||The OFFICIAL Coldplay FanFic Thread 2||CUZ WE IZ COOL

[coldplayer#16]

(oh hey, my brains aren't scrambled any more . . .)

Coldplay in Wonderland

 

Part 35:

 

 

 

Tori had a difficult time processing all of what she'd just been told, but she felt Phil's hand on her back and she snapped out of it, "C'mon, I know it's kind of confusing, but I'm sure he's cooled off by now."

 

"What do you mean by that?" Tori asked.

 

Phil shrugged, "He wears himself out after he 'blacks out', and he usually passes out after an episode."

 

"Is he okay?"

 

"Yeah, just worn out," the cat smiled, evaporating into the dungeon again, holding Tori up as he hovered over the now dead bird, "See, we came just in time."

 

Chris was panting, waving slightly from side to side, felling dizzy, and then he fell over. Tori squirmed her way out of Phil's grip and ran over to the rabbit. He had a new scratch across his right arm, three red lines that ran down from his upper arm. He was also pretty scuffed up in general, but it was nothing to the damage he'd done to the bird (the extent of which I'm not going to go into).

 

"Poor boy," the  Hatter said, putting his sword into its sheath, "Won't remember a bloody thing either, what a pity."

 

"He just killed that bird-thing! You think he wants to remeber that?!" Tori snapped.

 

"No, actually, I don't," the Hatter said, "Speaking of, WILL!"

 

The king stood in the frame of what used to the the wall, "I got this, just-" he winced and grabbed his side, "gimme a sec."

 

"Jesus, Will, were you hit?!"

 

"Kind of," he said, and the Hatter ran up to the king and investigated the wounds.

 

"Wow, that's deep," the Hatter said, "How are you not bleeding?"

 

"Quick heal spell, meant for the battle field," Will said, "Leave the scars, not the blood."

 

"Atta boy! Now, let's get you to Chuck, eh? Tori, you think you can manage Chris?"

 

"Uh, sure," the girl said, getting a smile from the mad man.

 

Jon and Will headed to the infirmary while Tori struggled to get Chris over her shoulder, he was basically dead weight. Phil swooped down and got on the rabbit's other side, evaporating up to the door of Chris's room.

 

"Why didn't you just evaporate into the room?" Tori asked.

 

"Oh, right," Phil said, doing as the girl said, "There's a bit of a rule when it comes to bedrooms."

 

"Is that so," the girl said, laying the rabbit down on the bed.

 

"Yeah, I'm not supposed to go in unannounced or whatever-"

 

"Just like anyone," the girl laughed.

 

Phil rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean, and usually I follow it, but . . . well, I follow it when I want."

 

"Curiosity killed the cat?"

 

"In a way, yes, but that nine lives thing is bull shit." Tori laughed, getting a smile out of Phil, but there was a moan that cut the moment short. 

 

"Phil, what's going on, why am I back here, where's the bird?" The rabbit asked, sitting up.

 

"Um . . . well . . . look at your arm."

 

Chris turned and saw the three new scratches, and his eyes grew wide, "YOU PULLED MY EARS!!"

 

"I had to!"

 

"I could've hurt someone! You know I have no idea what I'm doing when I black out! I-I could have ended up hitting Jon in the face or- or . . ." he stopped short and turned to Tori, "How much did you see?"

 

"Pretty much everything, you smashed the thing's beak in and snapped part of its spine, then Phil brought me to the castle's entrance," she said.

 

"Oh God," the rabbit sighed, falling back onto the bed, "my arm hurts."

 

"I can imagine, I'll be back with some stuff to help clean that up and rebandage, I guess," Phil said, "Be back in a minute." The cat disappeared and left the two alone.

 

Tori looked down at the rabbit, smiled, and sat down on the edge of the bed, "Is that why you're mad?"

 

"Considered to be," Chris said, staring up at the ceiling, "I'm a monster."

 

"Nah, I wouldn't say that, you just have a lot of psychological issues."

 

"Same difference."

 

"Big difference," Tori said, "but, I have to ask, is it normal for rabbits to become Hot Cross Bunnies when you tug their ears?"

 

"No," he sighed, "you're kinda right about the psychological thing, Jon explained it to me. I was handled by the ears a lot when I was young, someone'd just pick me up and throw me into the ring, hoping to make a quick buck. I don't like to talk about it."

 

"I can see why," the girl said, leaning in and kissing his forehead, "my poor bunny."

 

Chris laughed and hugged her, "Shut up."

 

Tori laughed and hugged him back, "You're feeling better, hmm?"

 

"Sort of, moving my arm actually hurts, kinda."

 

"Well then," she let him go, "sit up so I can fix you up and then we can just relax."

 

"Yeah, no more craziness, not until tomorrow, anyway." 

 

Tori laughed and kissed him, nothing to say, just the small sign of affection. He just looked at her, then smiled, putting his good arm around her shoulders, kissing her back. 

 

--

 

The dark eyes fixed on the mirror, a comb running through the almost black hair. The fair skin looked odd against such dark hair and eyes, but then again, this was no ordinary man. His eyes were an abnormally dark brown, a red in the iris shining through, a red that was not his.

 

"Tomorrow is play day, brother dear," he smiled wickedly, "won't you come and play with me?"

 

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Nine - Part One

 

The prospect of meeting with his father for dinner only increased Chris’s desire to end the book tour. As the days went on, he longed to see his son again (phone calls were not cutting it anymore), and though he was certain having dinner at his parents’ house would lead to a night of headaches, he still felt glad that his father had sought him out and made peace. Plus, Chris thought Ty would love to meet his other grandparents and to see the house in which Chris had spent his childhood.

 

Certainly, Chris had also grown tired of reading to audiences almost every night. He still greatly appreciated the support from his readers and found himself still in disbelief over the sheer number of people who came on those nights, but the monotony of it all bored him. He read from the same passage at each event, and the people he met started to blend together after a while. He began to see that there were only so many different types of people in the world, only so many personalities to be had.

 

In retrospect, however, the days passed quicker than he thought they would. He would consult his mental calendar after waking every morning, and one day he realized that the tour only lasted for another week. Seven more days and he would be finished. He could go back home. He could see his son again.

 

This discovery put a little spring in Chris’s step. He felt guilty about it, but he found himself smiling widely as he went about his usual routine. He smiled at the woman behind the counter of the sandwich shop; he smiled at the benches along the sidewalk. He smiled at his mustard-stained pants, and he smiled as he spoke the all-too-familiar words from the pages in his hands. The crowd at the bookstore probably thought he was ecstatic to be there, when really he was just ecstatic to leave.

 

Of course, the approaching end of the tour was not the only contributor to Chris’s smile. Having found nothing to do in the evening (Ty and Kirsten had gone out for dinner that night, so a phone call was not an option), Chris arrived at the bookstore several hours earlier than required. He felt very relaxed as he stepped inside; walking among the quiet bookshelves and staring at the perfect spines of the books gave him a peaceful feeling. Walking among the quiet bookshelves, everything seemed right.

 

He browsed through a few children’s books (he had nearly finished the book for Ty, and he decided it would not hurt to compare) and, in various sections of the store, found several other books which he considered purchasing. The walls of his and Ty’s apartment were already overflowing with books, yet Chris thought that there could never be such a thing as too many books. If at all possible, he would gladly trade his skin for the crisp paper, his blood for the shiny black ink. He thought very briefly that in writing, he was trying to become what he wrote, to morph himself into the physical words.

 

And then a pair of hands reached from behind him, enclosed his eyes, and Chris felt his heart attempt to escape his body as a soft voice said into his ear, “Guess who?”

 

Chris started, closed the book he was holding without removing his hand from the pages. He ignored the minor pain, as his heart still raced uncontrollably. After the initial fright had slightly subsided, his brain was able to analyze the voice and to reassure the rest of his body that no, he was not in any danger, because yes, he did in fact know this person behind him. It was Tristan.

 

“Well,” Chris responded in a shaky voice, “I can't guess after I've died from a heart attack, can I?”

 

“Aw,” Tristan cooed. He retracted his hands and leaned over Chris's shoulder to place a kiss on his cheek. “Does that mean I just kissed a dead person?”

 

“I don't really want to answer that,” Chris said. He pulled his hand out of the book, but did not replace the book on the shelf. As Tristan laughed, Chris turned to face him. He felt a rush of happiness crash over him at the sight of the man he hadn't seen in a few weeks, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he asked, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

 

Tristan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Claire said to me this morning, 'Tristan, would you like to come to this book reading thing with me tonight?' and she showed me the paper for it and I said to her, 'Claire, you have to ask me if I want to go see my own boyfriend?' She told me that she hadn't realized you were the same man on the paper. I certainly wouldn't put it past her either way.”

 

“Hey, I heard that!” a feminine voice called from behind the bookshelves. The head of a petite blonde woman suddenly appeared over the top of the shelf in front of them. “You better not be saying shit about me, Soldel. Don't make me come over there and punch you.”

 

Tristan gasped in mock surprised. “Would you believe it?” he said to Chris. “It's a mask. As soon as we leave the school, all smiles and friendliness – gone. Just gone.”

 

“You're saying shit about me again!”

 

The woman's head disappeared behind the bookshelves. Moments later, Claire stormed up to Tristan and gave him a menacing look. Chris thought that for someone as tiny as she (she might have been just below average for a woman, but standing beside Tristan and himself she looked so small), Claire could be quite intimidating. She glared at Tristan for only a moment, before her fist came up and collided with his arm.

 

“Hey!” Tristan shouted, any previous hint of mock surprise now gone. He hadn't expected her to actually hit him. “That hurts, you know.”

 

“Well, good,” Claire retorted. “Maybe you'll stop saying shit about me.”

 

Chris watched the interaction with uncertainty. He was sure that he should have felt some sort of gut reaction (anger, perhaps?) at the sight of some woman punching his boyfriend in the arm. Instead, he felt a strange nothingness. Instead, he heard a tiny voice in the back of his mind:

 

There's always that one person, right?

 

But he disregarded the thought as Tristan linked their arms together, and he suddenly found himself being pulled away from the spot where Claire remained standing.

 

“Come on, Chris. Let's not waste our lives consorting with the likes of women,” Tristan loudly announced as they walked away.

 

Chris chanced a look over his shoulder to find that Claire didn't seem to mind. She browsed the books Chris had looked at earlier. He realized then that he still held a book in his hand. He didn't really want it. He stuffed it at the end of the bookshelf as they rounded the corner and felt guilty doing so.

 

“She really is a charming girl,” Tristan said when they were far enough away. His hand slid down Chris's arm, and he laced their fingers together. “Some idiot cut us off just as we pulled out of her driveway and she's been in a mood ever since.”

 

Chris nodded, but said nothing. He let Tristan drag him to the door, listened to him explain that they needed to go somewhere to get food and to catch up. Chris asked if Claire would be mad at them for leaving, and Tristan informed him that she would probably be glad they were gone.

 

Chris had already eaten, so he ordered nothing from the little coffee shop down the road from the bookstore. Tristan ordered some sort of sandwich, which looked absolutely disgusting to Chris, though Tristan assured him that it was, in fact, delicious and possibly the best sandwich he'd ever eaten.

 

With almost two hours left until that night's event, the two men spent a good hour talking in the coffee shop, seated at a small table in the back. Tristan was content to tell Chris all about his life in Chris's absence and didn't ask even one question about how the book tour had fared. Chris was glad for this, though; living through the monotony was enough. The last thing he wanted to do was to recap it.

 

Tristan finished eating, and the pair made their way back to Chris's hotel room per Chris's suggestion. They spent half an hour rolling around in the bed, and used the remaining thirty minutes to walk back to the bookstore as slowly as possible.

 

“I read your book,” Tristan said as they turned down a new road. “It was really good.”

 

Chris didn't know how often Tristan read books or what Tristan's taste in literature was, so he couldn't be entirely sure that the compliment held much weight. But he felt happy enough just hearing Tristan say the words.

 

“Thank you,” he replied, somewhat shyly.

 

“One question, though. Is the main person supposed to be a guy or girl?”

 

“Neither, actually. Or either one.” Chris knew that this answer would probably confuse Tristan, would probably confuse anyone who asked, and so he decided to continue with his explanation. “The character is androgynous, so that the reader can more easily relate. I wanted it to be very nonspecific.”

 

“Oh,” Tristan said. He sounded greatly disappointed, as if he had spent hours searching the book for clues and had felt certain that he knew the answer, only to find out that there was no answer. Chris felt a little guilty.

 

“To be honest, I had started writing it from a girl's point of view, because I didn't think most people would appreciate it from a boy's point of view.”

 

Tristan laughed softly and grinned at Chris. Chris figured he must have said something right, and his guilt subsided as Tristan said, “Chris, I've missed you.” Tristan brought his hand up and ran his finger around some of Chris's curls. Chris smiled, if not only because the sensation tickled him.

 

“I've missed you, too.”

 

“You've only another week left, right?” Tristan asked, to which Chris responded with a firm nod. “Good. It's so sad to see Ty walk into the school by himself every morning.”

 

Chris felt a bubble of anger rise in his chest, and he was about to express his outrage before he decided that it wasn't worth it. He just needed to accept that Kirsten would never be the sort of parent he hoped she might one day turn into. At least, she wouldn't become that parent any time soon. They were both still so young.

 

A few minutes passed in silence. Chris thought about how good it would be to come back home, how long seven days actually felt. The awning over the bookstore was clear in the distance as they drew closer to the building. Before they stepped in front of the bookstore's large window, Tristan stopped and placed his hand on Chris's arm.

 

“Wait,” he said. Chris faced him as Tristan slid his hands up to cup Chris's jaw, pulled him in, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. In that kiss, something changed; Chris realized then that their relationship thus far had been mostly physical, that even the most seemingly emotional interactions between them had been laced with a hint of sex. This was a simple kiss, but it was a big step for them.

 

Chris asked if Tristan had any plans after the reading was over and if they could possibly get some tea then. Tristan said that unfortunately, he and Claire had to leave as soon as it was finished, as it would be rather late and they both had to work in the morning. Chris frowned, but felt that the afternoon he had spent with Tristan was enough. He had been lucky just to have that.

 

And so it was with a grin that he read from his book that evening. Tristan stood close to the front of the crowd, and during the book signing he pulled up a chair and sat with Chris. Claire had left to get her own food, as, like Tristan, she had not eaten beforehand and she had not chosen to eat anything while she still had time. Nor did she wish to sit around and watch Chris sign books.

 

After the whole thing finished and Tristan left with Claire, Chris decided to get himself a cup of tea. Even if Tristan couldn't come along, there was no reason for him to deprive himself of such a delicious beverage. As he walked down the dark and deserted streets, he couldn't help thinking of the afternoon.

 

He wondered what it would have been like if he had been allowed absolutely no contact with the people in his life while he was gone. He didn't quite consider the encounter with his father, as his father was someone he hadn't even seen in years, but he had been fortunate to have the ability to call Ty as frequently as he did. Now that Tristan had made an appearance, it almost felt to Chris like he had never truly left – and, in a way, he was frustrated by this. Life had brought all of these familiar people back to him and had made it so much more difficult for him to feel homesick without also feeling guilty. Life had brought elements of home to him before he had enough time to properly be gone.

 

Life did not stop there.

 

The shop in which Chris was about to enter had almost emptied out by the time Chris walked through the door. He still had plenty of time before the place closed, but it seemed as though the fun had already been had that night and nearly all the customers had moved on to find newer, better sources of entertainment.

 

A block of space to the side of the café had been separated from the rest of the building by several lines of duct tape on the floor. The duct tape looked like it had been laid down recently, though there were already many bits and corners peeling away from the ground. Within the confines of the duct tape stood a microphone and several stools. Brass instruments rested on some of the empty stools, the instruments’ cases lying open against the wall.

 

Judging by the makeshift stage, the entertainment for that night had been some sort of band. A jazz band, perhaps? Chris wasn’t sure what other genre of music would use a trumpet, a trombone, and a saxophone. He supposed the instruments could theoretically be used for any type of music.

 

A few people sat at a table by the stage. Chris thought this might have been the band, enjoying a well-deserved rest after their performance. Or they might have been a combination of band and fans, chatting about the music. After all, if there were only three instruments and one microphone on stage, the band probably consisted of three instrumentalists and a singer; there were no less than five people at the table. In any case, the group seemed to be composed of the only remaining people in the shop, excluding Chris and the employees. They were all deep in conversation, but kept their voices at a relatively decent volume.

 

Chris approached the counter and ordered his cup of tea. The young girl behind the counter looked at him as if he were insane, walking into the shop after all of the fun had already been had that night. He may as well go home and make his own tea there.

 

Then the girl seemed to have remembered her manners and exactly what her job was, and she set off to get Chris his cup of tea. As he waited, he listened in on the group’s conversation. He rationalized his eavesdropping by explaining to himself that he couldn’t help it: The group was the only real source of noise in the entire shop; Chris couldn’t simply turn off his hearing whenever he pleased (though such a skill might come in handy every now and then); and since he had his back toward the group and could therefore not stare at them while he was listening, he felt much less creepy and much less intrusive.

 

He thought he heard several of the group’s members repeat the word, “Jazz-zilla,” which would have confirmed his earlier suspicion regarding their music. Chris learned through listening that “Jazz-zilla” was, in fact, one of the band’s members. According to a female voice, “Jazz-zilla was on fire” during their performance (Chris assumed the woman meant it figuratively, though the mental image the phrase brought on of a giant saxophone-wielding mutant lizard engulfed in flames was quite amusing), and one of the males at the table agreed.

 

“Jazz-zilla could have burned the place down, man.”

 

“He could burn my place down any night,” another woman said. This was met with several groans from the rest of the group, and seconds after the woman spoke, Chris heard the sound of a hand making contact with flesh. It had sounded harsh, but the air in the shop hadn’t changed afterward. No one in the group thought the action which had made the sound was negative. He supposed whatever punishment the woman suffered might not have been such a big deal after all.

 

“You can’t say stuff like that about him, man, you know how he is.”

 

“OK, OK,” the woman replied, though she did not sound regretful. If anything, she sounded angry. “I’m just saying, you know. I meant musically, he’s really talented and I would… you know… not object to him–”

 

“All right,” another voice interjected. “Let’s stop her before we hear anything about horns being blown.”

