly as she does, and trapping him in the underworld would have ended that dream forever. Kit’s wrong– he didn’t deserve that. And the fact that he thinks he did means he values her opinion of him way too much.
Or he just feels insanely guilty.
“How’s it work?” Jentry asks. “The qi-draining thing. Can you do it without killing?”
“If I only take a little, yeah,” Kit explains. “It’s harder with animals, though. They already don’t have a lot to give so for me to really get anything substantial. . .”
“I get it,” Jentry says. “I mean, it’s not like I'm a vegetarian.”
“You know, I’ve actually worked in a few slaughterhouses?” Kit ventures. “It was a good way for me to feed without anyone really noticing. And we are in Texas. Maybe I’ll start trying to do that again.”
“I don't think they’ll hire high school students,” Jentry tells him.
“Maybe not, but I can be someone else. I’m good at forging papers.”
Jentry licks her lips. “Actually, on that topic. . . should I still be calling you Kit?”
Kit blinks at her, eyebrows drawing together. For a moment he just seems confused by the question, but then his eyes– Jentry’s eyes– light up in understanding.
“Oh,” he says, “Yes. I. . . never really had a name of my own? Anyone who knew what I was just called me Painted Skin, which isn’t a name. So Kit’s as good as anything else.”
“But what would you like to be called?” Jentry asks again, more probing this time. “And are you even a boy? Is he the right thing to call you?”
The creature before her hesitates, the same way he always does when Jentry asks for a real opinion. Again she finds herself thinking about how much she really doesn't know Kit, beyond what he made up to make her fall for him. Picking out the bits of truth among all the lies feels impossible, and she’s. . . tired. She’s glad they’ll both be able to move on after this.
“I like being called Kit,” Kit decides. “It’s the name I had when I realized I might be someone. It's special. And. . . honestly, I’ve always preferred wearing a man's skin. I don’t hate being other things but I do enjoy it more, if that makes sense.”
Jentry nods. “Kit the real boy it is, then.”
Kit smiles, a tentative thing that rests shyly on the copy of Jentry's face.
“So. . . you should probably eat,” Jentry says. “We’ve got school tomorrow– today– and I’m guessing you don’t want to be freaking out every time someone bumps into you.”
“That would be bad, yeah,” Kit agrees. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can go to the woods and look for a deer or something.”
“Don’t you need to sleep?” Jentry asks. “It’s already pretty late.”
Kit shrugs. “I don’t have a choice. I can’t exactly pick up a bucket of qi at an all-night drive-thru.”
Before Jentry can really think through what she’s doing she holds out a hand, palm-up, fingers loosely curled, bridging the space between them. Kit looks down at it, then back at Jentry’s face, eyebrows drawing together.
“What. . ?” he asks.
Jentry swallows.
“You said you don’t have to kill people, right? So. . . take a little from me. I’ll make more.”
Kit’s eyes widen. “Jentry, I– I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”
“I know,” Jentry says. “It’s okay. You won’t.”
Kit stares at her for another long moment. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches for her hand. . . then pulls back.
“You’re sure?” he asks. “You'd really do this, even after. . . everything?”
Jentry lets out a breath. “Look, I. . . I know what it’s like, to struggle with control. To keep hurting people without meaning to. If someone could've done something to make it easier on me. . . I know how much of a relief that would’ve been. So if this helps you and it doesn't hurt me in a way I can’t recover from then, yeah. I wanna do this.”
Kit searches her face in a way that makes her feel like she did under his measuring tape. Eventually he takes her hand, but instead of trying to feed he just pulls her to her feet alongside him.
“If I’m going to do this,” he says, “You should stay the night. You’ll be tired after, and like you said– it’s late.”
Jentry looks down at herself, then back at Kit.
“I don’t suppose you have some PJs I could borrow?”
She’s joking, half a laugh around the words, but Kit immediately releases her hand and goes to start digging through his chest of drawers. Jentry blinks, then wonders why she’s even surprised.
“Of course you do. Please tell me they’re not going to be my exact size.”
“Why wouldn't they be?” Kit asks, distracted. He pulls something out, considers it, then tucks it away again.
“Because it’s weird that you bought clothes for me while you were stalking me?” Jentry says dryly– does he really need this spelled out for him? “What, were you already expecting me to sleep over?”
