Killian was a big believer in the saying, When it rains, it pours.

He hadn’t talked to Randy and Jamie for days, ever since he’d left after Randy’s rut. Not that the lack of texts was unusual, but the silence felt heavy. Meaningful.

Which was stupid, Killian knew. Jamie wasn’t due for a heat for some time, and they hadn’t planned one of their dates—no, not dates, non-heat sessions—yet.

Which was fine, obviously. They were the clients. They decided when to see Killian.

Which had nothing to do with how intolerable being with other clients had become in the last few days. It was just…he felt like he’d been stripped of the calloused layer that let him survive the job.

But he had to make money, so he had to work.

Killian shucked his clothes off, not bothering to make it sexy. This client was a regular, and Killian knew what he liked—a hole to fuck and degrade, mostly. Killian wasn’t really bothered. He’d come to develop a real distaste for being called ‘filthy’ or a ‘whore’ or a ‘slut’, but it became almost laughable after a while.

Frank always wanted to fuck him on his hands and knees and didn’t care if Killian got off, which was great—Killian didn’t have to worry about whatever bored expression was on his face, didn’t have to put up much of a performance or act all smitten like some other clients liked.

“You like that? Didn’t even prep you, you slut.”

“Yeah,” Killian faux moaned.

As if he’d go to any session without prepping himself. But, whatever, he was selling a fantasy as much as he was lending out his body.

Killian dropped to his elbows as Frank’s hand pushed his head down roughly, smothering him in the sheets before Killian managed to turn his face to the side.

Frank gripped Killian’s hair, yanking him back, forcing his spine to arch painfully. Frank’s other hand smacked Killian’s ass sharply, still slamming into him.

For a wild moment, Killian imagined bucking the fucker off and punching his ugly goddamn nose in. But Frank wasn’t crossing any lines that hadn’t been previously agreed to.

Killian had agreed to this. It was what he did.

Like anything in life, it ended eventually. Frank came inside Killian with a grunt, collapsing and crushing Killian to the mattress just long enough for the afterglow to fade before rolling off.

Killian just lay there quietly, controlling his breathing. It was over, and he was okay.

Killian listened to Frank get out of bed and put his clothes on, slapping Killian on the ass one more time with a “See ya next time,” and then leaving the hotel room.

Killian blinked at the wall. It was some sort of off-white, warm in the low lights. The room was nice, comfortable. He could easily sleep there if he weren’t wide, wide awake.

He dragged himself off the bed and into the shower, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. He stood there, shivering until the water turned scalding, and he withstood that, too.

He cleaned himself, and cleaned himself, and didn’t think of anything as he pushed his fingers into himself and washed the come out of his ass.

There was nothing to think about. It’d been a normal day, and he was fine.

-------

He dragged himself to his sister’s as scheduled. Knocked on the door and then started crying as soon as she opened it.

“What—oh, my God, Killian. What happened?”

She pulled him into the hallway and hugged him, rubbing his back as he shook his head because he didn’t know why he was crying.

Nothing had happened. It just felt like someone had scooped out all his insides and replaced them with something rotting and heavy and gross.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m such a—”

“Shh, okay, it’s okay. Try not to talk like that, okay? Sit down, you’re gonna be okay.”

They crumbled onto the couch, Killian clinging to his sister like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

He didn’t know how to stop shaking, or how to stop the ugly, wet sobs he was letting out.

Didn’t know how to stop the way he was feeling even though he didn’t have any reason to do so.

Melissa rocked him gently until the roar in his body quieted down, the air in his lungs rattling but not choking him.

He peeled himself off her now damp shoulder, feeling shame coat the inside of his throat like tar.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

Her eyebrows were dipped in concern. “You don’t have to apologise. What happened? Did Dad…”

Killian shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. Did something happen at work?”

He shook his head again, his throat closing in.

Melissa watched him carefully. “Can you tell me? I swear I won’t push you to do anything.”

Killian swallowed, trying to clear the way for words to form. “I don’t know.” He whispered. “I’m just…I’m so tired sometimes. I just want to…”

Melissa clutched his hand. “Are you thinking of hurting yourself?”

Killian scoffed, pulling his hand away. “No! That’s not what I’m talking about, Jesus.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure. I didn’t mean…sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. Melissa apologising just made it worse.

“What’s making you tired? Like, if you could take one thing from your life that would make you less tired, what would that—”

Killian got up, cutting her off. “I knew you would do this. You just want me to say I want to quit my job, to tell you—”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t want anything from you, Killian. I just want to listen to what you have to say, okay? Please believe me.”

For a moment, Melissa looked smaller than he had ever seen her. Shrunken in on herself.

Killian closed his eyes, his chin wobbling. He was fucking up even this, his relationship with the person he loved the most.

“I should go,” Killian said but was immediately stopped as Melissa sprang to her feet.

“Wait. Please don’t, I’m sorry. I won’t push. You don’t have to talk. We’ll order Thai and watch something. Please don’t go.”

Killian paused for a second before nodding. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he sure as fuck didn’t want to burden his sister with it.

They didn’t talk about it, and he didn’t think about it, and the rotting feeling inside him stayed dormant for the rest of the night.