 

Unlike the woman’s first comment, this last statement was well-received. The tiny shop instantly filled with the booming sound of laughter. Chris wondered for a while how exactly this “Jazz-zilla” must have been for the mere idea of making suggestive comments about him to be completely taboo. Perhaps he was underage? If this so-called “Jazz-zilla” were a teenage boy and the rest of the group older men and women, then that could explain the man’s unease about the inappropriate comments. But age is not a static thing, and the way the man who defended this “Jazz-zilla” spoke made it sound as if the condition were a permanent one.

 

Jealousy could be an option. Chris knew that it would be wrong to assume that any man who defended another man so vehemently would obviously be gay, but he couldn’t rule it out completely. If this man were in denial about his feelings, he might defend the other man, but blame the defense on some aspect of the other man’s personality. He’s too nice, so you can’t hit on him, rather than, I want him, so you can't hit on him.

 

Chris sighed. That wasn't quite it, either. Whatever was so important about “Jazz-zilla” that warranted slapping anyone who made suggestive comments about him had nothing to do with anyone else in the group. Could the real reason be that “Jazz-zilla” was simply uncomfortable with such attention?

 

The light tinkling of a bell rung out and cut short Chris's thoughts as another patron pushed the shop’s door open. This new person must have been yet another member of the group, as moments later the laughter subsided and several happy greetings were shouted out.

 

The young girl returned to the counter with a cup of tea, which she then handed to Chris. She rang up his order; he gave her the money, took the cup, and decided that he couldn’t leave the shop just yet. This mysterious group intrigued him, and he wanted to continue to subtly eavesdrop on their conversation. So, he picked a table not too far from the makeshift stage. He rested his cup on the table and sneaked a glance over at the group.

 

What Chris saw made him feel like his heart had stopped. Had he not already let go of the cup, he might have dropped his tea on the ground and perhaps on himself. The man known as “Jazz-zilla” stood beside the group's table, the corners of his full lips turned up as he laughed with the rest. Without thinking, Chris spoke up.

 

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Nine - Part Two

 

 

“Jay?”

 

For a moment, it seemed as if the man had not heard Chris. But his smile faltered slightly at the sound of this disused nickname and he turned.

 

“Hey, Chris,” Jonathan answered, as if the meeting were an everyday occurrence. He quickly consulted his bandmates, motioning to them that he would return later. Then he stalked over to Chris, stood with his hands in his pockets, the smile still stretched across his face. “How've you been?”

 

“How...” Chris mindlessly repeated. He blinked a few times and breathed deeply. “I've been well. I... never thought I would run into you like this.”

 

“Yet here we are,” Jonathan added with a shrug of his shoulders. “Are you free to chat? I think we have a lot to talk about, huh?”

 

Slowly examining Jonathan (they had both grown up quite a bit since last they had seen each other), Chris's head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, we do. And yeah, let's–” Chris spontaneously summoned his consciousness and became truly present in the moment. He waved to the table which they stood beside and said, “Here would be fine, if you're comfortable with it.”

 

Jonathan smirked. Chris stood and watched as he pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. Chris soon followed, taking the seat opposite Jonathan. He wrapped his hands around his mug of tea. Jonathan clasped his hands on the table.

 

The two watched each other for a while. Chris's thumb ran in tiny circles over the porcelain surface of the mug. Though his chest had certainly tightened, his heart did not seem to beat any faster. He had imagined a moment like this many times over the years, but the swell of anxiety and desire that had always presented in those fantasies did not appear here. His body relaxed into the hard wooden chair and an odd contentment flowed through his veins.

 

“How's school going?”

 

“Probably well. It's going without me, in any case,” Jonathan replied. He brushed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I dropped out.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah, after...” Jonathan's hand fell to the table. He tapped his fingers lightly against the wood. “Do you want to hear a story?”

 

Chris turned up the corner of his lips. “That's kind of a funny thing to ask a writer.”

 

Jonathan let out a soft laugh in return. His fingers continued tapping as his eyes scanned the space behind Chris's seat. He seemed preoccupied with gathering his thoughts, and so Chris took the opportunity to openly stare at him. Apart from the hair that lined his chin, Jonathan looked almost exactly the same as he had the last time they saw one another. He did, however, look a little happier. His eyes shone with clear purpose; years ago, that light green had always been laced with uncertainty, ironically, a quality not quite noticeable until it disappeared.

 

When Jonathan finally spoke, he did so without moving his eyes from the background of the shop. His eyes clouded over, most likely a side effect of vivid memories.

 

“When I left, I said I was going back to study, but I started driving and realized that I couldn't go back to the dorms. Not right away. So I drove around for a bit, and I ended up in this little pub somewhere. There was this guy there playing sax. It... was like nothing I'd ever heard before. And I knew I'd found my calling.”

 

Chris leaned his elbows on the table, mug still gripped tightly in his hands. The sentiment in Jonathan's voice pulled him like a magnetic force. “That's amazing,” he softly said.

 

“It was certainly a relief. I spent a long time thinking that I'd never be passionate about anything like that. But I found it. You know what else I figured out?” Jonathan flicked his eyes over to stare back at Chris, drawing Chris even closer. “You and I are meant to be together.”

 

Yet again, Chris's fantasies provided a stark contrast to the reality of the situation. If Jonathan had ever uttered those words in Chris's dreams, Chris would surely have grabbed him and run off into the sunset (or the moonlight, at this time of night).

 

Now, though, he could only picture a petite, dark-haired man as he stuttered, “I have a boyfriend.” His chest tightened a little further and his stomach churned.

 

Jonathan looked completely unfazed.

 

In fact, he stared at Chris for a few seconds, as if expecting Chris to continue speaking. When he realized Chris had nothing more to say, he nodded quickly and smiled. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I hope he makes you happy, and I hope that he continues to make you happy for as long as you're together. Then, when he doesn't, I hope you find someone else to make you happy.

 

“But one day we'll meet – I mean, the universe already brought us here, of all places,” he said with a quick laugh, gesturing around the tiny shop. “One day, when the circumstances are right, we'll meet and we'll know... we never have to be apart again.”

 

A wave of emotions overcame Chris so quickly that he could perform no action other than to inhale very deeply and promptly struggle to exhale. He fought the urge to cry as his eyes tingled with the prospect of tears. He dug his fingers into the mug as much as the sturdy surface would allow.

 

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to leap across the table, wrap Jonathan in a tight embrace, and never let go. The flashing images of Tristan held him back, and he felt more torn than he had ever felt in his life. If Chris had thought that Jonathan had simply spewed a bunch of nonsense at him, then he might not have felt so conflicted. But he couldn't help thinking back on the happy evening he had spent with Tristan, and how that joyful feeling paled in comparison to the way he knew he would feel with Jonathan.

 

Jonathan reached across the table. Chris thought for a moment that he intended to grab Chris's hand (and perhaps he did), but ultimately he laid his hand down on the table beside the mug.

 

“Chris, you don't have to worry about it, OK? Things will work out in the end.”

 

“Can't they work out now?”

 

Jonathan laughed. “That would be nice. But you’re a writer. You should know that you have to build it up first, yeah?”

 

Chris gawked at Jonathan, scanning his brain's database for any counterargument, but he couldn't deny that Jonathan was right. Reluctantly, he nodded. He turned his eyes down and watched his tea.

 

“And ours will be the greatest story ever,” Jonathan added. His voice was soft, as if he had spoken to himself rather than Chris. In fact, when Chris did look back at Jonathan, he found the other man eying the tabletop, twiddling his thumbs in an almost nervous fashion.

 

The corners of Chris's lips seemed to turn up of their own accord at the sight. He pictured the way Jonathan had looked the first time they spoke to one another, timid with his averted gaze and shocked by Chris's proposition of a relationship. They had both come a long way from that alley around the side of the school, but Chris couldn't help noticing all of the little traits which had attracted him to Jonathan in the first place, not one iota different after six years.

 

“Congratulations, by the way. On the book and everything.” Jonathan met Chris's eyes, the confidence back in full force. Chris flushed a pale red and quietly thanked him. “Which book was it?”

 

And if Chris thought that he had flushed before, then at this question he sent the entire Red Sea down the toilet bowl of his face. He released one hand from the mug of tea and nervously scratched the side of his neck.

 

“The one I wrote... you know, about you,” he said in a sort of mumble, though Jonathan had clearly heard his answer. Jonathan chuckled and gave a sarcastic comment in response.

 

“Well, that explains it, then.”

 

The sound of chairs and feet shuffling across the floor emerged from the nearby party.

 

“Jon, we're leaving,” one of the men announced. Jonathan glanced over at the group, eyes wide as if he had forgotten that his bandmates were there, that other people existed in the shop apart from Chris and himself. He turned to Chris and smiled one last time, wide and dauntless.

 

“I'll catch you later. Good luck with the rest of your tour.” Chris smiled back and nodded. He contemplated saying something in return, but if he had tried, it might have only come out as a plea for Jonathan to stay a bit longer. He knew he shouldn't be so greedy; after all, their encounter happened by pure chance to begin with.

 

Jonathan stood up. Chris assumed that he would then walk away and join his bandmates as they exited the shop; therefore, he did not expect Jonathan to slip around the table and stand to the side of Chris's chair, gesturing for Chris to stand as well.

 

Though slightly confused, Chris rose without question. Jonathan opened his arms, held them out for a hug. Chris finally felt his heartbeat speed up, but again he acted without question. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Jonathan's torso as Jonathan did the same to him. He felt a rush of happiness, which lingered even after Jonathan had pulled away, even after Chris was the only person left in the shop other than the young woman behind the counter.

 

He drank his tea as quickly as possible (though it had become rather cold), and strolled along the dark and deserted streets once more to reach his hotel room. After all the excitement the day had brought, Chris felt unsurprisingly fatigued and decided to lie down as soon as he returned to the room.

 

He had a habit of sleeping on the left side of the bed, and generally favoring the left side of the bed for other activities as well. As he lay in the darkness, he examined the empty space to his right, the space which Tristan had occupied only a few shorts hours before.

 

This revelation surprised him. So much had happened that afternoon that he had a hard time believing it had only been one afternoon and not several. He closed his eyes for a moment.

 

He reached out and held his hand over the comforter. He knew this feeling well, the feel of air around his skin where another human would fit perfectly. As a couple, he and Jonathan had only lived together in Penny's house, where they each had not only separate beds, but separate rooms. Then Chris moved into the apartment with Ty and Jonathan moved into a dorm room at the university. Jonathan would spend an occasional night at the apartment, but those nights were few and far between.

 

After he and Jonathan decided to split, Chris focused on working and taking care of Ty. He had no time for dating or anything of the sort – at least, not until Tristan came along. He and Tristan had only spent one actual night together as well as that very afternoon. Chris was used to being the only person in his bed.

 

Yet, now he longed for company. He opened his eyes. He felt so conflicted by what Jonathan had said to him, the confident way he spoke when he said they were meant to be together. He thought back to when Tristan lay beside him. Slowly, the image of the dark-haired man morphed into Jonathan. His imagination fluctuated between the two for a while, and as it did he experienced a nasty sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Chris figured the waves of guilt might subside if he stopped staring at that pillow, or at that side of the bed in general. He could push away any thoughts of Tristan if he simply turned and slept facing the other way. He began shifting his position, but stopped halfway through.

 

Jonathan's voice rang through his head: I hope he makes you happy...

 

Then he realized a better way to rid himself of the guilt. Maybe Jonathan was right. Maybe they were meant to be together. But if that was the case, then Jonathan would have also been right about it all working itself out. In the meantime, why should Chris waste his precious moments longing for something that he already had?

 

Chris wasn't sure how successful his plan would be, but he put it into action regardless. He moved again, but this time he scooted himself over to the right side of the bed. He buried his face in the pillow which still smelled a little bit like Tristan, and he fell asleep with his lips stretched into a smile and his thoughts full of a certain dark-haired man.

 

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Ten - Part One

 

 

 

Chris tugged the handle of his wheeled suitcase. Rolling over the linoleum floor, the hard plastic made a terrible, hollow noise, one which Chris had always hated. The sound brought images of a man trapped in a dark room with no windows and no doors, barely any air to breathe. Chris could find no conscious reason to connect the two, the sound and the image, but still his mind forced him to imagine those suffocating conditions.

 

But this was not a time to panic over mere fantasy. Chris focused instead on the signs above his head as he walked through the airport. He focused on the conversations taking place between those who were leaving and those who would be left behind, between those who had stayed and those who were coming home.

 

He increased his pace, though the noise of the suitcase grew louder as a consequence. He didn't care. He wanted to be part of those conversations.

 

The signs seemed endless, advertising various shops and giving directions to those who had lost their way. Chris passed by numerous groups of people engaged in heartwarming reunions. Though with every passing second he knew he grew closer to a reunion of his own, he felt more like he was trapped in a continuous loop, doomed to witness the happiness of others and never reach his own. The noise was driving him crazy.

 

And then, from amidst the sea of people emerged a call. A young boy yelled, with preposterous volume, “DADDY!” and before Chris had the chance to register the shout the same boy sprinted toward him, his mother left behind in the crowd.

 

Only a second passed before Chris finally did recognize the little curly-haired boy running across the stretch of empty floor to reach him. He kept his pace until Ty approached, only a few feet away now. He released the handle of his suitcase and dropped down on one knee. Ty ran right into his arms, buried his tiny face right into Chris's chest.

 

Chris held on as tightly as he could without squishing Ty. Ty seemed to be the same weight he was when Chris left, so Chris knew that he could at least trust Kirsten to feed the boy. He did notice that Ty now had a considerably lesser amount of hair atop his head than before. Chris asked about it.

 

“Mommy said it was too long and she didn't want to 'drag a brush through it every morning',” Ty explained, with the best impression of Kirsten he could muster. “So she cut it all off. But I said that's OK, now I look more like daddy!”

 

“That you do.” Chris skimmed his hand over the top of Ty's head. “She's right, though. It'll be nice to not have to worry about brushing it.”

 

Ty nodded with great enthusiasm. Then, he leaned in close to Chris and in a lowered voice said, “And guess what? Alicia said that I look very handsome with this haircut.”

 

Chris smiled. “Well, that was nice of her. Did you thank her for saying that?”

 

“Yes, I did. I said, 'Thank you, Alicia. Your hair looks very pretty, too.'”

 

“I'll bet she liked that.” Ty nodded once more, though more calmly. Chris ruffled his hair a bit. “Ah, you'll be a stud one day, Ty. You'll make all the ladies swoon.”

 

Ty shrugged, most likely indicating that he had no idea what Chris was talking about. He fidgeted a little and glanced back at Kirsten. “Daddy. Can we go home now?”

 

“Yeah.” Chris stood, grabbed his suitcase, and the two walked back to where Kirsten stood.

 

As they approached, Kirsten folded her arms across her chest and glared down at Ty. “There, are you happy now? He's back.” She sighed and switched her gaze to Chris. “He wouldn't shut up about it. It was driving me crazy. You'd think you'd been gone for years, not one month.”

 

Chris thought Kirsten sounded unreasonably harsh about the situation, but as he spared a look at Ty he saw that the little boy did not seem bothered by it at all, and so he let it go. They left the airport then and walked around the parking lot for a few minutes before Kirsten remembered exactly where she had parked.

 

On the ride home, Chris opted to sit in the back seat of Kirsten's car with Ty so that they could catch up. It was simply a bonus that he wouldn't have to deal with Kirsten that way, though she did make the occasional comment on Ty's stories, mostly to defend herself against anything she thought might make her look bad.

 

When finally they arrived at Chris and Ty's apartment, Kirsten dropped the boys off and, after a hasty goodbye, sped off down the road. Since the one elevator in the building had never worked quite properly, the two boys were left to hauling their luggage up the stairs. Chris noticed that Kirsten had decided to stuff all of Ty's clothes into a few plastic bags rather than trying to fit them back into the suitcase – which actually was beneficial in the long run. Chris could pull his own suitcase and the bags of Ty's clothes up the stairs while Ty dragged his own suitcase behind him, considerably lighter than it would have been with the clothes inside.

 

Upon entering the apartment for the first time in a month, Ty dropped his suitcase by the door and bolted through the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom, shouting, “My room!”

 

Chris caught up with him within a minute. He found Ty lying face-down on his bed with his arms spread out, embracing the mattress.

 

“Oh, I missed you so much, bed,” Ty said, his voice muffled by the blankets. Chris stood in the doorway, leaned against the frame and laughed. “I'll never leave you again. Unless I go over to mommy's for a night. Or if I go to a sleepover or something. Some boys in my class have sleepovers, maybe one day I will go to one of those. But any other time, I will not leave you.”

 

“Ty,” Chris chuckled, “if you love your bed so much, why don't you marry it?”

 

Ty rolled around on the mattress until he was able to glance at Chris while still lying face-down. He ran his tiny hand over the blanket. “Can I, daddy?”

 

“Yeah, I'll send out the invitations.”

 

“You can't send out invitations if we elope.” Ty spoke so casually that for a second Chris nearly forgot he was speaking to a five-year-old. Quickly, this became one of the rare moments in which Chris realized just how often Ty watched movies, for Ty couldn't have learned such language anywhere else.

 

Chris pushed himself off the doorway and into the room. “Then I'll drive you to the chapel.”

 

Ty jumped to his feet immediately, leaped from the mattress and into Chris's arms. Chris barely reacted quickly enough to catch the boy, and he let out a small “Oof!” as Ty slammed into his chest.

 

“Thank you, daddy.” Ty had his arms wrapped tight around Chris's torso. Chris tried to pry them away for a moment so he could shimmy Ty up a bit and get a better grip on the boy, but Ty refused to let go. After a few moments, Chris had to set him down.

 

But as soon as his feet hit the ground, Ty clasped his arms around Chris's legs instead. Chris bent down and gave Ty a proper hug.

 

“I'm glad you're back now,” Ty whispered. Chris stroked his hand over Ty's freshly cut hair. “I love mommy, but she's not as nice as you. She wouldn't let me watch movies.”

 

“Well, you're home now, and guess what?” Chris pulled back a bit to see, and as he did so Ty mimicked his action. Ty looked at him with oddly calm eyes. “We have the entire afternoon, and a huge stack of movies in the living room that haven't been watched in a whole month.”

 

A grin spread wide across Ty's small face. Chris stood up and held his hand out to Ty.

 

“But first I have a present for you.” Ty gasped as he grabbed onto Chris's hand. Chris led them out of Ty's room and into his own bedroom.

 

“What is it?” Ty asked.

 

“It's something I made while I was gone.”