“Oh,” Kit says, “No, that’s not– I have clothes in a lot of sizes. For different skins.”
“Oh,” Jentry echoes, then, “Right. That makes sense.”
He turns back to her, holding up a soft-looking t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants that look gloriously warm. They don’t seem like Kit’s style but Jentry supposes that’s the point. When she nods he crosses the room, handing them over to her with a small smile.
“I’ll show you where the bathroom is,” he says. “Or I could just leave and let you get changed. Did you have dinner?”
Well, she was supposed to have the dumplings Kit made with Gugu, but. . .
“Not exactly,” she admits.
Kit rubs the side of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“I don’t have a lot of human food around here, but I’ll see if I can make you something. You’ll need your strength.”
“Thanks,” Jentry says, meaning it– she hadn’t realized how hungry she is before Kit brought it up. “Hey, you can get changed too if you want.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Kit asks, looking down at himself– at the copy of Jentry’s skin he’s still wearing.
“No,” Jentry's quick to say, “No, but aren’t you? Uncomfortable, I mean.”
Kit shrugs. “I like your body. It’s beautiful. Humans are beautiful. I’m never uncomfortable in a painted skin.”
Jentry isn’t really sure what to do with that, so she decides to put it in a box in her mind alongside everything else she is not thinking about and just nods.
“But aren't you, like. . . squished in there?”
Kit teeters a hand back and forth in the air.
“It’s kind of like a bra. You wouldn't wear one to sleep in but if you’re up and doing things it’s fine. Supportive, even, sometimes.”
“Skin-suits are like bras,” Jentry echoes. “Got it.”
“I’ll let you get changed,” Kit says, turning towards the door– then pausing. He looks her over, face to borrowed clothes folded over her arm to boots on the floor.
“Here,” he says, and shrugs off the jacket they’d picked out for his her disguise. In hindsight she should've wondered why it fit him so well in her shape, but she’d been pretty distracted at the time. “You still look cold.”
She takes it, and the fabric is warm to the touch. Kit may not be human but he’s undeniably alive, and she can’t help but let out a relieved breath at the thought of slipping into a pre-heated jacket.
“Thanks,” she says, “I. . . guess my body’s still adjusting.”
“You’ve had those powers almost your whole life,” he tells her. “Trust me, I’ve swapped skins a lot. Adjusting to change takes time.”
With that, he leaves her to get changed. Jentry feels a little better once she’s in warmer clothes but she still doesn't exactly feel great. The jacket smells. . . interesting. Somewhere between Kit’s scent and hers; a faint trace of his soap and deodorant mixed with a smell she now knows is the paint he uses, all alongside the particular blend of spices Gugu uses in her dumplings and the hand soap from her kitchen.
Jentry decides to go see what Kit’s making before the tears threatening her manage to break free.
Kit appears to have emptied the entire contents of his kitchen onto the central table, from food to appliances to cookware. It looks like he wasn’t kidding– he really doesn’t have a lot of human food, and what he does have looks. . . eclectic. A six-pack of Jentry’s favorite soda, a box of pancake mix, five bags of honey butter chips, a half-full carton of eggs that Kit is eyeing with wariness and consideration. There’s an unopened bag of rice and a nearly-empty box of k-cups; does Kit drink coffee? Why would he do that here, where he doesn't have to keep up appearances?
The assortment of appliances isn’t much better.
“Why do you have a waffle maker?” Jentry asks, taking a seat across from Kit at the table and snagging one of the bags of chips– she’s just going to ignore the fact that Kit definitely got those while stalking her. “Your kitchen utensils are a single spatula, but you have a waffle maker.”
Kit makes a face. “Mister Cheng had these. . . constructs, keeping an eye on me. He called them my host parents. I think they were only semi-autonomous; if I didn’t interfere they just did the same things over and over. They made coffee and waffles every morning even though none of us ate or drank. Mowed the lawn at exactly four-sixteen every afternoon. Ordered takeout from Mimi’s and sent me to go pick it up.”
“I did wonder about that,” Jentry says around a mouthful of chips. “So they just left when you quit working for Cheng?”
“In a sense.”
“And that sense is. . ?”
