The tears hit him like a great, big rogue wave. No sooner had the door shut than a soft, pained whine escaped him and the waterfalls began. He bit his lips hard to try and stifle the sound though, already too afraid of being accused of further dramatics and childish attention-seeking antics.
His heart hurt. He was absolutely overwhelmed by lack of sleep, confusion, frustration, betrayal, and heart sickness. He still didn't know what he had done, last night or more specifically in that moment to warrant this. And Fletcher wouldn't tell him. He got yelled at plenty for not believing Fletcher or listening to him. But how could he listen to a man that didn't speak to him or tell him what he needed, wanted, felt?
Theo's eyes darted about the room, desperate for something to ground or distract him. Nothing. This room that had been his sanctuary from the world was now a prison. The chair where Fletcher sat. The balcony where he smoked. The bed where he slept. The room next door that was his. The bathroom where he had bathed Theo.
He needed to leave. He wanted to run, to flee, to get as far away as possible only to make another pained sound knowing the one he wanted to run from, the one he wanted to run to was stood just on the other side of his door. There was no escape. For Theodore Archer, there never would be.
Still, he darted into his bathroom and got cleaned up and changed. Then, it was out into the hall. His eyes slid over Fletcher, still wet with tears before he looked away and wordlessly made his way through the house. There was no clear destination, just aimless wandering the mostly unused section of the house that was his. At one point he stopped before a window opening that overlooked the small forest he and Fletcher had once fled into on their night of revelry all those months ago. It seemed like an eternity since then.
"How much have you had to drink today," he asked quietly, turning his head just enough to see if the other man would respond to him.