 

Chris flicked on the bedroom light; though it was still daytime, his curtains were drawn, and he didn't feel like going through the trouble of opening them up. He brought Ty over to the bed, where Chris's open suitcase rested. On top of the stack of clothes sat a white package. Chris removed this package and handed it to Ty.

 

“What is it?” Ty ran his hands over every inch of the package. He put his ear up to the wrapper and shook the present, but it made no noise other than the sound of his hands against the exterior. Finally, he flipped the package over and neatly unsealed the wrapper.

 

He pulled from the envelope a stack of card-stock paper which had been glued together on one end to make a spine. He looked blankly at the top of the pile, a paper with words written in a large font and a picture of a small boy flying a kite. Ty had no clue what the words said, but he thought the picture looked very nice, and he knew almost instantly what this present was.

 

Ty directed his gaze at Chris. “Is this a book?” Chris nodded. Ty beamed. “You got me a book?”

 

“No, I wrote it for you.” Ty's jaw dropped. He turned back to the book, eyes fervently scanning the cover. “Uncle Alex drew all the pictures.”

 

Ty pointed to three tinier words at the bottom of the cover, just under the illustration. He ran his finger over each letter. “By... Chris Martin?”

 

“Yeah,” Chris quickly answered, blinking several times in rapid succession. “Did you just read that by yourself?”

 

Ty glanced at Chris. He frowned and looked at the cover, then back to Chris once more. “Did I read it wrong? That weird loopy thing and the slingshot, I thought that says 'by.'”

 

“It does.”

 

Seemingly not comforted by Chris's reassurance – perhaps still worried by the certain look of confusion on Chris's face – Ty tapped his finger over the letters again. “That word is on all of the books you read me and the ones Ms. L reads to us in class. It looks exactly the same. And this is your name. That's what it looks like on the mail.” Ty brought his eyes up to Chris, furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that bad?”

 

Chris shook his head while his brain struggled to find words which could capture with accuracy his total shock. “No, Ty, that's amazing. I don't know why, but I'm just always so surprised by how smart you are.”

 

Ty appeared no more confident than before. He stepped up to Chris and held out the book. “I can't read all of it. Will you read it to me?”

 

Chris grabbed the book and set it down on the bed. He also took a seat beside the suitcase and brought Ty into his lap. “I'll read it to you before you go to bed. Which reminds me, I have something else to give you.”

 

Reaching back into the suitcase, Chris retrieved Ty's precious stuffed elephant. Ty squealed at the sight of the stuffed animal, and promptly squeezed it to his chest, eyes closed and cheek squished up against the plush. After a few moments, he pushed the elephant back into Chris's hands.

 

“I have something for you, too, daddy,” Ty said as he reached for his shirt collar. He couldn't unclasp the chain of the necklace by himself, but he did pull out the locket and hold it for Chris to see. Chris brought his hand to the back of Ty's neck and undid the clasp. The chain slithered into Ty's hand as it fell from his shoulders.

 

Chris took the locket from Ty, after which Ty snatched up his elephant again. Chris laughed and poked Ty in the nose. In retaliation, Ty shoved the elephant's trunk into Chris's nose, and then snorted with laughter.

 

“I went through the trouble of writing you a beautiful book, and that's how you repay me?”

 

“It wasn't me, daddy, it was the elephant,” Ty said with a goofy smile. “I would never hit your nose with a trunk.”

 

Chris laughed, rolled his eyes, and made a comment about how Ty would of course never do anything so cruel. He scooped Ty up in his arms and carried the little boy out to the living room, where he promptly dropped Ty on the couch. He slid over to the stack of DVDs, which had by now accumulated a nice layer of dust, and extracted the movie he knew Ty loved most.

 

As the menu music roared through the television speakers, Chris plopped down into the seat beside Ty. “Oh, guess who I ran into while I was gone?” Chris directed at Ty, who merely shrugged in response. “Your grandfather.”

 

Ty stared at Chris with a glazed expression. “I thought grandma and grandpa went to see grandma's mom 'cause she's sick.”

 

“No, no. Grandpa is your mom's dad. I meant my dad.” He added, unnecessarily and in a softer voice, “My father.”

 

Ty bobbed his head as if he understood. Chris knew that he actually didn't, or at least didn't care, when he turned to face the TV with no additional comment.

 

“He said we should come over for dinner some time,” Chris continued. “He wants to meet you.”

 

“Other grandpa wants to meet me?” Ty asked, flinging his head around to face Chris. Chris nodded. Ty leaned back in his seat, a serious look stretched over his face. “I want to meet other grandpa.”

 

Chris glanced toward the kitchen. “Maybe I should call him now. If I call him, do you want to talk to him?”

 

“No,” Ty responded without hesitation. Chris shot him a questioning look. “I don't even want to see another phone for the rest of my life.”

 

“Fair enough,” Chris said with a smile. He grabbed the remote from the arm rest of the couch and hit the button to start the movie. As the menu faded and the opening credits began, Chris stood up and wandered into the kitchen.

 

The phone call lasted no more than five minutes, as Cliff wanted to set the dinner date as quickly as possible lest Alice overhear the conversation and question her husband. At the very end of the week Chris and Ty would travel to the manor in which Chris had grown up, but had not seen in nearly five years, since his extremely brief trip to the house with Alex. Chris hadn't asked about spending the night, but figured that he could probably handle driving back home if neither of his parents offered. He knew of a few different hotels in the town, anyway, should he and Ty need to stay overnight.

 

Then came the waiting. Chris had told Ty about the dinner later, but Ty, being a small boy with many other things occupying his mind, had seemingly forgotten about it throughout the week. Chris, on the other hand, thought about the future meeting almost every five minutes. He was nervous, definitely, but not just because he would be reunited for an evening with his mother, who had no idea that Chris and Ty would be there that Friday evening. He thought back to the meeting he had with Darren's mother and knew that if his parents didn't approve of the way he had raised Ty thus far, he would probably break down completely. This frightened him, that he still cared so much about how he compared to his parents' expectations, and that he was dragging his son into it this time. Chris promised himself that he wouldn't become invested no matter what his parents thought, but he knew that he probably wouldn't be able to control it regardless.

 

So when Chris picked Ty up from school on Friday and reminded Ty of their plans, he could only respond with a halfhearted laugh to Ty's outburst of excitement. On the way home, Ty sang a song about finally meeting his paternal grandparents – whom he referred to as “other grandpa” and “other grandma,” which Chris told him he should probably not call them to their faces – and when they entered their apartment, Ty ran to his room to get ready. Chris yelled to him down the hallway to say that they weren't even leaving for several hours, but Ty merely responded, “Looking nice takes a lot of time.”

 

Indeed, Ty spent the entirety of those next hours preparing himself for the night. He refused any and all help from Chris, and at one point wouldn't even let Chris into the bathroom to pee because he didn't want Chris to see what he looked like.

 

“Ty, I already know what you look like,” Chris said through the bathroom door. “Let me in.”

 

Ty only agreed to allow Chris to enter under the condition that Ty would stand in the bathtub with the shower curtain pulled closed so that he would not be visible. Chris was just happy to finally be able to relieve himself.

 

Half an hour before he planned to leave, Chris told Ty that he had to stop getting ready, so that there would still be enough time for Chris to fix anything on Ty he needed to before they would have to go. Surprisingly, though, Ty had groomed himself well enough that the half-hour was instead spent expressing enthusiasm – that, and playing “find daddy's car keys.”

 

The drive to the manor also consisted of much celebration, at least on Ty's part. He once again sang the song about his “other” grandparents. He also sang about how much of a “super awesome and great job” he had done getting ready for the event. Chris did genuinely love Ty's quirkiness in this type of situation, but after an hour and a half he thought he could never be more grateful to see that plain white house with his father's expensive car in the driveway.

 

“Daddy, are we here?” Ty asked when Chris parked beside the fancy car.

 

“We're certainly not there,” Chris sarcastically replied as he pulled the key out of the ignition. He turned to face Ty in the back seat. “We have arrived at your other grandparents' house.”

 

Ty didn’t even wait for Chris to get out of the car before he unbuckled himself and flung the back door open. He leaped from his car seat and onto the gravel driveway just as Chris unfolded his legs and set his feet on the ground. With all his might, Ty pushed the door closed and ran to the front of the car to wait for Chris. As Chris walked up to Ty, the little boy grabbed his hand and yanked as he attempted to sprint to the house. Chris pulled his arm back just a bit.

 

“Ty, slow down. The house isn’t going anywhere,” Chris said. Ty yanked on his arm again.

 

“I’m going somewhere.” Ty paused and puffed out his chest. “I’m going to meet my other grandparents. You don’t care, because you’ve already met them!”

 

After a long moment of staring down at Ty, Chris sighed. “All right.” Chris released Ty’s hand and waved for the boy to continue on the path to the house. Ty beamed and bolted onward just as Chris was struck with a terrible realization. “Wait, Ty!”

 

Chris ran after his son, who he caught just before the boy prepared to knock on the front door. He bent down and grabbed Ty’s shoulders. Ty looked at him with big blue eyes.

 

“Daddy, you said I could go.”

 

“Listen,” Chris told him, “you know how you get angry when you think people are being nasty to me?”

 

“Like Darren’s mommy,” Ty replied in a grudging voice, folding his arms over his chest. Chris pulled Ty’s arms back down to his sides.

 

“Yes, like that. Your grandmother doesn’t know we’re coming. She might not be too happy to see us – well, to see me, anyway. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s possible that she’ll say a few things that you won’t like.” Ty’s eyebrows scrunched together and his lips tightened. His facial expression seemed to be a mixture of anger and confusion. “I need you to stay calm, OK? Please don’t get upset if she does saying anything.”

 

Ty stared at Chris for a few seconds. When next he spoke, his voice was oddly low. “Why would other grandma be mean to you?”

 

“It’s a bit complicated and too much to go into right now. Will you promise me you’ll be all right? No yelling. And definitely no hitting.”

 

Ty looked down at his hands and fiddled with his shirt. “I won’t hit anyone.”

 

Chris smiled and gave Ty a quick hug before standing up. Ty followed Chris with his eyes, which had begun to shine with excitement once more. Chris gestured toward the door. Ty beamed as he curled his hand into a fist and promptly knocked on the door. As they waited for an answer, Ty brought his hands up to his mouth and emitted an odd combination of giggling and snorting. Chris reached over and ruffled Ty’s hair just as the door opened.

 

Cliff stood in the doorway, towering over the two because of the large step from the porch into the house. He nodded briefly at Chris and then glanced down at the fidgety boy.

 

“And who might you be?” Cliff asked.

 

Ty let his arms drop to his sides. He stood as straight as he possibly could while having to stretch his neck back just to see Cliff’s face. “My name is Tyrone.”

 

Cliff turned to Chris with raised eyebrows. “Tyrone?”

 

“I didn’t name him,” Chris replied. He gave a quick shrug. “His middle name is Bunimo.”

 

“Mommy said she was sorry for naming me that, because the hospital people gave her drugs and she couldn’t think when they asked her to name me, but I said, ‘Mommy, you don’t have to be sorry. I like being Tyrone.’” Now Cliff turned to Ty with a similar expression, no doubt astounded by the boy’s ability to ramble. Ty beamed like nothing had happened. “Anyway, lotsa people call me Ty, so you can call me that too if you want, but it’s polite to give people your whole name first. Ms. L. taught us that. I would tell you her whole name first, too, but I can’t remember it.”

 

Ty simply smiled at Cliff when he finished speaking. Cliff looked thoroughly overwhelmed, but seemed to snap out of his trance after a moment. He took a step back and held his arm out behind him.

 

“Well, Ty, would you and your father like to come in and dine with us?”

 

“Yes, please!” Ty jumped up and down a few times. He turned to Chris and whispered, “I’m going to meet other grandma now.”

 

“All right, come on,” Chris said with a laugh as he pushed Ty along into the house. Once in the foyer, Ty examined the pictures hung up on the wall. He stopped and gasped loudly, pointing at one picture of two teenage boys wearing suits in front of a light blue backdrop.

 

“That’s Uncle Alex!” He spun around to Chris and pointed back at the photograph. “Daddy, that’s Uncle Alex.”

 

Chris nodded as he hoisted Ty in the air. “That’s Uncle Alex, yes. This boy next to him is your Uncle David.”

 

Ty glared at the picture. He squinted his eyes and leaned as close as he could. “He doesn’t look like you or Uncle Alex.” He glanced quickly at Cliff. “Or other grandpa.”

 

“He looks more like your grandmother,” Chris told him.

 

Then, as if on some cue, a voice drifted from the vicinity of the kitchen. “Cliff, who is it?”

 

“Just a few dinner guests, dear,” Cliff called in reply. He and Chris shared a nervous look as the sound of footsteps drew closer to the foyer.

 

“Dinner guests? We’re not expecting any–”

 

As soon as she stepped into the room, Alice’s eyes locked on Chris. Chris had a flashback to the last time he had been in the house, a trip that had lasted only a few minutes. Alice had glared at him the same way, had refused to say even one word to her estranged son. This time Chris glared back with none of the insecurity he felt before. He had every right to be here, if only as a guest of his father.

 

Ty must have grown tired of the tense silence, for he wiggled himself out of Chris’s grasp and skipped over to stand in front of Alice. He grinned up at her. “My name is Tyrone. It is nice to meet you. Oh!” He whipped around to face Cliff with a bit of a panicked expression. “It was nice to meet you, too. I forgot to say that.”

 

“You’re forgiven,” Cliff said with a bit of a smile. Chris felt relieved that at least his father seemed to approve of the boy.

 

Yet, Alice had simply shifted her hard gaze to Ty. Kneeling down before the boy, her expression began to soften. She appeared more blank now.

 

“My God, you're practically a clone.” Ty twisted up his mouth and examined his hands, as if he would find there a sign of his uniqueness. Alice shook her head ever so slightly. “May I ask, Tyrone, what it is you're doing here?”

 

“Daddy said other grandpa wanted us to come for dinner so he could meet me.” Ty brushed off his shirt and fixed the hem. He stood tall and smiled for the umpteenth time. “And I wanted to meet him and I also wanted to meet you. I got ready all by myself. It took a long time, but I think I did a pretty good job getting ready without any help.”

 

Then, quite surprisingly, Alice smiled back. Chris questioned if this was actually happening, until he realized that the pause Alice had taken thereafter could not result in any good. “I suppose your daddy was too busy flirting with the mailman to help.”

 

“Um, no,” Ty said, scratching his head, “daddy was just working in the living room, I think.” He glanced over at Chris, who surely had begun to glare at Alice. Ty seemed to understand then the spite behind Alice's tone, and he frowned at his grandmother. He struggled for a few seconds, before finally running over to Chris and hugging Chris's leg. Chris patted Ty on the head.

 

“I don't even know the mailman, thanks.”

 

Alice rose from the ground like a snake in a basket. She straightened her skirt and threw Chris a dirty look. “You don't have to,” she sneered just before returning to the kitchen. Cliff made to follow after her, stopping in the doorway.

 

“You're welcome to have a seat in the salon,” Cliff told the two. “I'll go have a word with your mother.”

 

Chris nodded as Cliff disappeared into the other room. Seconds later, Ty tugged on Chris's jeans.

 

“Daddy,” Ty began, his voice so low that Chris could barely hear. “Did other grandma say something mean to me?” After a moment of hesitation, Chris nodded. “So she doesn't like me?”

 

“No, she doesn't know you yet. It was about me.” Chris glanced over at the kitchen doorway and added in a loud voice, “And it was wrong of her to do that to you.”

 

“It was wrong for you to come here!” chimed Alice from the other room. At this, Chris sighed and felt Ty squeeze his leg again. He pried Ty away and brought the boy into the salon. Ty momentarily forgot his grief, immediately running to the largest chair he could find. He hopped into the seat and sank down into the cushion. His arms stretched to reach the armrests, but couldn't reach. He scooted over to the left armrest and patted the spot beside him.

 

“Come on, daddy, you can sit here, too.”

 

Chris wasn't sure that there would be enough room for the both of them, but he walked over and took a seat anyway. Little room existed between the two boys, but this was no matter, as Ty snuggled up to Chris as soon as Chris was off his feet.

 

“Did you used to live here, daddy?” Ty asked in a soft voice. Chris nodded, confirmed that he had in fact grown up in this very house. Ty was astonished and asked to hear stories. After several moments of thought, Chris provided a story from his early childhood, which he figured would please Ty – and would spare Chris having to explain the complications of his teenage life.

 

 

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Ten - Part Two

 

 

 

The story Chris told was one from the summer of his seventh year. David was only sixteen years old, Alex eleven. Chris had started school the previous autumn, though now the academic year had ended. The three boys played in the back garden one afternoon, as they typically did. That is, Chris and Alex played; David more or less babysat his younger brothers, sitting on the back porch with a newspaper in hand. David had decided that since he had only a few years left until adulthood, he should begin to catch up on all the world's affairs.

 

Chris and Alex, on the other hand, had brought outside a kickball, which they then proceeded to kick at and throw to each other. The game had no real rules, and thus the boys became tired of it quickly. Alex kicked the ball too hard once, sending it soaring over Chris's head and far behind the little boy. Chris sprinted to catch it, but still took several minutes as the ball continued to roll across the wide, empty estate. By the time Chris had retrieved the ball, Alex waited in his spot, watching David scan through his newspaper.

 

“I have the ball, Alex,” Chris chirped. Alex shushed him and pointed at David. For a few seconds, they both watched the teenager. “Why are we looking at David?”

 

Alex shushed him again. He spun around and pulled Chris with him, threw his arm over his brother's shoulder and leaned close. “Listen,” Alex whispered, “I have a plan.”

 

David flipped the page of his newspaper. He saw the two boys huddled and thought nothing of it. Just another example of his brothers playing their stupid games. He returned his attention to the paper.

 

Moments later, Alex broke the huddle. He grabbed the ball out of Chris's hand and took a few steps back. Running forward, he dropped the ball, connected his foot with it as hard as he possibly could. The ball whirled through the air so fast that by the time David caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, it was already too late. David tried to shield himself, but the ball collided with the side of his face, leaving a mark which quickly reddened.

 

To claim innocence Alex and Chris tried to stifle their laughter, but were not at all successful, especially Chris. The little boy let out a roar of laughter at the sight of his oldest brother in pain. Alex soon lost his cool as well, just as David threw his newspaper to the ground. The teen slowly rose from his chair in a manner which he surely had found menacing, though it didn't seem to concern the other boys.