Kit tilts his head back, letting out a breath. “Collapsing into piles of viscera that immediately started rotting? They were. . . not fun to clean up.”
Jentry chews slowly. Swallows.
“Maybe I should stop asking you questions while I’m trying to eat.”
“You need to have more than just chips,” Kit tells her. “Pancakes? The box has instructions so I’m pretty sure I won’t screw them up.”
“I like breakfast for dinner,” Jentry agrees.
Kit puts the eggs back in the refrigerator– they’re the only things inside– and grabs a bowl and skillet off the table. She watches him move around the kitchen, measuring out powder and water and starting to mix it into a batter. The fork he’s using scrapes against the bowl with each turn of his wrist.
“So. . .” Jentry begins, “The rice?”
“In case Ed came by with hostile intentions.”
The batter hits the skillet with a hiss. Jentry empties the last of the chips into her mouth.
“Do you have a blanket I can use on the couch?”
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” Kit tells her. “I can change the sheets on my bed while you eat.”
“I’m okay, really,” Jentry tells him. She’s trying to sound polite and not just like she really doesn’t want to sleep in a room whose far wall is lined with color-coded bolts of skin. Which she doesn’t. She does not want that.
She hasn’t asked Kit where he gets the skin from and she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to know. Not if she ever wants to be able to sleep again. It’s touched her mouth.
And Michael’s mouth too, now.
Yep, still a lot of mixed feelings there.
“I guess you could use the other bedroom if you really want,” Kit says, grabbing a plate off the table. His attempt to transfer the pancakes from the skillet to the plate is less than graceful, but he manages it after a few attempts. “I don’t think the host parents ever actually used it? As far as I could tell, they didn't sleep.”
He sets the plate in front of Jentry and Jentry, who has given up on table manners completely at this point, just grabs one with her bare hand and starts ripping bites off. It burns her mouth but she doesn’t let that stop her. Each burning bite makes her feel just a little less cold. A little more like herself.
It makes her want to scream.
“Thanks,” she manages, muffled around a mouthful of pancake. They're a little overcooked, but she’s not about to hold that against a guy who literally doesn’t eat human food.
Kit pulls out the chair next to her and sits down, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. When he looks at her his eyes are half-lidded and Jentry gets that feeling again, like Kit is staring right through her.
“I’ll try to learn other recipes,” he says. “And maybe actually stock the kitchen.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jentry tells him.
“I want to. I want this to be a place you like coming to.”
Oh, boy.
Jentry takes a deep breath and stops shoveling pancakes into her face at quite the same breakneck pace.
“Kit,” she says slowly, “I don’t think I’m coming back here again after this.”
“You’re not?” Kit asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Why?”
Jentry is not good at being delicate, but she tries her best. Kit at least deserves that much.
“Because I’m. . . going back to Seoul.”
For a moment, Kit goes terrifyingly still. But then he smiles.
“Okay,” he says. “I can do that. When are we leaving?”
Internally, Jentry is screaming. How can Kit be hundreds of years old and have no idea how to take a hint? On the outside, though, she just chuckles awkwardly and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
“You don’t have to come with me–” she starts, but Kit interrupts her eagerly.
“But I want to. I want to be with you, Jentry.”
“Kit,” Jentry says, “I know that you like me, but you can’t base all of your happiness around being with one person.”
Kit’s head tilts slightly. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not healthy,” Jentry bursts out, “Because then– then what happens if something happens to that one person? Or if that person hurts your feelings, or disappoints you, or–”
She’s not thinking about it, not thinking about it, not thinking–
“Lies to you,” Jentry finishes quietly. “Lies to you your whole life so you don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Kit leans forward slightly, reaching over to put a hand on top of hers.
“You wouldn't do that to me,” he tells her. “And I could never be disappointed in you. You’re. . . perfect.”
Too much. It’s too much. Jentry yanks her hand away, folding both of hers together and pressing her knuckles against her lips. Kit’s left holding the empty air, eyes wide as he stares at her.
“I’m not perfect,” she tells him. “And you don’t need me. You can make other friends.”
“No I can’t,” Kit protests, sounding desperate. “You're the first one– the only one to ever accept me. To think I’m someone. There's no one else like you, Jentry.”
