A rust colored ribbon cut through the air, arching and falling a few feet away in what would have been considered a graceful motion had it been anything other than bloody saliva and water. Ian considers small gore pools for a moment, pleased in both the fact that it didn't go everywhere and that Kian didn't have the balls to try and spit in his face. He was learning! They grow up so fast.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BF80"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Oh sure. You’ve knocked those manners my momma never got around to right into me.”</span></span><br/><br/>Or not.<br/><br/><span style="color: #00BF80"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Thank-you-for-cleaning-me-up.”</span></span>Whatever string of sarcasm and witty comebacks Ian was forming in his mind dissipated. With what remaining grip he had on Kian's hair, he pulled the other man's head back so he can look at him, gauge his expression for any sort of falter. Satisfied when he found no sign of any smartass comment, he loosened his grip and ruffled the thick brown tresses, laughing as he walked away to stand in front of the basement troupe.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"I don't know what you did to instill the fear of god in him, but I like it,"</span></span>he all but sang, giving his three veteran residents a thumbs up of approval.<br/><br/>His expression slowly sombered again, and his focus descended on the newcomer once more.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"See, Kian? I'm not a bad man."</span></span>He threw his arms up in an exaggerated shrug for emphasis.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"I'm not unreasonable."</span></span>Heavily debatable, he knew, but he dared one of these poor souls to try it. Ian's voice lost its edge as he crossed the few steps it took to close the distance between them, mindful of the disgusting blood water spattered about the floor.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"You just.. You <span style="font-style: italic">need</span> to behave, okay? I cannot stress that enough,"</span></span>he warned, carefully tucking a lock of hair behind Kian's ear.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"If you can do that, we'll get along just fine."</span></span><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Now,"</span></span>he spoke up, his voice raising a few octaves so the other occupants could hear him loud and clear.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"I have to wake up early tomorrow. You three-"</span></span>He stopped, gestured to Lydia, Thomas and Lucas.<span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold">"-already know the drill. But I want to make it perfectly clear, Kian. I'm not a morning person in any sense, and I'm <span style="font-style: italic">very</span> moody when I get woken up. Don't scream, don't cry for your mom, don't curse my name in the middle of the night. Don't even <span style="font-style: italic">breathe</span> if it makes too much noise."</span></span>His voice dropped again, his breath mingling with Kian's.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Got it?"</span></span><br/><br/>And just like that, Ian was stalking back up the steps as he normally did at the end of every night. The stairs groaned and protested his movements as they always did, and locks slid and clicked into place, as<span style="font-style: italic">they</span>normally did. What a macabre routine he'd fallen into, he mused to himself as bare feet shuffled across the dark hardwood floors to the living room. He loved every moment of it though. It was definitely a unique hobby. A sport, maybe? There was a lot of physical activity involved. Maybe it was a sport that would never quite make it to the Olympics, but it was definitely sporty. Maybe. Maybe not, though. He was tired.<br/><br/>It was due to this tired rambling that he plopped down on the lush maroon couch as soon as he padded his way into the room, burying his face into a previously-placed pillow and curling around himself, in such a way that anyone would be hard pressed to say that he had just committed vicious assault on someone who - by normal standards - didn't deserve it. And maybe he didn't quite deserve that, even by Ian's standards, but it surely got the point across easily enough. He fell asleep thinking about how easily Kian had relented and obeyed, and even<span style="font-style: italic">thanked</span>him. What a pleasant thought to fall asleep to.<span style="font-style: italic">Sweet dreams, Kian.</span><br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Sunlight poured in through a crack in the blackout curtain panels, assaulting Ian's vision and causing random shapes and lines to dance behind closed eyes. He groaned in exasperation, turning to roll over onto his side - and right off of the couch. His head struck the corner of the glass coffee table on his way down, and Ian cursed violently and rubbed at his temple to stave off the steadily increasing pain. He straightened his back and sat on his legs, glaring bitterly at the window as if it was somehow the sun's fault that he was far less than graceless in the mornings.<br/><br/>...the sun. Shit.<br/><br/>Ian's head whipped around, sending fine blonde streaks arcing through the air and another jolt of pain through his temple, all in attempts to find the clock he kept on the mantel. Oh, he was late. He was ridiculously late. He all but teleported up to his room and dressed himself in record time, though it was kind of hard to dress business casual when you're trying to do it in five minutes or less. He did it, though, and there were just a few minutes more before he was on the road, driving what was technically faster than the speed limit. Speed limits were just suggestions when you were running late for work, though, so he didn't feel bad.<br/><br/>Until he got to work, anyway.<br/><br/>He was only half an hour late, but half an hour was a century where patients were concerned. Speaking of patients, there was a line of them formed at his desk and they all seemed to turn their heads outrageous degrees that probably shouldn't have been possible outside of demonic possession to glare at him as he made himself at home at his computer. With great reluctance, he started checking in patients. Four, five,<span style="font-style: italic">six</span>of them, right after they opened. Ridiculous. They were all checked in in a (somewhat) timely fashion, and one by one they filed away to see either Dr. Saar or Dr. Hale and left Ian<span style="font-style: italic">alone.</span>And he<span style="font-style: italic">stayed</span>alone, for what felt like hours but was realistically just bordering on forty-five minutes.<br/><br/>Minutes more clicked by, and Ian amused himself by drumming his fingers on the desk, tapping out some sort of tune he'd heard before but couldn't quite place. He hated dealing with patients, but at the same time he hated not having anything to do. Normally there was someone to check in or evaluate or schedule, but right now there was nothing. There was less than nothing, if that was possible. He was so bored, in fact, that he was only vaguely aware that he was in the patient search screen of his computer.<br/><br/>KIAN WIGHT<br/>NEXT SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT: Friday, 22nd March<br/><br/>A brief glance at his desktop calendar told him that that was only a few days away. A cancel button was right there, right next to the date, and Ian hesitated for a moment before mousing over and clicking it. With a new sense of resolution, he picked up the phone and dialed 8041, listening to the ringing on the other end for a moment before a deep timbre greeted him from the other end.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #8080BF">"Ian?"</span></span><br/><br/>Hearing Dr. Hale say his name brought him back to reality, and he briefly considered hanging up the phone. This wasn't something he'd ever experienced before. He'd always taken such care to make sure his hobbies and his work and social life never intermingled, but here he was, committing fraudulent business practice because he couldn't control himself and just<span style="font-style: italic">not take the kid that came to his job every week or two.</span>He stopped chastising himself for a moment, just for a moment, to follow through with his intentions.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #80BFFF">"Hi Dr. Hale. I just got a call for Kian Wight to cancel his appointment on the 22nd. He didn't reschedule."</span></span>