 

Until, of course, David opened his mouth and shouted, “MOTHER!”

 

Alex immediately silenced. Chris still chuckled, but stopped as soon as Alex spit out, “Shit.”

 

“Alex!” Chris yelled, covering his ears with his hands –

 

At this point in the story, Ty gasped. Leaning in close to Chris, he whispered, “Did Uncle Alex really say that?”

 

“He did, and he got in a lot of trouble for it.” Chris told Ty about the punishment both of the younger boys had received: An entire month of doing the dishes before bedtime. Since Alex had been the brains behind the shenanigans, he had to do the washing each night. Alice made sure to cook the greasiest and crustiest food that month.

 

Once Chris finished his tale, Cliff walked into the room. He stopped in the doorway and waited until the other two looked over at him. “Dinner is ready,” he said with a polite, yet clearly distressed, tone.

 

Chris set his hand on Ty's back, pushed gently until the boy hopped off of the chair and scrambled into the other room with Cliff. He climbed into the seat closest to the doorway, but had to rest on his knees just to see over the tabletop. Chris had not considered the fact that their table at home was shorter, thus Ty had never required any type of booster seat in the past. He highly doubted his parents would have one on hand.

 

Yet, as Chris watched Ty lean his elbows on the table, Cliff swooped in with a seat which Chris almost instantly recognized as the same one he had used when he was Ty's age. He shared a brief glance with Cliff, who seemed to have caught on to what Chris was thinking.

 

Then Alice was in the room with two large bowls, one full of pasta and the other full of tomato sauce. Ty wiggled into a comfortable position in his seat as Alice set the dishes on the table. He squealed as he caught sight of the food.

 

“I love spaghetti!” he said with a few claps of his hands. “Not more than grilled cheese, but I love spaghetti, too.”

 

“Yes, we made it just for you,” Alice sarcastically remarked, though the bitter tone was lost on the little boy. Instead, he simply grinned wider and wiggled more, this time because of excitement.

 

“You do have napkins, right?” Chris kept his eyes on Ty, who now began to practically dance in his seat. “Like, a whole package of napkins.”

 

Ty stopped his movement and narrowed his eyes at Chris. “I will be the cleanest, daddy. Not even one spot will be on me.” Quickly, Ty leaned forward and pointed his finger in Chris's face. “And you will be the messy one.”

 

“You're on.” Chris extended his hand. Ty pulled his finger back and shook Chris's hand. “The cleanest one will be the winner.”

 

The dinner itself passed by in almost complete silence, the only real noise being that of forks scraping against dishes and the occasional slurp from Ty's corner of the table. Chris noted every time Alice threw a glance in the little boy's direction, though no sneer ever crossed her face. It seemed as if she simply had difficulty comprehending the boy's existence, perhaps because he was a grandchild she'd never met and was unexpectedly thrust upon her, or perhaps because he could have passed for a five-year-old Chris. Chris felt certain his mother would have loved to have kept him at that age, the age in which he did everything she told him to with no fuss.

 

Ty, of course, would not do anything without a fuss. Not that he was a brat, just that he loved to ask questions, and sometimes those questions just didn't have answers. Chris knew Ty would drive Alice crazy if the two had to spend any extended length of time together.

 

Cliff could probably handle Ty's curiosity. Chris had plenty of memories from when he was growing up of Cliff explaining various subjects to him. Chris would save any and all questions he had about life for Cliff, since he knew he could get an answer no matter what. He realized now that Cliff had made up some of the answers, or had used convoluted language to trick the boy into believing he had received an actual answer instead of a vague rambling speech.

 

After dinner (Ty won the clean contest, as Chris purposely smacked a few strands of spaghetti against his face), Cliff brought Ty up to the attic to examine several old photo albums, presumably the ones Cliff had mentioned to Chris when they met in the bookstore. Not wanting to deal with his mother, Chris decided to join them. The attic felt much smaller than he had remembered – though by the time he left the house he had already become a large boy, in his few final years of school Chris had continued to grow.

 

Ty made the loudest, and most ear-shattering, high-pitched noise when he first laid eyes on a picture of five-year-old Chris. He shouted, “DADDY! That's daddy!” and proceeded to ramble about the resemblance between himself and his father.

 

Cliff laughed at the boy's reaction with such mirth that Chris felt his heart swell at the sight; no matter what had happened between the family in the past, he could clearly see that Cliff loved Ty as he would any of his other grandchildren. It felt almost like a fresh start.

 

But the past still existed. Chris began to feel cramped in the attic after a while. He left Cliff and Ty alone while he strolled around the house. He passed the room which had been his when he lived there, the door closed, and took only a few steps further before glancing back, contemplating peeking in to see what had become of his space.

 

He stared at the door for what felt like hours, fighting with himself. He shouldn't open the door, because it's not any of his business what these people did with their spare rooms. He didn't live here anymore, he shouldn't care.

 

On the other hand, he wanted to know what sort of horrible things they – specifically his mother – might have done to the room, how they might have gone about erasing Chris's existence. He wanted to know and to not be surprised by how awful the change was.

 

And then suddenly his hands were upon the door, one turning the knob, the other pushing gently on the wood. He closed his eyes, just in case he decided at the last second that he didn't want to see after all. A few seconds of standing in the doorway with his vision blocked later, he decided to go for it. His eyebrows must have gone up far past his hairline when he finally saw the room.

 

Nothing had changed. The only difference between the room now and the room when he left was that presently cobwebs covered almost every possible surface, all of his books, the bed, even the corners where the wall met the carpeted floor. As Chris gaped, unable to quite comprehend this shock, light footsteps sounded in the hallway just outside.

 

Alice cleared her throat, causing Chris to jump a bit, as he had been so entranced that he had no idea she had appeared. He spun around, bringing with him a look of utter confusion. Alice's face displayed more of a guilty expression, a demeanor of having been caught doing something wrong or potentially embarrassing. For a while they stood like that, completely silent.

 

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but soon lost the words and merely gestured backward to the room instead. Alice folded her arms across her chest in an almost defensive way.

 

“In case you changed your mind,” she said in a low voice. Chris dropped his hand, already starting to see that perhaps this gesture was not as kind as he might have thought. “But it's not yours. That room belongs to my son.”

 

Chris inhaled deeply, fighting back the surge of frustration which he had known all too well in his teenage years. He took a few steps closer to his mother, prepared to do what he had never done before in her presence and stand up for himself.

 

“That room belonged to me, and if you think that the person I was back then is not the person I am now, then you're wrong.” Chris took another deep breath, watched as Alice stared blankly back at him as if challenging him to make her show some sort of emotion. “Have you ever even looked at what's in there? I mean really look. Because if you have, then you'd know that your son could never be the person you expected him to be. The person you thought he was.”

 

At this, Alice sneered. “What you do is far more important than what you are. You can be one kind of person and still do what is expected of you.”

 

“Fine, then I'm just weak, because I couldn't handle both.”

 

Alice's voice began to rise with every word she spoke. “You're a brat for whining about it. Do you think this is easy for anyone?”

 

“It doesn't make sense for anyone,” Chris shouted back. “What's the point of pretending, and what does anyone else get out of it?”

 

“That boy of yours, what does he get out of you acting so self-righteous?” Alice took a step forward to meet Chris, dropped her arms to the side and held herself with as much confidence and conviction as Chris had always wished he could have. “Does he have two parents who work their hardest to provide him with a nice home, a safe and secure roof over his head? Three healthy and plentiful meals every single day? A nice yard where he can run around and play whenever he feels like it?”

 

Chris began to feel his resolve weakening. He struggled to find the right words with which to beat down Alice. “Ty doesn't need any of that,” he said, so quickly it came out as one long word. “What we have is fine.”

 

“I'm sure.”

 

Chris shook his head. He pushed against the doubt. “No, I do work hard for him, even if my job's not quite steady. He eats well; maybe not the healthiest foods, but he eats what he likes and he doesn't starve. He loves just sitting in our living room and watching movies. Even when he plays, he has the wildest imagination. He can work with anything.” Chris paused briefly to shrug his shoulders. “He sees his mother every now and then. She's busy with school anyway.”

 

Alice narrowed her eyes so subtly Chris almost missed it. The brief pause seemed to calm her down, as she spoke next in a much softer voice. “Is that what's best for him?”

 

“Yeah, because I let him be who he is.”

 

Alice began to tap her foot with clear frustration. “This again. Sometimes we don't get to be who we are. That's all there is to it.”

 

“Clearly, that's not all there is.”

 

“There are standards–”

 

“And who's holding you to those standards? Your parents? They're not around anymore, so you can pull off your ridiculously pretentious mask now.”

 

Then, as if his words had pulled some invisible thread attached to Alice's hand, her palm collided with the side of his face in a split second. She continued to hold her hand up after, seemingly a bit surprised herself. Chris inhaled sharply, feeling the hot sting as his face reddened.

 

“You can say whatever you want to me,” he breathed. “Tell me that I'm a fucking brat and that you disapprove of everything I've ever done.” He quickly glanced up at Alice, who had lowered her hand by this point, though still looked uncertain of what exactly had happened, what was happening. “But I would never hurt my child.”

 

“Daddy?”

 

Both Chris and Alice started at the sound of Ty's voice. He and Cliff had appeared in the hallway moments before, but had done so quietly enough to allow the feuding duo to miss their entrance. Chris turned to Ty, a sinking sensation in his chest as he wondered how much the little boy had overheard.

 

Ty didn't wait for Chris to answer before he spoke up again. “Is it time to go home?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Chris noticed that Ty held a photo album tight against his chest. It looked fairly new, unlike the other albums they had been going through before Chris left. In fact, Chris was sure he hadn't seen that album in the attic at all. But before he let his attention wander too far, he nodded. “Yeah, I think it is.”

 

Frowning, Ty spun around and hugged Cliff's legs. Cliff smiled and patted Ty on the head. Then, the boy headed over to where Chris stood, all the while glaring at Alice like she was a giant alien who had just declared grilled cheese sandwiches to be, in fact, the worst food in existence. Still clutching the photo album in one arm, he reached his other arm up to grab Chris's hand. When Chris felt Ty squeeze tighter than normal, he figured it was meant as a comforting gesture, and squeezed back.

 

“Bye grandpa, bye other grandma.” Ty started to walk away, tugging Chris behind him.

 

“I'll walk you out,” Cliff said, following close behind and leaving Alice alone in the hallway.

 

At the car, Chris realized that Ty had carried the photo album out with them. Chris bent down to grab it from Ty, but before he could, Cliff's hand rested on his shoulder.

 

“It's a present,” he mumbled, perhaps to keep Ty from overhearing. Chris stood back up, eyebrows raised at his father.

 

“Grandpa said it's a very special book,” Ty chimed in with a wide grin.

 

“Did you thank him?” Ty nodded fiercely. Chris thought he might start jumping at any moment. “Good.”

 

Chris tugged open the back car door. Ty hopped inside and climbed into his car seat. Cliff took a step forward.

 

“May I?” he asked Chris, gesturing to Ty. Chris nodded without a second thought. He watched as Cliff half-bent over to fit into the car and began to fasten Ty's seat belt. “Thank you for coming today,” Cliff said to Ty, though his voice was so low that Chris could just barely hear.

 

“It was lots of fun,” Ty replied in an equally quiet tone, but with a clear smile on his face. “Grandpa?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Could you come to eat dinner at our house one time?” Ty flicked his finger at the cover of the photo album, his eyes down to watch Cliff's hands buckle the straps across Ty's chest. “We don't live in a fancy place like you, but you could still come over and we can eat grilled cheese sandwiches and I will show you all of the great movies that we have and we can even watch some of them, too.”

 

Cliff finished buckling Ty in just as the little boy lifted his big eyes to see his grandfather's face. Ty beamed and nodded excitedly, as if trying to coerce Cliff into agreeing. Cliff laughed under his breath and patted Ty on the shoulder.

 

“That sounds wonderful. As long as your father agrees to it.”

 

“Oh, he will,” Ty answered with such confidence that Cliff let out another chuckle. Ty faced Chris and shouted, “Right, daddy?” Then, he cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, “Just say yes.”

 

Chris stared blankly at Ty for a few moments. Shifting his gaze to Cliff, a small smile broke out over his lips. “Yeah,” he said with a quick nod.

 

Cliff moved his hand from Ty's shoulder to the boy's head, patted twice, and stood up from the car. He headed to where Chris stood and waited a few seconds before finally engulfing Chris in a hug.

 

“It was good to see you again,” Cliff mumbled as Chris returned the embrace. “Sorry about your mother.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Cliff let out a short, breathy laugh in response. The two pulled away from each other. Chris shrugged his shoulders and gave his father a wide smile. “She'll never come around and I don't expect her to.”

 

“Keep in touch.”

 

Chris nodded, but wasn't sure what to do next. Awkwardly – or it felt awkward on his part, at least – he set his hand to rest on Cliff's shoulder for roughly five seconds, then tore his hand away and got into the car without another word. Cliff remained in his spot as Chris started the car, backed out of the driveway, and took off down the road.

 

By the time the car finally pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment building, Ty's bedtime had come and gone. Unsurprisingly, the little boy had fallen asleep on the ride home. Chris hated waking Ty, and so he unbuckled the little boy as carefully as he could. Of course, Ty still woke as Chris pulled him out of the car and heaved him over Chris's torso.

 

“Daddy,” Ty mumbled into Chris's chest, his voice muffled by clothing, as Chris began to climb the stairs toward their apartment. “I liked meeting grandpa.”

 

Chris ruffled Ty's hair a bit with his free hand. “He liked meeting you, too.”

 

“But not other grandma,” Ty said with more conviction. “She made me feel angry.”

 

“But you stayed calm. I'm proud of you for that.” Ty went silent after this point, though Chris felt Ty's arms tighten around him.

 

A few minutes later, Chris set Ty down into his bed and pulled the covers over him. Ty blinked sleepily as he clutched the blanket in his tiny hands. Suddenly, his eyes widened and frantically searched the surrounding area. He gasped and informed Chris that his photo album had been left behind in the car. Chris tried to tell him that it would be safe until the morning and that Ty should just go back to sleep, but Ty insisted that having the album beside him was of utmost importance.

 

Thus, to retrieve the album, Chris trudged down to the car and back. The thought of sneaking a peek at the contents before handing the book to Ty didn't actually occur to him until after it rested snugly in Ty's arms. But Ty looked up at Chris and asked him if he wanted to look at the album together. Chris said yes, as he figured Ty would grow tired again after five minutes or so. He figured correctly.

 

Before Ty did fall asleep, though, the pair glanced at a few pages of the pictures inside. Cliff had duplicated several of the photos from the camping trip he had recalled to Chris. Most of the pictures were of the three young boys, as Cliff had been the one controlling the camera. A few of the shots were only Cliff and Chris, and some of them were pictures Chris couldn't remember ever seeing before.

 

As Ty slowly drifted off, Chris took over flipping the pages. Ty had gone silent for such a long time that Chris assumed he had fallen asleep already, but out of nowhere the little boy spoke up, “Grandpa said he would take me to go camping with him like you did when you were little.”

 

Ty said nothing else after that, and Chris gave no vocal reply. He smiled at Ty, whose eyes had closed now, and brushed his hand over Ty's short dark hair. He thought about the anxiety he had experienced leading up to the dinner, and though the evening had not gone completely smoothly, he felt it was a step in the right direction. He knew now that he could at least patch up his relationship with his father, and seeing how well Cliff and Ty had connected in those few short hours, he felt that was good enough.

 

 

[Accola]

This is Buckin fic wrote by my friend. She asked me to post it here (she doesn't have an account herself). I translated it to English, so sorry for any mistakes ;)

Hope you'll like it and enjoy:

 

 

 

Prologue

- Guys! Ten minutes! - shouted a man barely speaking english and left the room.

 

We were sitting in a huge dressing room at some stadium and in a minute we were going to perform one of the lasts shows in Europe from mylo xyloto tour.

 

Honestly, I was good damn happy it’s almost over. I love to play and sing with the band but almost never ending tour made me really tired. Plus neither of us hadn’t seen their families for a long time. Being away from Gwyneth wasn’t good for me. I wasn’t a teenager anymore but my sexual tension wasn’t under control. Seriously, sometimes I was so desperate that I had a dreams about Jonny. My friend lay with me naked in bed. After this I wasn’t able to look straight in his green eyes anymore. Poor Jonny, he didn’t understand what it was all about.

 

-Boys, hurry up! Fans are waiting! – again, the same guy as before, opened the dressing room doors and disappeared as fast as he appeared. We didn’t pay much attention to him, though.

 

Guy lay on the sofa, Will played on Jonny’s guitar and Jonny was sitting on armchair asleep with his head down. He looked so sweet – I know I shouldn’t even think about that, but this guy is so attractive, and I just had to looked at him one more time.

 

- Hey, Chris, you’re staring! – Will whispered and poked me pulling me out of my reverie.

 

- What? – I asked

 

- You’re staring at Jonny. What’s wrong with you, man? – he looked at me with weird looking face.

 

Disapprove? I don’t care. He put dawn the guitar and smiled.

 

- Let’s go, guys! – He said cheerfully, grab his drumsticks and left the room.

 

Jonny didn’t even move a bit, and Guy slowly stand up and said:

 

- Fuckers… - he grab his bass guitar and also left.

 

Jonny was still asleep, and his chest rose and fell with every breath. I made a few steps forward and put my hand on his arm and shook him gently.

 

- Jonny, wake up. They’re waiting for us – I whispered to his ear and waited until his green eyes opened.

 

I have to admit, those were really inspiring green eyes. What a shame we can’t play this song live.

 

It was really nice view to look at him waking up.

 

- Where are we? – he asked still a bit asleep. He stand up slowly and looked around.

 

- In Poland, why? – I said smiling at him

 

- Nothing… I’m just still a bit sleepy. – He grab his guitar, put his favorite cap on and also left, leaving me completely alone.

 

 

I'm not sure if she's going to write more of it :(

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Eleven -- Part One

 

 

 

Another Monday morning. Chris felt, as he heard his alarm blaring from the nightstand to his right, that he hated Mondays far more than Ty did at the moment. Maybe in time the boy would grow to despise those retched days and to long for the weekends, but for now, Ty still loved any and all days in which he attended school. Chris wanted to throw his clock through the window and go back to sleep.

 

Instead, he blindly swatted at the alarm until he hit the off button. Almost immediately after the sound ended, Ty burst into the room, brighter than the block of sun which shone through the window and hit Chris's eye as he turned on his side. The little boy skipped over to stand beside the bed, sticking his face as close to Chris's as possible.

