The clippers buzzed loudly in the empty bathroom, and Kor heard nothing. It was like his head was completely full of cotton and he was underwater. There was a fire in his chest. If he opened his mouth he'd breath fire, he was sure of it.

The tears didn't stop spilling down his face as he cut off the dyed black curls he'd cultivated over the last couple of years. It was matted. It was too much. Everything was overwhelming. The pulse was in his ears and sounded like soldiers marching on his nerves, sending waves of pain down his back. His knees almost buckled. The clippers fell into the sink, and he caught himself on the counter before he hurt himself.

Somehow, he picked himself up to finish the job. There was nothing left on his head by the time he was done but his eyebrows and goatee. He didn't take a straight razor to it. He didn't have a razor or knife in his house.

He had someone who wouldn't let him have them. Probably for the best. Despite being a thirty-two year old man, he still needed someone to care for him.

But that person wasn't here. Couldn't be here. Kor had pushed them away again. Screamed at them, shouted, and threw things at them until they left.

It brought him to this moment.

His hair was gone, he was naked, and now crawling into his tub to once more fall back asleep there. His pillow and blanket had a smell, but he was too tired.

Mofo, his old, and usually mean, orange tabby meowed a few times at the tub before he jumped up on the ledge and then down into the bottom with Kor. He butted his head against Kor’s blanket covered torso before he made himself comfortable in a corner near where Kor’s head was. He stayed right there, purring the entire time Kor was in his not quite trance, not quite sleep.

That in between stage where everything made him jolt awake, even though he hadn’t been asleep.

At least Mofo was fed even if Kor never remembered to feed himself. Well, he remembered, but he had no energy to actually food prep, make food, and clean up. It’s why his house was an absolute fire hazard of wrappers and donut boxes, coffee cups everywhere, water bottles open and barely touched.

Yet Mofo was taken care of; litter changed, water always clean, always food in his bowl. Sure he never got played with, but he was old. He didn’t like playing on the good days.

‘Now take care of yourself,’ Derek would probably say to him. God, he wanted Derek here so badly he was aching. He wanted Laine here. He wanted her despite how long they spent apart, despite the bitter feelings. They split amicably, but Kor was still hurt. Still so upset. In a way, he had never stopped loving her. Never stopped caring about her.

He hoped they were both okay.

[Word count: 501]