Work Header

Not So Blind

Work Text:

The floor beneath Kirk's feet rocked and jolted but there was nothing odd about it. They were in California, this type of thing happened all the time. Light shuddered from all around, resembling spotlights rather than the light fixtures that they were. Of course if the ground was moving below his feet the lighting would be askew too. Absolutely norm-

"You can't be that blind! It's impossible. You've got to be drunk."

Kirk righted himself, or at least tried to. The body that was supporting him did the same thing as he did at the exact same time but with their combined effort it left Kirk staring up to the ceiling, his neck protesting the whiplash. "I'm blind! That's what happens when my glasses go missing," he reminded, turning around trying to pinpoint Michael, except with two fuzzy dark heads behind him he wasn't sure which one was Michael and which one was Tim.

"You never saw him when he was younger. Trust me, he is that blind," Tim pointed out, the humour audible in his voice. It was only by that remark, and the fact that the head on the right turned noticeably to the left, that Kirk realised Tim had to be on the left - or was he?

Groaning under his breath, he groped for Jon's shoulder, the only one willing to help him. "What's impossible is that more often than not my glasses go missing."

"And yet they always return," Michael added, following along at a safe distance with Tim. "In the end someone always finds them."

"Why your guardian angel can't keep those things on your face in the first place is beyond me," Tim commented, shaking his head with a guffaw.

Making a little noise of his own, half-effort and half annoyance, Jon finally took his attention off his task, giving the two men a cursory look. "Are you two - just going to watch us?"

"They're gawkers. They always watch." Knowing there was no need to rule out either one, Kirk was more than pleased to look broadly to both of them. "That's all they're good for."

"Have fun with the drunk, Jon." Giving his brother a waggle of fingers, Tim beamed before clapping those fingers on Michael's shoulder, turning him around so they could return to the party, either the one they left or another they could find.

"I could've stayed there too," Kirk argued, not that he tried to disengage himself from his friend. He didn't drink much at the party and could hold himself up. Except if he tried to take a step forward he would have fallen, or at least bumped into the wall. His legs were functioning, but without his glasses he was incapable of functioning with coordination using any part of his body. "At least I could've, if someone didn't move my glasses!"

"The only way someone could've moved your glasses was if they took them off your face, and you would've seen that." Ahh, logic. He couldn't deny Jon's point. Huffing under his breath, to Jon's amusement no doubt, he stared down at his feet. They'd been walking fine on their own but once he looked down he could barely tell the difference between his black shoes and Jon's black shoes. Staring at four black blobs had him tripping over one of Jon's feet. "Look forward, you won't trip that way."

Kirk sighed loudly, slumping against Jon, to which he readjusted his arm to hold him up properly. "But honestly. . . if I took my glasses off, which I don't remember doing, I would've set them down right in front of me, or kept them right in my hand. I know better than to leave them somewhere that's not nearby. It's like someone keeps stealing them!"

"Stealing them about . . . five times a week?" Jon supposed.

"I know it's stupid, but you've seen it happen! If they didn't keep going missing you wouldn't have to bring me to my room more often than not," Kirk reminded.

Jon laughed. "Those pesky Americans. They just can't keep their hands off your glasses."

"Pesky, deft handed Americans. . ." Kirk mumbled, closing his eyes before letting his head slump down. The rhythm of Jon's body was easy to follow, his feet falling in sync with his, his left foot moving forward with Jon's right. It was a testament to how frequently his glasses had gone missing (no, were stolen) over the past few weeks that they had perfected a system. Without bandmates as a distraction, and leaving conversation to an easy quiet, it took less than a minute to get to his room. "Let me get my key." At least standing was easy. That didn't require moving, and handing the key over was simple when Jon simply took it from him.

The click of the key in the lock, releasing, and they resumed their positions. In previous nights Kirk had kept talking but tonight he remained quiet, led to his bed. "Need any help?"

"No." Sitting on the edge he looked down at his shoes. Based on what he heard, a barely audible clink, it had to be Jon putting the key on the top of the dresser, like he did in every room and hotel previous. A cursory look proved as much but trying to determine anything else was next to impossible. Sighing he twisted his unseeing gaze to his feet, rubbing his forehead.

"Is everything alright?" Voice clear, Jon must've turned to face him, no longer facing the wall and mirror.

"Yeah." Resisting the urge to sigh again he straightened up, pulling his shirt up and over his head before bending again, trying his best to untie his shoes.

"Why do you have to be so meticulous?" There was humour in the question. The voice moved closer until Jon was crouched in front of him. He could tell that much even with shoddy vision and the lights out, a pale round surrounded by dark that was a fraction lighter than the dark surrounding them. Batting his hands away Jon took over the task of undoing the laces, leaving him to lean back.

"You don't have to do everything for me," Kirk started, hands curled around the edge of the mattress "Someone else would bring me back to my room, or leave me alone at the party until the party's over. And it's certainly not anyone's obligation to undress me."

"The maids would not be happy to deal with shoe scuff marks on the linens," Jon argued.

"Hey, they need to make a living somehow." Chuckling with Jon Kirk bit his lip, wondering how much of his own features Jon could see. One foot free, sock pulled off swiftly much to his surprise, he dug his toes through the carpet, a gesture of freedom but also a contemplative movement for his own purposes. "Your living doesn't require catering to me."

"You're helpless when you're blind, I'm helping you out." Pulling off the second shoe and sock Jon rose.

Hesitating only briefly, no need to fidget with his feet any further, Kirk smiled in Jon's direction. "All I'm saying is you can come up to my room any time, without undressing me."

"How kind and thoughtful of you," Jon commented, amusement audible.

"On that note--" Standing up to stretch before letting his hands fall to his belt, certain that Jon was watching him, he slid the leather loose, unhooking and reaching for his pants. "You should really stop hiding my glasses on me. I mean it, you can come to my room at any time, though if you want to keep undressing me that's fi--"

There were no quips, only swift nearly soundless footfalls and the door snicking into place.

Jon slid his hand away from the doorknob, glad to find the hallway empty. Safe as he was his fingers were nerveless, dipping into his jacket to ghost over the rims poking out from the inside pocket.