 

“Good morning, daddy,” he giggled. Chris smiled and returned the greeting, though he made no further attempt to get out of bed. Ty waited a few moments, and then ripped Chris's blankets away from him. Chris curled up, still not willing to move, but Ty proceeded to poke Chris in the arm, exclaiming, “You have to get up, there is a surprise for you!”

 

“A surprise?” He tried to sound intrigued, but his eyelids were begging to close once more. Ty gave up on the poking and switched to yanking on Chris's arm. Finally, Chris allowed himself to be pulled out of bed, dragged down the hallway, and shoved into the kitchen, where upon the table sat a full breakfast, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes.

 

Stopped in the doorway, Chris shifted his gaze from the table to the little boy at his side. Obviously, Ty could not have done this himself – and if he had, well, Chris had better get the number for Guinness. By the frown on Ty's face as he stared at the breakfast, though, Chris could see that Ty was experiencing his own surprise at the moment.

 

Ty dropped his hold on Chris and spun around, searching. He mumbled to himself a bit, and then ran back down the hallway. Chris took a few steps into the kitchen, marveling at the spread. From the hall came the sound of a door opening; seconds later, Ty shouted, “There you are!”

 

Chris backtracked into the living room as Ty hopped into the space. He jumped to a spot just in front of Chris, gestured to the opening of the hallway and let out a little, “Ta-da!” At first, Chris watched Ty and wondered how he could have so much energy so early in the morning, but the dark-haired figure which emerged from the hall caught his attention.

 

Tristan stood next to Ty with a wide, slightly apologetic, grin. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sorry, I had to fix my hair.”

 

The breakfast made a lot more sense now, Chris thought. What didn't make sense was why Tristan had come to their apartment on a Monday morning to cook for them – or, more importantly, how Tristan had been able to get in in the first place.

 

Perhaps sensing Chris's line of thought, Tristan stepped forward and ran his hand down Chris's arm. “I thought maybe you would be up a little earlier, but Ty opened the door and then we decided to let you sleep while we made breakfast.”

 

Chris still felt confused, but the rumbling in his stomach demanded priority. The three sat down for breakfast, and over the meal Tristan explained in more depth exactly what had happened. He had brought over some food, intending to surprise an awake Chris and spend some time with his boyfriend while Ty slept. However, he had not anticipated that Ty would be the one to answer the door, but figured that it would be just as nice to spend time with Ty, and to surprise Chris in a different way (which he concluded had been very successful).

 

After Ty finished eating – or, rather, shoveling eggs into his mouth until he could no longer cram in another morsel, and then swallowing all at once, causing Chris to panic at the thought of Ty choking – Chris sent him off to dress himself and gather his school things. He and Tristan continued to talk.

 

“By the way, we're spending the morning together,” Tristan announced. “I have a few plans for us.”

 

In the middle of bringing a forkful of sausage to his mouth, Chris paused. “But... you have to work...”

 

Tristan shook his head with a sly smirk on his lips. He stood up straight, let his eyelids droop and let out a nasty-sounding cough. “I'm not feeling well today,” he croaked. “I have to call out, I'm sorry.”

 

Chris laughed as Tristan gave a bow. “You know what's going to happen is, like in those sitcoms, when someone skips out on work and then their boss catches them goofing off around town, and you'll get fired.”

 

“They can't fire me for taking one day off. I've called out maybe twice in the whole three years I've worked there.”

 

“You've worked there for three years?”

 

Tristan smiled, reached across the table to set his hand over Chris's. “See, this is why we need to spend more time together. Plus, I've hardly seen you since you came back.”

 

Chris recommenced eating. He ran his thumb under the palm of Tristan's hand. “So, what are your plans?”

 

“You'll see.” Tristan removed his hand, shoveled into his mouth the last bit of eggs on his plate. Chris didn't pry further, as he knew he wouldn't get an actual answer, but he did begin to feel the excitement he should have felt earlier when Ty first mentioned the surprise. He had missed Tristan a lot since that night they spent together, and with the stress of speaking to his mother again for the first time in five years, Chris felt he could definitely use a morning like this.

 

After the men had finished breakfast and Ty had readied himself, the time came to leave the apartment. Chris forced Tristan to stay behind on account of the fact that he couldn't show up at his workplace having called out for the day. Besides, he figured, the drive there and back wouldn't take too long. Tristan could surely find something to keep him occupied while Chris was gone.

 

Sure enough, when Chris reentered the apartment no more than half an hour later, Tristan had disappeared from his spot on the couch, where he had sat as Chris and Ty left. Chris slipped his shoes off at the door and set out to find the dark-haired man.

 

Tristan wasn't in the kitchen. The dishes they had used for breakfast had been washed and sat now in the strainer, so he must have been in the room at some point, but not anymore. Chris moved on.

 

The bathroom was also empty. Tristan must have had his fill of grooming himself earlier. Chris, on the other hand, realized that he had yet to relieve himself that morning, and thus figured he could take a few minutes out of his Tristan hunt to do just that.

 

Chris never thought about checking Ty's bedroom, as that seemed to be a ridiculous place for Tristan to have moved into. In any case, Chris's room was closer to the bathroom, so he peered into there first.

 

That was when he saw it: Tristan lay on his bed, leaned back against his pillows, legs stretched in an open V before him, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. Chris stood in the doorway and blinked at him for a while.

 

“Could you believe it?” Tristan began after several moments of silence. “I thought I'd take a quick stroll around the apartment to get my legs stretched, but some strange force sucked me into your room and took off all my clothes!”

 

“Is that so?” Slowly, Tristan nodded. Chris stepped into the room, inched his way to the bed. As he drew closer, he suddenly leaped forward, landed with his knees between Tristan's legs, his hands on either side of Tristan's torso, their faces only inches apart. “Oops, I tripped.”

 

Tristan smiled. “Your room is a dangerous place to be.” He pushed himself up just enough to mash his lips against Chris's.

 

“Was this part of your plans?” Chris asked in a low voice. Tristan watched his fingers trail down Chris's chest.

 

“Actually, no. But as long as we're here...” As the last word left his mouth, Tristan's hands settled on the button of Chris's pants. His eyes flicked up to Chris's and he bit his bottom lip. Chris leaned down again to kiss Tristan, who started the hefty task of removing Chris's clothes. Tristan managed to wriggle Chris's jeans down to just above his knees, before shoving all of his weight forward and flipping Chris onto his back.

 

Chris landed on the mattress with a gasp. He always underestimated Tristan's strength. Tristan held up Chris's legs, now wrapped around Tristan's waist, and slid the jeans the rest of the way off. He pushed Chris's shirt up over his stomach, but must have figured that was close enough, and moved his hands down to Chris's boxers. At the same time, Chris reached for Tristan's, not wanting to be the only one exposed.

 

The rest was just a sweaty blur, albeit an awesome sweaty blur. At least Chris thought so, as he and Tristan, on opposite sides of the bed, slipped their clothes back on. Once fully dressed, Tristan grabbed Chris's hand and led him out of the apartment without a word.

 

They took Tristan's car, presumably because Tristan knew where they were going. Chris stared out the window at the passing scenery, desperately resisting the urge to ambush Tristan with questions of where they were driving, what they'd do when they got there, how long it would be before they arrived, how long before they left again. Though he couldn't quite see it, Chris thought he felt Tristan's eyes glance at him once or twice every few minutes. He wondered if Tristan wasn't trying just as hard not to spill about the surprise.

 

Finally, Tristan parked the car in front of a plain brick building, turned to Chris with a hint of a smile. “We're here.”

 

Chris eyed the building. He felt no disappointment at the sight of such a seemingly uninteresting place; rather, he knew that Tristan would plan something spectacular and try to pass it off as ordinary. If anything, Chris felt even more excited now, itching to figure out what was going on.

 

While Chris was busy staring, Tristan had managed to slip out of the car, slide around the front, and open Chris's door. Chris started as the door opened and Tristan came into view, but he smiled up – and then down – at Tristan as he stretched his legs out of the car and stood.

 

“Should I close my eyes?” Chris asked jokingly as they approached the building's entrance.

 

“No,” Tristan replied quickly, “I want you to see it as soon as you walk in. And you will see it.”

 

Chris scrunched his eyebrows at the last remark, but did not outwardly question what Tristan had said. He let the shorter man lead him into the building, all the while still focused on the statement. Did Tristan mean that Chris might refuse to walk into the building?

 

But Tristan was right. As soon as they entered the little shop, Chris set his eyes upon a truly frightening sight. Right beside the door, set on top of a small platform, stood a mannequin dressed in hippie attire. The mannequin wore a baggy, tie-dye shirt, and an oversized peace-sign necklace. Even more frightening was the mannequin's head, which sported tiny John Lennon-esque glasses, a headband wrapped around a long, dirty blond wig, and a wide grin which had clearly been drawn on with a black permanent marker.

 

“Great,” Chris said, eyes wide and still set on the creepy mannequin. “I'll have nightmares now.”

 

Tristan laughed loudly, grasped Chris's arm and buried his face in Chris's shoulder. “He's a cutie, i'n't he? I knew you'd love him.”

 

Chris shuddered, which caused Tristan to laugh harder into his arm. Tristan let his hands fall to Chris's wrist, tugged on his arm to pull him away from the mannequin.

 

Throughout the shop sat several long, wooden tables, all covered in plastic sheets and supplied with bottles of mysterious colorful liquids, boxes of latex gloves, and large basins. At either end of each table was a kitchen-style sink. While Chris took in all of this, Tristan sauntered over to a small counter on the side of the room opposite the welcoming mannequin.

 

“Hey, you made it back,” a deep voice said as Tristan approached. Chris looked over to see a short blond guy behind the counter, smiling widely at Tristan. But the man's smile quickly faltered as he glanced over at Chris. “Where's your friend?”

 

“I brought a different friend this time,” Tristan replied, waving vaguely back at Chris. “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

Chris slowly walked up behind Tristan as the two continued their conversation. He eyed the wall behind the blonde man and the various articles of clothing pinned to the wall's surface. Plain white t-shirts, tank tops, v-necks, and even several styles of underwear, covered the wall from ceiling to floor. After looking over the collection for a few minutes, Chris felt Tristan's elbow him in the ribs.

 

“What?” Chris asked, turning to Tristan, who smiled at him.

 

“I said I'll do a tank top this time. You can pick yours.”

 

“Um...” Chris glanced briefly at the wall, but looked back at Tristan with an expression of uncertainty. Tristan watched him for a few moments, laughed, and turned back to the blond man.

 

“Two tank tops.”

 

The blond man ducked behind the counter. Chris thought he heard the sound of a drawer being pulled out and then pushed back in seconds later. Sure enough, the blond man returned with two white lumps of fabric in his hands. He set the fabric on the counter, punched a few buttons on the register beside him, and rattled off a number to Tristan. While Tristan removed a few bills from his wallet, Chris grabbed one of the tank tops and held it out for examination.

 

Tristan grabbed his hands, tilting Chris's arms back so that the fabric was pressed against Chris's torso. He smoothed the cloth at the bottom and held it against Chris's stomach.

 

“This'll look really good on you,” Tristan muttered, almost to himself. He grinned up at Chris. Chris hesitated before smiling back, not so sure he agreed with Tristan's comment.

 

Actually, as he thought about it, Chris realized that he had never worn a tank top in his life. He had worn sleeveless undershirts, but looking over the cloth now in his hands, he could see that the two were very different. The undershirts he wore always had a collar which rested at the very bottom of his neck; this tank top had a neckline which plunged so low that he wasn't sure it shouldn't be called a pec-line instead.

 

In the midst of contemplating his fashion history, Chris had been dragged over to one of the long tables. Tristan slipped two pairs of latex gloves from the nearest box as the blond man brought over two dye-stained aprons.

 

“If you guys need any help, I'll be over there,” the blond man said, pointing at the counter behind which he had at first been standing. Tristan nodded and thanked him. He brought a second basin over from a few feet down the table, and dunked both tank tops into the solution in each basin.

 

The shirts had to soak for at least ten minutes before the next step. In the meantime, the men tied on their aprons and snapped on their gloves. Since Tristan had obviously been to the shop before, he undertook the job of showing Chris exactly what to do, how to wring out the cloth once it finished in the solution, how to tie up the fabric with the rubber bands which Chris had not at first seen lying on the tables.

 

Then came the time to actually apply the dye to the fabric. Chris learned that the plastic cover on the table was meant to prevent the messy dye from not only staining the table, but also affecting future sessions. The last thing anyone would want is to accidentally dip a shirt in a spot of someone else's dye.

 

Tristan grabbed the bottle of red dye first and began to make little swirls on his fabric. He admitted to Chris that he had little idea of what it would look like when it was finished.

 

“It's not like I can go about sporting only a tank top in November anyway,” Tristan said with a smile and a little shrug. “If it looks bad... well, I can always turn it into a pillow case or something. I've seen stuff like that in magazines, it's pretty cool.”

 

“You read magazines like that?”

 

“They were in Claire's mum's house. We were waiting for dinner to be ready, and while I love Claire's family, I'd rather read stuffy magazines targeted toward women than listen to her dad go on about his last visit to the dentist. Oops,” he added as he squeezed the dye bottle a little too hard, causing a splotch of red liquid to squirt over his gloved hand. He set the bottle down and reached for the blue. “Anyway, it's funny to see how seriously the articles take themselves.”

 

“I don't think the articles do anything by themselves,” Chris quipped, splashing a dash of yellow dye onto his fabric. Tristan smirked and elbowed him.

 

“Mr. Writer. You know what I mean.”

 

No more than five minutes later, the tank tops were covered in dye and the men were ready to leave. A second employee, this time a blond woman, brought to them two plastic bags meant for the clothes. Each tank top would have to sit for twenty-four hours before the dye could be rinsed out.

 

After shoving the clothes in the bags, the two men proceeded to remove their gloves and aprons, and to wash off any dye which may have strayed onto skin. They bid farewell to the employees, grabbed their bags, and headed back to Chris and Ty's apartment. Tristan once again drove as Chris sat staring out the window. This time he didn't wonder what Tristan had in mind for them; he figured that the tie-dye workshop had been the big surprise, and that once it came time to bring Ty back to the apartment, Tristan might leave and spend the rest of the day on his own.

 

But as soon as Chris opened the door, car keys in hand, he realized that Tristan stood right behind him, fully prepared to tag along on the trip to the school. Chris stopped in the doorway and turned to face the other man.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Going with you,” Tristan said with an obvious tone. Chris tilted his head.

 

“I thought you'd stay like you did this morning.” Tristan shook his head. “But you can't go, you're supposed to be sick.”

 

Tristan inched closer to Chris. “Maybe I'm feeling a little better now. Maybe I need some fresh air.” Chris gave him a look which was meant to convey that his opinion on the matter had not changed. Tristan made a little whimpering noise. “I just want to see Claire! She might think I'm actually sick. She might be worried about me.”

 

“I'll tell her you're fine.”

 

“Can you also tell her to call me when she goes to lunch?” Tristan batted his eyelashes at Chris, who nodded in return. Beaming, Tristan stood on his toes and kissed Chris on the cheek. “OK, I'll wait for you here.”

 

Tristan then swooped over to the sofa and flopped down. He set his head in his hands, rested his arms on the side of the couch, and smiled at Chris, who shook his head with a smile in return. Tristan kept his eyes on Chris as he headed out of the apartment.

 

As always, Ty jumped excitedly as soon as Chris walked into the classroom, roughly ten minutes later. Within seconds of Chris's arrival, Ty had gathered all of his belongings and bolted toward the door. Chris almost didn't realized Ty had even passed him until the little boy was standing in the hallway, tapping his foot impatiently. Chris stared at him with wide eyes as the pair met in the hall.

 

“Come on, daddy, we have to get back home,” Ty said, in a tone much less chipper than normal. Chris briefly wondered if he'd stepped into some parallel universe where their roles had switched; Ty the parent, and Chris the child.

 

Chris stared at Ty for a while, lost in thought, as Ty slowly raised both of his eyebrows. Once the brows reached their maximum height, Ty let out a groan and latch his hand onto Chris's, tugging so hard that Chris actually exclaimed in pain.

 

“Sorry, but you weren't moving!”

 

“All right, calm down,” Chris replied. The desk where Claire stood quickly came into reach. Chris took back control and pulled Ty over to the desk. He informed Claire of Tristan's message, to which she simply rolled her eyes and asked Chris to let Tristan know she would call him.

 

Indeed, not long after Chris and Ty had returned to the apartment, Tristan's cellphone went off. Ty had slipped into his room to put his backpack away and to change into play clothes, while Chris and Tristan lounged on the sofa in the living room.

 

“OK, so once Ty is done, we're going to move on to Phase Two. I think he named it 'Playtime,' but I can't remember exactly.” Neck leaning against the back of the sofa, Chris let his head fall to the side so that he faced Tristan. He raised his eyebrows.

 

“There's more?”

 

“Is that bad?”

 

Chris shook his head. “I didn't realize you planned more.” Tristan gave a sly grin, and then glanced over his shoulder to look down the hallway. At that precise moment, Ty bolted out of his room and toward the men, sporting an old pair of jeans and a light sweater. He stopped only inches from the back of the sofa, and immediately proceeded to bounce in place, pressing most of his weight down each time to lift himself into the air.

 

“Let's go, let's go!” Ty chanted this several times as Chris watched him with a careful expression.

 

Once the little boy settled a bit, Chris leaned toward Ty and whispered, “Where are we going?”

 

Ty mimicked Chris, stifling a grin as he tilted forward. “I can't tell you.” He jumped back to his original position in a flash, and began to hop around once more. This time, though, he did not remain stationary; with each step, Ty brought himself closer to the front door, most likely with the intention of forcing the adults to follow him. It worked, of course. Ty couldn't open the door by himself, but once Chris turned the handle for him, the little boy shoved the piece of wood out of the way and ran out of the apartment.

 

For the third time in a few short hours, Chris slid into the passenger seat of Tristan's car. They had to move Ty's car seat into the back, but luckily the process did not entail much work, and Chris was used to moving the seat every time Ty went to visit Kirsten.

 

Ty provided the music for the drive, belting several improvised songs about surprises, excitement, and how it's not nice to keep secrets from someone, especially a parent, unless the secret is a surprise, in which case it is “lotsa fun.” Tristan joined in after a while, trying to sing along with the chorus as Ty made it up, and even contributing his own verse about watching boyfriends squirm as they try to guess what your surprise is.

