Psychopaths Can't Love

Breakup

A/N: Let's be real. We knew this was going to happen. Look at the chapter title.

Trigger warning: Mentions of drugs, depression, and falling off buildings (if you're still getting over Reichenbach)

~

Seb woke up with his injection wound stinging brightly and a blanket thrown over him. He was still on the kitchen floor. He still felt hazy from the heroin, but at least he could think straight now.
He immediately regretted every sassy comment he'd given Jim, as he was definitely going to be kicked out now. They hadn't even made it to their two month anniversary.

Seb rolled over, blinking his eyes to clear the blurriness from his eyes.
A small piece of paper was laying next to him with neat red ink across it. Seb picked it up and read it, with difficulty.

"Moran,
"I want you out by five in the afternoon. No later.
"JM"

Seb turned the note over, expecting there to be a better explanation of the statement on the back. There was nothing.

Seb sighed. He should've seen this coming.

He struggled to his feet, the blanket falling off him. His head spun for a few moments, and then settled.

Seb glanced at his watch. It was almost noon already. He should be out by four, as he didn't want to accidentally run into Jim while he left. He was sure that Jim didn't want to talk to him after their row. It was best to just leave without a goodbye before Seb tried to convince Jim to let him stay.

Seb figured he was going to have to go back to his old, shitty flat. He'd have to ask his old landlord if it was still open. It probably was. Who would want a flat with black mold in the shower? No one, that's who. At least it was dirt cheap and all Seb could afford.

As he thought about his future in the center of Jim's kitchen, he decided to accept how much worse he'd get. He
was going to need a lot more concealer.

~

Seb stood in his room, his packed duffel bag and sniper case on his bed. He stared down at his few belongings, feeling empty inside.

He wasn't quite sure what to do now.

The front door opened quietly, but the sound was equivalent to a cannon blast compared to the silence that had previously occupied the air. Seb knew exactly who it was. Shit. He had wanted to avoid this.

For a moment, Seb hoped that Jim would just shoot straight to his study and ignore Seb's existence like Seb desperately wanted him to.

Jim knocked quietly on the door, crushing Seb's futile hope.

"You in here, Moran?" Jim asked. His voice was quiet but tense.

"Yeah, boss," Seb said, refusing to use any given name of Jim's.

Jim let himself in.

"I figured you'd leave early," Jim said, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.

"You were right then." As always.

"I just wanted to... um... say goodbye," Jim explained awkwardly.

"Hm."

"I know a good place for rehab, in case you wanted to..."

"No," Seb said, cutting him off. "You don't understand, Jim, you get that? You can't know what this is like 'cause you're a psychopath and psychopaths can't feel things! So stop trying to!"

Seb sounded more aggressive than he'd planned to. He didn't even notice that he'd called Jim by his name.

Jim didn't reply. He bit his lip and stared at the ground.