Jentry opens her mouth to argue back, but then–
Then she remembers how much of a relief it was to sit down with Stella and just talk. To tell her everything without having to worry about rejection or judgement. She thinks of her friends back in Seoul, the ones she can’t wait to get back to, who knew about her flare-ups and stayed with her anyway. If she’s the first person Kit’s ever been able to open up to it's no wonder he’s clinging to her the way he is.
Part of her wants to shout at him, to tell him that this isn’t her problem and she shouldn't have to solve it. But a larger part– the part that still cares about Kit despite everything, the part that knows what it’s like to have everyone around you turn against you for something you didn't choose– knows she won’t be able to move on so long as she’s leaving Kit all alone again.
And just like that, Jentry knows exactly what to do.
“There are other people who’ll accept you for who you are,” Jentry tells him, hands lowering to reveal a tentative but genuine smile. “I know there are. And I'll prove it. I won’t leave Riverfork until you’ve made at least one real friend.”
Kit’s still staring at her with a sort of panic that reads more animal than human, but slowly– so slowly it looks painful– he relaxes. His eyes drop to the floor between them and his breathing starts to even out.
“You will?” he breathes, like if he speaks too loudly he’ll wake himself from a dream.
Jentry reaches out and this time it’s her turn to place a hand on his. He looks back up at her, seeming almost startled, but then something in his expression melts.
“I will,” Jentry tells him. “I promise.”
Then she uses her free hand to shove the last of the pancakes into her mouth and, as best as she can around the food, adds, “Les’go t’bed. M’ wiped. ”
She uses her grip to pull him to his feet and he comes easily, eyes never leaving hers. She can’t quite read his expression and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s never seen him make it before or just because it looks different on her face than his.
“Right,” he says, “Yeah. It’s the first door on the right.”
Kit was right– the room behind the door is well-furnished but completely un-lived-in, bed made with hospital corners and a thin layer of dust on the dresser. The mattress is comfortable when she sits on it though, and she can’t see any obvious signs of this room having had creepy magic constructs living in it. With how tired she is, that’s good enough for her.
“Okay,” she says, “How are we doing this?”
Kit’s hesitating in the doorway, backlit by the hall light and casting a long, spindly shadow across the floor between them.
“Are you still sure?” he asks. “It’s okay if you changed your mind.”
“I’m sure. Now come drain my qi already,” Jentry says, miming swinging a lasso around and hooking Kit with it. He laughs, letting himself be pulled forward on the imaginary rope, and soon he’s standing a scant few inches in front of her with a soft look in his eyes.
“Lie down,” he tells her. “Get comfortable under the covers. You won't want to move much after this.”
Jentry figures he's the expert here so she pries the sheets back– they’re tucked in with hotel levels of tightness– and snuggles in under the covers. Between the fluffy pj pants, the jacket, and now the blankets, Jentry’s feeling almost warm again.
Kit perches on the edge of the bed, tugging the covers up a little further before his hand slides over her shoulder, moving to cup her cheek. His palm is warm too. Jentry closes her eyes.
She expects it to hurt when Kit starts feeding on her, but it doesn’t. She barely even notices it at first. If she wasn't paying attention– if she didn’t know what was happening– she might think the wave of dizziness and exhaustion slowly washing over her is just natural fatigue. It’s only because she’s focusing so hard on Kit’s hand that she feels the slight tug beneath her skin, pulling something deep inside her up and into his fingers.
Kit said he’d almost lost control of himself when she’d kissed him in the library. Now Jentry understands just how bad that would’ve been. She knows, with a terrifying certainty, that she would’ve misinterpreted this lightheadedness as excitement until it was way too late to stop him. If Kit had still wanted her dead then, she would be.
She opens her eyes and it’s like trying to drag a thousand pounds uphill. She only manages a small glimpse before they close again but that’s more than enough. Kit, half-bent over her, is watching her through lidded eyes. His lips are slightly parted. His whole body is relaxed. He looks. . .
Content.
Jentry barely feels his hand leave her cheek. She’s too tired. This is the most comfortable bed she’s ever been in and she’s never been this exhausted in her life.
“Goodnight, Jentry,” she hears Kit say, but distantly. Like he’s standing on the other side of a busy street.
Jentry thinks she tries to answer, but before she can hear whatever she might’ve said she’s lost to sleep.