 

Chris wanted to sing a song about feeling like an outsider, but by the time he thought of even a few lines, they had arrived at their destination. Ty kindly informed him that singing would no longer be permitted.

 

As soon as Chris unbuckled Ty from the car seat, the little boy slipped underneath him and out of the car. Though he'd already had Chris's attention, he tugged at Chris's jeans several times. With his back against the open car door, Chris looked down at the boy.

 

“Can I go play now?” Ty asked, using his free hand to point to the playground which sat a few hundred feet away from the parking lot.

 

“Go for it,” Tristan answered, before Chris could even open his mouth. Chris shot a glare at Tristan, who returned an innocent look and a shrug. “Kid's been waiting for it all day.”

 

Chris turned back to Ty with a hint of a smile. “Yeah, you can go play.”

 

Ty squealed, released his grip on Chris, and bolted across the grass stretched between the car and the playground. Chris kept his eyes on Ty while maneuvering around to close the car door. Tristan walked around the front of the car to stand behind Chris, who did not realize until Tristan set his hands over Chris's shoulders. The dark-haired man laughed at the fright he'd caused.

 

“That was your second surprise.” Mouth twisted in a stifled grin, Chris pushed his arm back to lightly elbow Tristan in the ribs. But Tristan was much quicker, and managed to step back and dodge Chris's jab just in time.

 

Tristan reached up to peck Chris on the cheek as he walked around the taller man, headed for the trunk of his car. From within he removed a half-used bag of bread, which now sported several patches of mold. Chris stepped over, eying the bread with caution.

 

“Lunch?”

 

Tristan let his head fall back as he let out an oddly loud cackle. Chris didn't think it was that funny. He shifted his cautious gaze from the bread to Tristan.

 

“We're going to feed some duckies, Mr. Martin.”

 

Chris shook his head. “That's not good for the ducks, you know.”

 

Silence reigned over the men for several seconds as Tristan narrowed his eyes at Chris, thinking. He tilted his head and let his eyelids open again. “Really?”

 

“Well, first of all, it's all moldy,” Chris said, flicking the bag with his pointer finger, “but, anyway, ducks can't digest bread like humans can. There's just not enough nutrients for them.”

 

Tristan glared down at the bread with a deep frown. “What am I supposed to do with this, then?”

 

Chris shrugged his shoulders; Tristan sighed with great force. He tossed the bag into the open trunk and closed the top with some melancholy. Chris twisted up his mouth and leaned close to the dark-haired man.

 

“Did I ruin it?”

 

Tristan looked at him with a gloomy expression, his face unchanging for so long that Chris began to fear he had messed up even more than he thought. But then the corner of Tristan's lip quirked up, and Chris felt a little lighter.

 

“We can talk to them, at least.”

 

“I think they'll like that.” Chris stepped forward to press a kiss to the top of Tristan's head, as Tristan grabbed one of his hands and began to lead the pair toward the small pond just to the side of the playground.

 

“Besides, this part of the plan was more for Ty,” Tristan continued as they walked. Overcome with a sudden swell of gratitude, Chris leaned over and kissed Tristan again, this time hitting just below his eye. Tristan laughed and shrugged. “He never plays with the other kids during recess. He stands off toward the doors and just sort of talks to himself.”

 

“He likes it that way.”

 

“Well, sometimes there's this other little girl he plays with. Alicia, I think.” Tristan glanced over at the playground, and Chris followed his gaze. A group of kids crowded around the monkey bars, which drew their attention first; however, Ty was underneath a little platform by the largest plastic slide, his fingers brushing through the tufts of grass at his feet as he mumbled to himself. “But other than that, he's always alone.”

 

Tristan's words hit Chris a little harder with the image of Ty hiding from the other children. He began to feel a bit sorry for the little boy, even though he knew Ty really didn't mind being on his own. His imagination was active enough to make up for the lack of company. Besides, Chris could see that Ty chose this for himself. Ty wanted to be away from the other children, for whatever reason.

 

Chris's thoughts were interrupted by an absurdly loud quacking noise. Tristan whipped around to find a large, green duck waddling in their direction. He bent down and stretched his arm out to the duck.

 

“Hey, mate,” he began, only to be immediately interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He exclaimed briefly, then jumped up and dug the phone out of his pocket. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. “Hi, Claire!”

 

The phone conversation continued as Tristan walked along the edge of the pond. Chris placed himself in Tristan's position before the duck, but the duck wasn't so willing. As soon as he set his feet down, the duck turned around and waddled back to the water.

 

 

[coldplayisawesome]

 

Chapter Eleven -- Part Two

 

 

 

Chris heaved a sigh and sat himself down on the ground, knees to his chest. He twisted so that he could observe Ty, who still sat in solitude. Ty whispered something and began to crack up. Chris could almost hear the little boy's laughter over the sounds of the other children shouting to one another.

 

Moments later, another laugh sounded, this time from Tristan. Chris looked over to the dark-haired man, who continued to smile and almost giggle in a rather flirtatious manner. He spoke into his phone, but Chris was so far into his own thoughts at this point that he did not hear a word Tristan said. Instead, he kept hearing two distinct voices echo in his head...

 

I hope he makes you happy –

 

Chris let his eyes trail over the grin consuming Tristan's face. He thought about the evening they'd spent together during the book tour, the way he almost had to force himself to think of his boyfriend as he fell asleep that night. He liked spending time with Tristan, sure. Tristan was a great guy.

 

– when he doesn't, I hope you find someone else to make you happy...

 

But not quite enough. Maybe if the past month had gone differently, maybe if Chris hadn't gone away, hadn't met up with the one person he could never stop thinking of since the day they met, then the relationship could have thrived. Maybe he and Tristan could have formed some sort of family – Chris shifted his gaze over to Ty, still in solitude – even if it may have been a non-traditional one.

 

Chris knew all of those things could still be possible, but the amount of work he and Tristan would have to put into the relationship didn't seem worth it in the end. Despite what the logical side of his brain screamed at him, he remained hopeful that what Jonathan had said to him would prove true, that the pair would one day be reunited and stay that way forever; that not only did the concept of soul-mates actually exist, but that he had found his already, even though he had only barely lived his life so far.

 

Which brought him to the second voice:

 

It seems like you're waiting for someone else, anyway...

 

It wouldn't be fair for Chris to pretend he had never questioned the strength of their bond, or wondered why they even decided to pursue anything past the first date, which had been, if he was completely honest, a disaster. On top of Tristan ditching Chris for a chance to cling to the past, they had both realized even back then that whatever relationship they might have would only be temporary. Filler.

 

“There's always that one person,” they had said to each other. Chris could never deny it. He was waiting for someone else – and, turning his gaze back to the dark-haired man howling at whatever joke Claire had just made, he could see that Tristan was, too.

 

What he didn't know was why all of this had suddenly hit him, here, in the middle of the day at the playground, after he and Tristan had spent the morning together. He thought he had enjoyed the time, but perhaps the numerous mentions of Claire had sparked something in his mind. Ever since Chris had returned from the book tour, Tristan seemed different. Now, Chris felt like his eyes were opened and he could see exactly what had transpired: Tristan hadn't changed at all. His devotion to Claire only appeared more obvious now, because Chris knew to look for it. If he had the option to go back in time, he felt certain he would have noticed it back when he and Tristan first met, when Chris first brought Ty to the school for orientation.

 

The way Tristan looked at Claire. The way he smiled whenever he spoke of his blonde friend. And they were friends, clearly best friends for who knows how long. Tristan and Claire seemed like the kind of duo who would roam around and completely own the school hallways, despite being the biggest outcasts in their grade.

 

Of course, Chris may have borrowed from fiction for that mental image; he had grown through his teenage years with a very different school environment, surrounded only by boys who tried to impress him simply because his father had power. Chris never had a best friend like that. He might have considered Jonathan for the role, but their relationship still couldn't match, since they had at first only known each other in a romantic sense, and became friends later. Chris had no idea exactly how long ago Tristan and Claire had met, but they acted as if they had grown together since birth.

 

So, Chris and Tristan both had attempted to fill a void that the other simply could not fill. It was hopeless to even try, and unfair for all of the parties involved. It couldn't go on.

 

Chris was brought back to the moment by the loud snap of Tristan closing his phone. His eyes followed Tristan as he stalked back toward the water and sat down beside Chris.

 

“Claire and I are going out for dinner later. Would you and Ty like to join us?” Chris could not answer, or at the very least had no desire to answer. He stared at Tristan as blankly as possible, until Tristan finally cracked and asked, “What happened?”

 

“You and Claire should go by yourselves.” Though Chris had not inflected any malice into his tone, Tristan still looked at him as if he had accused the dark-haired man of some terrible crime.

 

“Chris–”

 

“Tristan,” Chris immediately retorted. “It's OK.”

 

Tristan kept his gaze on Chris for only a moment longer. Then, he looked down at his feet, scratched at the back of his neck. His shoulders sagged just slightly, but enough for Chris to notice. When Tristan next spoke, his voice was much lower, much sadder.

 

“I thought it was going to happen this time. I thought, this is a brilliant guy, very sweet, very dorky in an endearing way. There's a lot to admire about you, but... Well, to be honest, sometimes you make me feel stupid, and not the kind of stupid that people who are in love are supposed to feel.” Quickly, Tristan glanced up at Chris and reassured, “Not that it's your fault. You're just too smart for me.”

 

“You're really intelligent–” Chris cut off his argument as Tristan began to shake his head.

 

“I wanted to be a teacher. That's all I wanted, ever since I first went to school. I wanted to teach kids.” As he continued to speak, Tristan's voice started to crack, and his eyes began to water. “But I couldn't even make it through my second year of college. I spent all of my time doing schoolwork, but I was still failing almost all of my classes. I gave up. I dropped out.

 

“Don't get me wrong. I love my job. It's really working with children that I like the most. Except, when I'm at the school, sometimes it feels like too much. There's all these people who made it, who are doing what they love, and then there's me, who can't do more than make photocopies of permission slips for the next class trip.” Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in his hands. “God, I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about all that.”

 

“Sure I do.” Chris set his hand on Tristan's back. Tristan dropped his hands with a sigh.

 

“I think part of why I like Claire is because we're in the same boat. I don't have to feel so bad when she's there making photocopies with me,” he said with a hint of a smile.

 

“If it makes you feel better,” Chris began, brushing back a bit of Tristan's hair with his fingertips, “I'm in love with someone else, too.”

 

Tristan nodded, nudging his head into Chris's hand. Chris wrapped his arm around Tristan's shoulder and let his chin rest on the back of Tristan's neck. He would miss this, definitely; there still existed a great amount of attraction to the dark-haired man on Chris's part, but every time he thought about a future between them, a real future, his feelings just sort of crumbled away.

 

After a while, Tristan pushed away, smiled up at Chris. “Let's go keep Ty company,” he said, grabbing Chris's hand and using his other arm to push himself off the ground.

 

The crawl space under the slide just barely fit one grown man, let alone two and a small child, but the trio somehow managed to make it work. With Tristan and his father there, though, Ty became a bit more outgoing, and decided to venture outside of the hiding spot. Chris and Tristan were too large to really run around and play with Ty, but they did at least wait for Ty at the bottom of the slide, or stand by the monkey bars to help the little boy swing across. A few of the other kids made an attempt to talk to Ty at one point, but they quickly lost interest and ran off without him.

 

Nearly two hours later, Ty flopped down in a bit of grass and buried his head in his knees. He hadn't seemed upset, but Chris grew a bit worried at the sight of the boy curled into himself like that. When Chris approached Ty, however, he could see almost immediately that the boy looked more exhausted than anything else.

 

Ty blinked slowly a few times as he stared up at Chris. “Daddy,” he said in a quiet voice, “I don't want to play anymore.”

 

“Do you want to go home and watch a movie?” Ty nodded his head, and then proceeded to fall forward into Chris's torso. Chris laughed, and heaved the boy up so that he could carry Ty back to Tristan's car. Tristan, who had been standing a few feet away, must have understood that it was time to leave, as he headed for the car just as Chris got to his feet. Within five minutes, they were all packed in the car, buckled up and ready to leave.

 

Ty ran into the apartment building as soon as Chris let him out of his car seat. Tristan stepped out for a moment; he and Chris shared one last goodbye hug and kiss, before Chris mentioned that he needed to make sure Ty hadn't been kidnapped by the neighbors. Tristan laughed and shook his head, went back into the car without another word.

 

Of course, Ty had remained completely safe within the building. He stood by the door, waiting for his father, and when Chris finally appeared, he grabbed his hand and the two ascended the stairs in silence.

 

Ty curled up on the sofa while Chris stuck a disc in the DVD player. He hit the play button, and then slipped into the kitchen to prepare two wholesome grilled-cheese sandwiches. The film was already well into the exposition by the time he returned, but he and Ty had watched the movie so many times that they both knew every line and action by heart.

 

Once the sandwiches had been consumed, Chris set his and Ty's plates on the coffee table. Leaning back, he stretched his arm over the top of the sofa. Ty shifted over several inches, laid his head on Chris's chest. The pace of the movie had slowed considerably, now that the build-up of the main plot had shifted into the execution of the story, and Chris knew that for the moment Ty's attention had worn thin. Chris reasoned that he was also probably still tired from playing all afternoon.

 

“Daddy,” Ty said in a voice so quiet that Chris almost didn't hear him. “Tristan won't be coming over anymore, will he?”

 

Surprised yet again by Ty's intuition, Chris stared down at the boy, blinked a few times as he thought of how to respond. He figured an honest answer would be best. “No, he won't. But we'll still see him at the school.”

 

Ty sat straight up and glared into Chris's eyes. His unidentifiable expression left Chris feeling a little uncomfortable after only a short while; eventually, though, he broke the eye contact and muttered, “OK.”

 

“Are you sure?” Chris asked, a reflex of sorts. He didn't really want to push the subject, but he didn't want Ty to be upset, either.

 

Now looking toward the TV – though Chris could see that his attention hadn't shifted back to the movie just yet – Ty tilted his head to the right. His eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly toward one another as he appeared to become lost in thought. Chris fidgeted in his seat while he waited for Ty's reply.

 

By the time Ty finally did speak again, Chris had gone back to watching the movie. Once again, he almost missed Ty's soft voice.

 

“Ms. L. read us a story that said when a door closes, then there's a second door that also opens.” Chris glanced down at Ty, who had pushed his eyebrows even closer to each other. His mouth twisted. “Tristan isn't a door, I think, but it means that something else good will happen soon.”

 

Stifling a bit of a laugh, Chris bent forward and pressed a kiss to Ty's forehead. Ty smiled, apparently pleased that he said the right thing. He turned his beam to the TV and spoke with a much louder voice.

 

“Maybe Jonny will come back.”

 

Chris felt a squeezing and burning sensation in his chest at the mention of Jonathan. He knew he had already gotten his hopes up that Jonathan would return one day – but surely it wouldn't happen any time soon. It had only been a few weeks since they ran into one another at the coffee shop, and only a few hours since Chris and Tristan broke off their relationship. Even if Jonathan's speech were to become true, they probably would not even meet up again for another few years. Jonathan was off performing in his jazz band; there was no reason for him to suddenly show up anywhere near Chris and Ty's apartment other than during a tour, in which case he certainly wouldn't be sticking around for very long.

 

No, the door had closed on Tristan, but the next one would not open to reveal Jonathan. And even if it did, well, Chris didn't want to think about it, because he knew he would drive himself crazy if he did. He'd be alert everywhere he went, eyes darting around in search of those brilliant green eyes. Every man over six feet would catch his eye, every tuft of light brown hair would send his heart racing and his mind whirring – Was that him? Could that have been Jonathan? What about that guy over there?

 

But he could let Ty hold onto his hope. It might not be easy to hear the little boy talk about Jonathan, but Chris knew he could suffer through it. Plus, Ty seemed so certain when he spoke. Knowing Ty's knack for this sort of thing, Chris thought it at least plausible that the boy could be right.

 

Chris had been internally fighting himself for so long that he far passed the chance to add any comment to Ty's statement. Instead, he kept silent, and tried to rein in his thoughts as the rest of the movie played. Once the first movie had finished, Ty selected another DVD to watch; then another as the end credits rolled on the second movie. Chris thought about sitting at his computer and working on the article due the following week, but ultimately he decided to spend the time with Ty. One night wouldn't hurt.

 

Anyway, he was able to write the bulk of the article the next day while Ty was in school. It hadn't been as awkward running into Tristan that morning as he thought it might have been. Of course, Claire had been elsewhere when Chris and Ty entered the building. Perhaps if the three of them had been in the one area, Chris might have felt differently. In any case, their interactions went smoothly, and so Chris lost barely any time fretting, and was able to get even more work done than he had expected. He only stopped once it was time to retrieve Ty.

 

For roughly another week, Chris and Ty's schedule remained this way. Chris brought Ty to school as usual, sometimes stopping to talk to Tristan, other times just waving as he walked past. He didn't believe anything had happened yet between Tristan and Claire, but he could see they had already started to grow even closer. Oddly, Chris felt a deep sense of happiness for Tristan. He'd be far better off with Claire than he ever would have been with Chris.

 

After doing any schoolwork he had brought home, Ty would either watch a movie, or play some sort of game with Chris. One night, in the midst of an intergalactic heist, their concentration was broken by a loud knock on the door. Despite the interruption, Ty never broke character.

 

“It's the Space Police!” he said in a hushed voice. “Quick, put on your disguise and answer it. I'll hide.”

 

Chris dropped the imaginary gun he held and headed for the door. He was stopped by an odd squeaking noise Ty made. He glanced over to see the boy frantically waving to him.

 

“Daddy, the disguise.”

 

Ty pointed to his pocket, and then his upper lip. Chris blinked several times. He hadn't thought Ty was serious about the disguise – though he should have known. Ty always took playtime seriously.

 

Chris stuck his hand into his pocket. He removed from it a small piece of paper with a fake mustache attached, a cute little strip of false facial hair which Chris had bought for Ty from a gumball machine. Little did he know as he pulled the plastic cup from the gumball machine that he would be the one to wear it. He peeled the mustache away from the paper and stuck it over his own stubble.

 

Ty was really lucky that Chris loved him so much.

 

With a bit of a sigh, Chris pulled open the door to the apartment. He hoped that whoever was on the other side would understand, that he wouldn't have to be embarrassed as he explained why exactly he donned a fake mustache, especially when he was clearly capable of growing a real one.

 

What he didn't expect to find behind the door was a man over six feet with light-brown hair and green eyes. Chris felt his entire body freeze, everything except for his heart. Jonathan looked a bit scruffy, even more so than when they had met at the coffee shop. His clothes seemed a little baggy and dirty. But Jonathan himself stared at Chris with quite a smile on his face. Chris forgot all about his mustache, and jumped forward without hesitation to wrap his arms around Jonathan. To make sure this was real.

 

“Nice mustache,” Jonathan spoke, a soft laugh under each word. He let a few seconds pass before speaking again. “I'm glad you guys didn't move, or I wouldn't know where the hell you were.”

 

Chris couldn't speak; he couldn't do anything more than squeeze his arms a little tighter around Jonathan's shoulders. Jonathan responded with a similar move, though his arms were around Chris's midriff. The two stayed that way for a long time –

 

Until rustling sounds broke the silence and Ty shouted, “What's going on over there?” Chris slid his hands over Jonathan's shoulders as he pulled away, staring into the green eyes he had missed for far too long. Ty appeared around the edge of the door, still standing to accommodate the imaginary space armor he wore. But he quickly dropped the facade as he stared up at Jonathan. Instant recognition lit his eyes.

 

“Jonny!”

 

Ty bolted for Jonathan's legs, probably meaning to hug Jonathan's kneecaps, but Jonathan knelt to the ground just before Ty reached him. They shared a hug similar to the one Jonathan had just shared with Chris. Jonathan laughed as Ty did a bit of a dance in his arms.

 

“You've gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw you.”

 

“When you saw me, was I really little?”

 

“You were really little,” Jonathan affirmed, leaning back and setting his hand down toward the ground to show Ty how small the boy had been. “About that tall, and you could talk, but not exactly English.”

 

Ty giggled. “I always speak English now.”

 

“I'm sure with your dad being a writer, you probably know how to speak English better than I do.”

 

“I wouldn't say that,” Chris interjected. Jonathan looked up at him and smiled.

 

“Hey, I didn't know you could say anything at all!”

 

Chris tried to smile back, but still felt too shocked to really move. “Why don't you come in?”

 

Jonathan glanced over at Ty, who stepped back far enough to allow Jonathan into the apartment. He stood and walked past Chris. Chris thought his legs might turn to jello if he tried to use them, but he knew he couldn't just stand in the doorway for the rest of his life. He closed the door and took a few steps forward. Sure enough, he did feel shaky on his legs, but was able to cover it up by holding onto Jonathan's shoulder for support.

 

With a quick announcement that he would be right back, Ty ran off to his room, leaving the two men to themselves. Chris had so much he wanted to say, so much he was trying to say in his head, but which he could not bring himself to actually utter. When he opened his mouth, he found he could only get out one question:

 

“Is this it?”

 

Almost immediately, he wanted to hide his head in embarrassment; as it was, he could already feel his cheeks redden. It was something which under normal circumstances he'd have thought about saying, but would have decided against actually letting the words out. This time, he had no control. It had just sort of shot out of his mouth, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

 

The three small words seemed to convey enough meaning to Jonathan, at least. He shrugged a shoulder and replied, “My band split. We knew it was coming soon. We've been fighting like mad. Thought I'd live with my mum for a while...”

 

Then he looked at Chris, as if to say that it was Chris's decision from there. The pressure sent a terrible burning sensation up Chris's throat. “I don't have a boyfriend anymore.”

 

Jonathan nodded, thought for a quick second. “Are you sure?”

 

Chris thought he saw one of Jonathan's eyelids flutter down in a wink, but he wasn't entirely certain, and he couldn't ask, because Ty came rushing into the room only moments later. Judging by the smile on Jonathan's face, though, Chris hadn't simply imagined the gesture.

 

Ty explained to Jonathan that he had gone to grab an extra set of armor for the man. Jonathan accepted it with a polite nod, and suited up within seconds. Next, Ty handed him a gun, as well as a duffel bag – Jonathan would be the one to carry the loot from the job.

 

Chris stood dumbfounded for a while, until Ty tapped him on the arm and told him that he needed to get his armor back on. As Chris moved his hands over his body to mimic dressing, he realized that the fake mustache still stuck to his face. Realizing then that he had just had a serious semi-conversation with Jonathan while wearing a mustache meant for children, Chris momentarily lost the desire to continue playing with Ty, instead wishing he could shove himself under the sofa until so much time had passed that no one could possibly remember he had ever even been close to a fake mustache in his life.

 

He couldn't do that, of course, and a voice in the back of his head told him that braving such embarrassment would provide a good example for Ty. He could push through this if he convinced himself he was doing it in the name of good parenting. He ripped off the mustache, shoved it back in his pocket, and resumed putting on his armor.

 

The heist went off with only a few minor mishaps: The Space Police really did come after them, but Ty was able to shift the spaceship into manual control and navigate toward a large patch of meteors, where they proceeded to lose the officers. When they landed back on the home planet, Ty accidentally drove right into a parked spacecraft. He made sure to leave his space insurance information and a note of apology.

 

Finally, they arrived at their space apartment, safe, sound, and in possession of over ten billion British space pounds. They celebrated a little at the successful completion of the job – Chris wrapped Jonathan up in a hug, so excited that he actually lifted Jonathan a few inches off the ground, and then became embarrassed again – after which they settled that they would split the money three ways, each person free to do whatever they pleased with their share.

For a while, they imagined ways to spend their money. Chris said that he would buy a nice mansion for he and Ty to live in (throwing furtive glances at Jonathan every few seconds to judge the other man's expressions). Ty would invest his money in the space stock market and let it go from there. Jonathan bought with his money an array of musical instruments, not only for jazz, but for any and all possible genres. He spoke with much more passion about his purchases than either Chris or Ty did; Chris felt a swelling in his chest, and even Ty seemed to be in awe of Jonathan's demeanor.

 

Eventually, it drew close enough to Ty's bedtime that they had to end their play. Ty frowned, but did not fight. As he once again dropped his act, Ty scuttled over to Chris. He leaned in close and gave his father the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Daddy, can Jonny sleep here tonight?”

 

Chris smiled with a slight sigh. He directed his answer at Ty, though clearly he was speaking to Jonathan. “He can stay if he wants.”

 

He glanced over at Jonathan just as the other man threw him a smirk. Their eyes met, and he knew: They would never have to be apart again.

 

 

 

The... end??? :surprised::surprised::surprised:

 

 

 

[BeACartoonHeart]

.

[Changeling]

Princess Of China (starring Rihanna)

 

 

 

Once upon a time in a land far from here, was a young princess. Everybody wanted to be her but they never wanted to be caught up in her tower, so they abandoned her. She felt neglected so she got her songwriters to write her songs about Russian Roulettes, Rude Boys and Diamonds. Still nobody understood what it would be like to be up on her high horse tower. But then four middle-aged British men came along.

The first man was bald, he was the youngest of the lot and liked to play the drums. He had heard about the young princess in the tower and he felt that they belonged together, seeing as he was the prince of fabulousness. He instantly caught the next cab to her tower and begged for her to let down her long hair so as he could climb up and meet her. But there was two small problems. 1) The princess was repulsed by his lack of hair and 2) Her hair was far too short and shaved at the sides. She told him to get lost.

The second man was only slightly older than the first, but he was extremely good looking. He played bass in the same band as the others. This man was different than his three friends though. They were English yet he was Scottish. When this man went to visit the princess, it started raining. The princess desperately invited him to stand under her umbrella, but the man turned out to love rain. He was disgusted that she would ask him to do such a thing and left immediately after taking some pictures of the landscape.

The first toy boys had told their guitarist friend about the princess in the tower, and the guitarist didn’t believe them. But the next morning the guitarist was curious and he soon found himself in the location of the tower. He looked high up in the morning sunlight and was shocked when he saw a beautiful woman smiling back down at him. He blushed and pulled out the guitar he had brought with him. He strummed the tune loudly so that she could hear. “Are you not going to sing for me?” She teased. The man blushed and mouthed to her that he can’t sing. This boy was too shy for her liking, she only liked rude boys. So she ignored him as he sat by the lake and continued playing.

Now the fourth and final British man was jealous that the other boys saw the princess and he didn’t, he was also curious of where his friend the guitarist had gotten to. He had taken the information of the whereabouts of the tower off his two rhythm section friends and he soon took off. The journey wasn’t that long and he was surprised when he saw the tower after only a few short minutes. He instantly ran to the tower. “Oh fair princess, please show me your gorgeous face!”

A few minutes later she appeared at the window, beaming down at him. “Yo!” She yelled at him laughing, he was taken aback by her informal use of words. “May I have the privilege of knowing your name?” He asked, ever so kind and gentle. “The name’s Rihanna, but you may call me RiRi.” The man was confused so instead he attempted to climb the walls of the tower. He reached half-way when he heard the beautiful melody. He paused, wanting to know who was singing this beautiful song. “You really hurt me...”

He looked below him and saw his beloved guitarist. He let go of the tower and fell gracefully to the ground. The two men ran off shortly after that, hand-in-hand. The princess was hurt deeply and fell to the floor of her tower, softly singing.

“Your mind’s in disturbia, it's like the darkness is light

Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?

Disturbia, ain’t used to what you like

Disturbia, disturbia”

 

 

[Texas Rez]

This thread just gave me an idea of writing a Rezzy Leon fanfic with Rezzy meeting Coldplay backstage! :dance:

[coldplayer#16]

Accidental Boyfriend - Prologue

 

 

NOTE - Loosely based on actual events . . . incredibly loosely based:

 

 

 

My name is Chris, I'm a high school senior and now officially hate skiing. Allow me to explain:

 

It was the third week of skiing at school, and I have to say, not my strong suit. I'm too tall and disconnected from my legs to know how to do those damn stop turns, and it doesn't help that Guy is a snowboarder. And he's good at it.

 

He's done nothing but take me, a rookie, down black diamonds and enjoying watching my many failures. I don't know why I don't ski with the underclassmen, maybe it's a sense of seniority I have. I have no idea what I'm doing and would probably be laughed at by them too. 

 

Despite that fact, I still ski with Guy, he's one of my few friends that skis/snowboards, even if we are quick to get at each others' throats. I put up with him for fear of the permanent title of "loser", something I'm very close to.

 

"HURRY UP, MARTIN!" I heard Guy say, his inner Scotsman shinning through, "I'M GOING EASY ON YOU, THIS IS ONE OF THE EASIER HILLS!!"

 

"I'M COMING!" I yell back, getting my ground as well as I can. I can heard Guy sigh and know he's rolling his eyes behind those damned goggles.

 

"I'M GOING TO GO AHEAD, I'LL MEET YOU AT THE BOTTOM!" I hear him yell, "TRY NOT TO FALL THIS TIME!"

 

"FUCK YOU!!" I yell to him, but I'm pretty sure he didn't hear me. 

 

I get my ground and pull myself forward with the poles, beginning the long downhill run. I know it's an easier hill, but again, I'm new, I only know so much. I managed down the first half, knowing Guy was stopping at the corners to keep an eye on me. It was embarrassing, I have to admit, but I do my best to ignore him. He's trying to help, but he does it in the oddest way.

 

I reached the base to head down the second half of the hill, when I see Guy has stopped. He's even got one of his boots out of the snowboard's grip, which is not normal. He was talking, laughing even, with some other person. I approached slowly, stopping just a few inches away.

 

"Chris, finally!" Guy said, "You remember Will, right?"

 

I look at the unknown figure, up and down, and then he pulls down the face protector. I recognize the face now, even not seeing his eyes, is out-of-place smile is an obvious feature of a good friend.

 

"Of course I do!" I said, shaking hands with him "Haven't seen you since primary school! What are you doing here?"

 

Will laughs and just looks at me, "Skiing, what else?"

 

"I thought you moved further away than this, wouldn't you go to-"

 

"We moved again, we're a bit closer now than before," he explained, "and I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Jon," he pointed to the guy next to him, "he's a year below us, but he's a bright boy."

 

"Hi," the kid said, his voice was soft and muffled by his scarf.

 

"Speak up, mate!" Guy said, shaking the other kid's hand, "Name's Guy, and that's Chris."

 

"Howdy," I said, waving.

 

The other kid just stared at me, he didn't say another word, and I wondered what he was looking at. His hair was hidden by his hat, his helmet over top, goggles on and the high scarf covering up his mouth.

 

"Hi," he finally said.

 

I don't know what it was about him, but even though he was all covered up, I thought he was . . . different. I don't know how to put it, but he was different. It was a good kind of different. And that feeling didn't leave me, I had it for the rest of the evening. We went into the lodge to get something to eat before we left, hoping to see Will and Jon again.

 

We didn't see them right away, the first thing I saw was a couple. She was a blond with her boyfriend, who had a much darker color hair in contrast to hers. Their hands were woven together and they were sharing earbuds. Both had glasses, too, and it was the most stereotypical case of geeks in love I'd ever seen. The  girl appeared older, but it didn't seem to bother her. She turned to her boy and kissed him.

 

I rolled my eyes at the PDA and looked up. Who else was standing there but Guy, Will, and a now unmasked Jon. I swallowed hard and walked over to the table, that odd feeling hadn't gone away, in fact, it had gotten worse looking into those green eye and strawberry-blond curls. I was in for one hell of a long, awkward conversation. 

 

 

[coldplayer#16]

Coldplay in Wonderland

 

Part 36:

 

 

 

NOTE: This is all pre-hiatus, I just rediscovered it and have not touched it really since I originally wrote it. So yeah, sorry if it makes no sense. Anyway, on with the story:

 

 

 

 

The man, as you may have figured out and I may have mentioned, is the king's brother. He is nothing more than human, flaws and all, one of them just so happens to have been disobedience. This is how he ended up with a demon controlling his life, his kingdom, for the last fifteen years.

 

He was still young and foolish at the time, only about age 18, when the incident happened, but he had taken over quickly and harshly. He loved it, or at least the demon did. He fought it for the longest time, and even now he could still get through, but only briefly.

 

----

 

Back at the castle, things had calmed down a lot, it was dark and the young prince and his sisters were asleep. Chris's arm had been re-bandaged and he didn't bother with a shirt anymore (his upper body was almost entirely covered by bandages). The rabbit and Hatter decided to talk, not snog, actually talk about battle plans while leaving Tori blind.

 

"I wonder what they're talking about," the girl said, her hand lightly gliding over Phil's back.

 

"Dunno . . ." Phil said with a contented sigh, letting out purr after purr.

 

"You don't get any attention do you?" The cat just purred and and didn't say anything, which Tori took as a yes.

 

There was a knock at the door, "Victoria? Are you in here?" The voice belonged to the queen, and the girl moved Phil to the bed and got up.

 

Tori opened the door and smiled, "I am."

 

The queen held out a set of clothes for the girl, "Seeing as to how you're accustom to trousers over the dress, my husband managed to find a spare set of his pajamas for you to have."

 

"Royal pj's," Tori laughed, "Thank you."

 

The queen smiled, "Don't get too excited, they're nothing fancy."

 

"I can imagine, you and your husband don't seem like the super ritzy royals."

 

"We aren't," the queen said, "We dress like anyone else would, at least here, and the only nicer clothing we have is for special occasions."

 

"I admire that."

 

"Yes, well, I'll leave you to change," the queen said, "Good night."

 

"Night," Tori said, turning to Phil and shutting the door behind her, "Right, beat it Phil, I'll just be a second."

 

The cat sighed, "Women." he disappeared and Tori started to change into the clothes she was given.

 

They were rather baggy, the pants draped down past her heels and the shirt covered up her fingers. Now, she was not short, a pretty average height, but even this was strange. The oddest part the fact that the fabric on the back was much thinner than it was in the front to the shirt, which only made sense after Tori thought of the fact that the king had wings.

 

"Knock knock," said a voice, Phil reappearing on the bed, "Whoa!"

 

"What?" Tori asked.

 

"Those are way too big for you."

 

"No shit."

 

"My my, aren't we little miss priss?"

 

"Oi, mind it."

 

"Why, you gonna stab me?"

 

"I might."

 

Phil was surprised by the response, but he just shrugged and flipped over onto his back and made his best kitten face at the girl. Tori laughed and sat down, Phil climbing into her lap and curling up, purring as she started to pet him.

 

The Hatter knocked and then swung the door open, Chris back to his usual, adult self just behind him. 

 

"You alright?" the mad man asked.

 

"Fine, yeah," Tori said, "why do you ask?"

 

"No reason," Jon looked her up and down, "Stand up."

 

"Okay, why?"

 

"Stand up," he said again, a sterner tone in his voice.

 

Tori did as the mad man asked, standing up and trying not to trip on the baggy pajamas. The Hatter smiled and grabbed the back of the pants, pulling them up a bit higher on the girl's waist. He took a safety pin and hooked the folds together, making the waist fit better and also shorten the pants slightly. The mad man then went to folding the legs up and pinning those in place.

 

"There, that ought to do it," he said, "better?"

 

"Yeah, thanks," Tori said.

 

"Of course."

 

"Hey, where am I staying?" the girl asked, "I've been wondering for a while, after the ambushes today and all that's gone on-"

 

"We've thought about that, actually," the Hatter smiled, "You're not moving, you and Chris are spending the night together."

 

Tori's and the rabbit's eyes went wide and Chris turned to the mad man, "Excuse me?!"

 

"What? You're closest to her, and you're incredibly protective. Plus, you almost never sleep, you'll be fine!"

 

"Jon, you did not-"

 

"I know I didn't say anything, but like I said, it'll be fine! Besides, you two were out cold ealier in the same cot, I assumed that this wouldn't be an issue."

 

"You just like embarrassing me, don't you?!" the rabbit snapped.

 

"Well, yes, I do, but-"

 

"Shut up," Tori said, "it's fine, I'm tired and really do not care anymore."

 

"Right, so it's settled," the Hatter said, "Phil, come along, you're with me. Oh, and Chris, grab your things, we still need to chat."

 

"What?!" the rabbit squeaked.

 

"Fine," Phil sighed.

 

"Um, Jon, I- I don't think-" the rabbit stammered.

 

"Shut up and move," the hatter said, "I have your pj's, if that's what you're worried about."

 

"No, I'm sure I have a pair here, somewhere."

 

"You do?"

 

"I think."

 

"Well then, it's been a while, and they're probably too short," the mad man looked at Tori, "take out the tucks and put the other pj's on. Chris, find the other pajamas and give her those, you'll sleep in the ones she's got."

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 1

 

Hello there guys, I have finally decided to post my story here •U• So I am apologising in advance...Feedback would be wicked! And tips and what not! x :D

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

(In Jonny's PoV)

 

 

It was another day in New York City.

 

The streets were bustling and noisy, the overcast had disintegrated leaving a glossy blue sky in place with the odd wispy cloud, the air was mild but had that sharp nip to it that would unexpectedly send shivers down your spine.

 

I strolled along in my tatty black and white high-tops, they may have obtained the occasional rip or tear, but these trusty shoes had lived life with me for many years and I wasn't planning to end our relationship without a fight.

 

I edged around the gum smeared on the grey pavement.

It disgusted me how much gum was stuck on the street. Almost like it had rained tiny pieces of chewed up gum and the bull-like people had came and trampled it flat.

 

When I first came to New York, it wasn't what I'd expected.

I suppose that is the outcome from watching way too many movies.

 

Over the course of the three years I've lived here, I've grown accustomed to navigating my way through the streets and dodging the frantic shoppers on their travels.

 

The air is usually congested with the smoke from the car engines, but mainly from the bright yellow taxis, or cabs as I should say, I wouldn't make a very good American. I'm far too English for this kind of language.

Next thing I know I'll be saying candy instead of sweets.

 

Oh God, that will be the day.

 

As I muse to myself, my pace decreases, and just as I happen to glance down at my watch, I realise I'm going to be late.

 

There isn't much change there I suppose.

 

I unconsciously decided to quicken my pace, I can't afford to have my wages docked. Again.

 

Last time I almost missed my rent. Again.

 

I'm sort of on my last legs with this flat, (or apartment as my American dwellers would say) and I'm pretty sure my landlord wants rid.

 

This wasn't how I planned my life to turn out like.

I came to New York, just like most people do, to escape to the big city and score my wildest dreams.

 

But instead I got tied down to a dead-end job in a lousy flat, with little or basically no spare money and yet my dreams remain on their list, untouched.

 

But I suppose I should be thankful for what I do have and I am.

 

I round the corner with ease, shoving my cold hands into my jean pockets, carefully avoiding the furious man passing me hastily with a large cup of coffee in his hand.

 

I bet he's glad I'm cautious, he is a very lucky man. If that had have been anyone else, he would be wearing that coffee right now.

 

I almost snickered at the thought but quickly stroll on as I know time is ticking frantically.

 

I spot the sight my eyes are craving to see, the black and white zebra crossing that has my high-top's name on it as I quickly dash across it, nearing my location.

 

In the distance, I spot the blue trade-mark van parked along the sidewalk, I stop as soon as I'm right beside it, sheepishly trailing my eyes along to the back of the van where my boss is unloading different pieces of equipment.

 

"Jonny," he droned, finally looking up towards me, "You've finally decided to join us, finally got your lazy ass of the couch and got to work, eh?"

 

"-Bout time," he mumbled as he balanced a cigarette between his lips, his deep American accent the only sound I could hear as his head disappeared into the van, pulling a long, metal ladder out with him.

 

"Sorry Pablo, you know how it is," I apologised sheepishly, he was growing used to my frequent excuses and I fear that someday he'll get sick of them.

 

He shot his dark eyes up towards me.

His face was relatively thin with a neatly trimmed beard along his tanned jawline and upper lip, his hair short, dark curls tucked neatly under a baseball cap.

 

"Got us something big today Jonny," Pablo purred as he drew a breath from the cigarette, small ashes fell from the cigarette and into the bitter wind.

 

"What?" I asked, part of me felt disappointed. As much as I'm happy that Pablo's business is taking off, it is a lot more easier to wash windows for little old ladies at ground level than the huge buildings of New York.

 

"Up there," he nodded towards the large building behind me.

 

I turned towards it, the pristine windows complimenting the slickly silver exterior.

 

"That?" I asked.

 

How in God's name did Pablo manage to get this job?

 

"Yep," he said nonchalantly, although I knew he was bubbling with excitement, "Everyday from tomorrow,"

 

"Everyday?"

 

"Of course! Do you see those windows? They need washed once a day to keep that shine," I rolled my eyes.

 

Pablo smiled slyly and leaned in closer, "There could be a raise in it for you,"

 

My eyes suddenly brightened, the prospect of a raise certainly disentegrated any apprehension.

 

"You better not fuckin' mess this up Jonny," he said seriously, "This could be our big break,"

 

"Oh yes," I played along, "I can see it now..." I waved my hands in the air mystically, "Pablo and Jonny, two multi-millionaire window cleaners," I quipped sarcastically.

 

"Less of the mouth you and get your ass of up that ladder," his eyes twinkled with humour as he shoved a yellow bucket into my chest.

 

"Hey I thought we weren't starting until tomorrow?" I quizzed, my eyebrows furrowed together.

 

"The early bird catches the worm," Pablo called in a sing-song voice, "It's best you get started on it now,"

 

My eyes followed Pablo as he hopped into the drivers side of the van.

 

"Where are you going?" I asked him suspiciously.

 

"I'm off for a beer," he said with a slight smile, "The equipment is on the pavement, I'll be back in an hour,"

 

I stared at him with furious eyes, "You're just leaving?" I snapped incredulously.

 

"Hey don't give me that look, I'm the boss remember?" he raised a dark eyebrow.

 

I glared at him, he smiled sheepishly and started up the engine, sensing it was best if he got the hell away.

 

With a slight wave, Pablo chugged away in the rusted van and onto the road ahead.

 

I turned on my heels to frown at the equipment stacked against the wall.

 

Great.

 

Now we were starting a new job, with more space to fuck up upon, and I was alone.

 

Typical.

 

I filled the yellow bucket up with hot water and swirled some soap into it, watching as the lazy bubbles formed in fluffy blobs at the surface.

 

I grabbed my sponge and began to position the ladder, deciding it were best to begin with the highest windows, almost forty feet up.

 

Luckily I wasn't afraid of heights.

 

I didn't have many skills, but I wasn't afraid of heights, so that was at least something.

 

I slid the metal ladder up with slick ease, when you've been washing windows as long as I have, you grow accustomed to dealing with such tall equipment.

 

I pulled away the ladder, pushing it carefully towards the sky.

 

As soon as it was all rolled out, I leaned it against the building and locked it in place.

 

Pulling my belt of equipment around me and grabbing my bucket and sponge, I headed up the ladder and watched as the pavement below me grew further and further away.

 

When I'd reached my chosen window, I carefully pinned the bucket onto the small hook, holding it in place as I shoved my sponge into the bucket.

 

I sighed boredly as I watched the ground below me, the small people rushing around, too busy with their own lives to care about the simple things around them.

 

I mused as the sponge absorbed some water in my hand, my eyes trailed away to the tips of the trees, watching as their emerald leaves rustled in the breeze.

 

Suddenly my eardrums caught something I wasn't expecting.

 

I listening carefully as a voice roamed around the air and flowed into my ears, the soft melodies of a Beyoncé hit by my recognition.

 

As I listening carefully, the voice began to properly belt out the lyrics, my eyes narrowed as I tried to recognise the voice as either male or female.

 

I couldn't tell over the sound of Beyoncé on the radio, but all I knew was that the voice was utterly angelic.

 

I couldn't help but feel a smile creep onto my lips as I heard the sweet voice sing higher, this was a person with true talent.

 

No one could hit those notes, yet have that distinct quirky-ness.

 

I found myself drawn to this voice, I would pay to listen to this singer!

 

I almost forgot about my job, until I realised the sweet voice was coming from the small opening in the window.

 

I deciding to use my sponge as an excuse to peer into the window, reaching inside the bucket and giving it a squeeze, before placing it against the glass pane, my eyes carefully absorbing the sight.

 

I was met by the view of a man, a youngish man wearing quite casual clothes for the office building I was washing, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

 

He had a wild mop of unruly curls on his head, from my position, he seemed quite tall.

 

I couldn't help but chuckle out loud as I watched the man, he danced quite passionately and uncoordinatedly as he sang loudly- the owner of the voice.

 

In his hands were holding two cups which he was trying hard not to spill as he danced his way around the room.

 

I grinned at him as I watched his expression, eyes closed in complete and utter passion.

 

Part of me felt like a stalker, but the other part of me knew this was the most interesting thing that could happen to me in this job.

 

Usually the most I got to see was little old ladies watching Cash In The Attic.

 

Suddenly the door of the room swung open.

 

I watched as a man with lack of hair and a pristine suit and tie, walked into the room as the other man immediately stopped his personal concert and stood upright.

 

I watched their mouths moving, unaware of what they were saying, the singing man looked pretty embarrassed and handed the other man the two cups then went back to his station at coffee machine as the other man left and slammed the door shut. 

 

I was disappointed to find he didn't resume his beautiful singing and began to change the coffee filter in the machine.

 

I sighed and remembered that I too, had a job which needed to be completed.

 

I smeared my view of the man with a hot lather and rubbed the wet sponge against the surface of the glass, the sweet tones of the man's voice stuck inside my voice, playing on loop.

 

As the suds began to clear as I rubbed the glass with a smooth fabric cloth, my view cleared and my heart almost leapt out of my chest as I was greeted my two giant blue eyes against the glass.

 

I managed to catch my balance on the ladder as I jumped backwards, my eyes wide as I watched the man shake with mirth as he obviously laughed hysterically at my near-death experience.

 

I glared furiously at his innocent smile, 'Get back to work and stop trying to kill me!' I thought angrily, but I didn't feel angry. My heart was racing, but I didn't feel angry.

 

'Fuck off and stop smiling at me. This isn't funny.' I thought, narrowing my eyes in the process.

 

'Go away!' I shouted in my head, 'Stop tormenting me with those giant blue eyes!'

 

But the strange man disobeyed my furious thoughts and glares and gave me a little wave.

 

'Why are you waving at me!?' My expression was more confused than angry, No one ever waves at me.

The little old ladies watching Cash In The Attic don't wave at me. Why would this strange singing man want to wave at me?!

 

Suddenly, without any form of warning, the man knelt by the window I was supposed to be washing, and pushed his face against it, pulling a funny face.

 

I immediately flinched, almost falling from my ladder in shock, I let out a tiny gasp as I held tightly onto the ladder.

 

This wasn't how my job was supposed to go.

 

My job wasn't supposed to be exciting and potientially life-threatening.

 

I was supposed to bored out of my mind as I cleaned the windows for folk while I pondered about my dreams.

Random singing men weren't supposed to entertain me and potientially kill me.

That wasn't on the job description, nor the to-do list of the day.

 

I watched as he laughed hysterically again, probably finding his power over my life utterly hilarious.

 

I shot him a nasty glare as I tried to control my racing heartbeat and clammy palms. Focusing on trying not to fall forty feet to my death.

 

Something about the sparkle in his eyes kept me from smashing my hand through the glass window and pulling him through it.

 

I sighed exasperatedly and ran a shaky hand over my face before fixing my hat.

 

His amused expression turned sheepish at my narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

 

My expression softened as he feigned sadness, opening his large eyes wider and pouting.

 

I literally scoffed, but I couldn't help but find myself intrigued by this strange character.

 

I raised an eyebrow expectantly and was greeted by his pointy pink tongue sticking out of his mouth mockingly at me.

 

I rolled my eyes, waving my hand to shoo him away from my view like one does to an insect, so I could complete my work, but he misunderstood and gave a little wave in return.

 

I stifled back a grin, trying to keep my posture as serious as possible as I reattempted to dismiss him, pointing backwards with my thumb.

 

The daft creature stood and peered over my shoulder, mistaking my action for trying to show him something behind me instead of trying to get rid of him.

 

I slapped a hand against my face in exasperation, although internally finding his antics amusing.

 

After gazing into the distance with a confused expression on his face, he turned back to me and shrugged helplessly.

 

Much to my unfortune, I felt my lips slip into a smile, desperately I tried to keep my face serious and blank, but I couldn't help but smile at him.

 

He sensed my losing battle with my emotions and grinned goofily back at me, wiggling his fingers in a little wave.

 

'Stop it! Stop making me smile!' I thought viciously, 'You aren't supposed to make me smile!'

 

But amiss to my internal pleadings, he continued with his cheesy smile, his bright blue orbs glowing.

 

I rapped the window and pointed towards the back of the room, his eyes followed the my gesture and scanned around the room, turning back to me, shrugging.

 

I decided to give up on the hopeless case and continue with my work, regardless of his face inches away from the other side of the glass.

 

As I began to lather up the window in front of his face -again, he did the unexpected and slid to the next window, watching me with a smug expression.

 

I gave him my best death-glare, but just at that moment, the previous man with the suit opened the door and strolled into the room, the other man jumped to his feet, attempting to pretend that he wasn't slacking off and making faces at me.

 

The man appeared to be yelling, pointing frantically toward the other man's position by the machine, I couldn't hear his voice through the small gap in the window, but judging by the other man's grimacing face, he was certainly lashing out.

 

As the suited man left in a slammed door and furious exclamations, the other man sloped off to his position.

 

His eyes fixated on the door, before tracing around the room and landing their gaze on me.

 

I grinned widely, teasing him as I wiggled my eyebrows.

 

He tried hard not to, but couldn't help but grin back, I noticed a small gap between his two front teeth.

 

I was snapped out of my silent communication with the man by a voice from far below.

 

By far below, I mean the bottom of the ladder. I glanced down at the suspect and spot Pablo's baseball cap tilted towards the direction of me, calling my name.

 

I turned back to the man, I gave him a wave, he smiled and waved frantically in return, I couldn't help but chuckle as I unhooked the bucket and carefully made my way down the steep ladder with a goofy smile on my face.

 

That man, his smile is so damn contagious.

 

When I reach the ground I gently lay my bucket on the ground and turn to Pablo.

 

"One fuckin' window?" Pablo frowned, obviously not satisfied by my work ethic.

 

"Hey!" I defended, "It will take a while to get used to those windows," Pretty weak protesting on my part, but I could hardly say I was having a stare-off with a curly-haired maniac.

 

Pablo sighed and ran a hand down his face, rubbing his short beard.

"I'm going to dismiss this today Jay, but I'm getting real fuckin' tired of this shit,"

 

The rational side of my brain told me to nod, and agree, and apologise profusely.

But I didn't feeling like listening.

 

"I work hard, we wouldn't have this job if it weren't for me!" I snapped bitterly.

 

Pablo stared at me, tiny flames alight in his dark eyes, "The only reason we have this job is because my cousin works in one of the offices and recommended us to their boss, so I'd shut the fuck up if I were you and stick at what you're good at, -washing windows,"

 

I stared at my feet, defeatedly. I knew Pablo was right, I knew that he'd put up with me longer than any other boss should have, I knew I had the tendency to be late and slack off, I was also certain no other boss in history would accept my sassing and back-chat, but Pablo wasn't like that, he was my friend, but his patience was wearing thin.

 

"I'm sorry..." I mumbled sheepishly, Pablo nodded understandingly, "Take the rest of the day off, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow Jay,"

 

"Are you serious?"

 

Pablo smiled, "When am I ever not serious?" he said with a wink.

 

I wasn't sure what to say, I certainly didn't deserve it. "...Thanks," I said sincerely.

 

Pablo waved dismissively, lighting up another cigarette, just as I was about to leave, he looked up and grabbed my arm.

 

"Listen Jay," I looked at him intently as he spoke, "Get your act together, alright?" his eyes were serious as he balanced the cigarette between his lips expertly.

 

I nodded, "Okay,"

 

"See ya later," he called as he put his hand up, I returned the gesture and made my way down the pavement I arrived in.

 

As I slipped my key into the lock of the door to my flat, it wouldn't budge.

This was to be expected, the inside of the key hole was rusted and worn away.

 

But somehow I managed to force it open, swinging the wooden door open, revealing my confines.

 

I am almost certain my landlord hated me from first glance and gave me the utterly worst flat available.

The carpeting is faded and the walls are an intoxicating array of orange and deep mahogany wall panels with strange ingraved patterns.

 

The overhead light is complete with a sickly orange lampshade, coating the room in an warm glow -when it actually manages to work.

It would flicker and flicker and eventually the bulb would buzz with electricity and light the room.

 

It usually takes a few trys with the switch but eventually the light works.

 

There are three rooms in my flat, three very small rooms, one bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen/living area.

 

Inside the kitchen/living area, towards the right side of the room is the few mahogany cabinets, compete with the rickety overhead cupboards that look as though they could fall at any given time.

The fridge is alright, it isn't one of those fancy-ass, double-door, shimmering, high tech, fridges that can basically do everything but give you a massage, but it stores food and keeps it cold so I'm pretty much happy with it.

 

Perhaps if it stocked itself, that would impress me.

 

Then towards the left of the room, in front of a tiny, fuzzy, three-channel TV, is my wonderful companion, the sofa.

The striped multicolour fabric is fading and wearing away, the springs creak, the cushions have small tears in them, but all in all, it is a good sofa.

 

No specific complaints on my part.

 

I have one mahogany- my landlord seemed to be going through a mahogany phase when decorating my flat- bookcase which is quite small but sustainably houses the safe-keepings I own.

 

I pulled my high-tops off and threw them towards the corner of the room, walking in the direction of the kettle.

 

While waiting for the kettle to boil, I sloped off to my room in search of a more comfortable attire.

 

I squeaked the creaky door open and padded my socked feet against the wooden floorboards towards the tall wardrobe, pulling out sweatpants and a over-sized hoodie, tugging off my own clothing until I was warmly dressed in my casual ware.

 

The whistle of the kettle sounded and I walked in and pulled out my favourite cup.

 

As I stirred the sugar into the boiling water and teabag, I began to let my mind wander back to the man at the window.

 

The electric blue eyes that caught my attention, mystifying me and sparking my tiny fuse of interest.

 

He seemed so...different.

 

Since I'd came to New York, surprisingly very few people had genuinely interested me.

No one particularly caught my attention and pulled me from the permanent daze I was in.

 

No one I'd ever spoken to perplexed me like he had, his genuine quirky innocence like a rainbow in contrast to the ever-so-grey world around me.

 

I wanted to know more about him, which surprised myself.

 

It was just so strange considering the job I do, I'm not used to people being curious in me, or even paying attention to me, I'm just there, helping their view of the grey streets become clearer with a little hot water and some elbow grease, I wasn't supposed to be noticed.

 

Which is perhaps better that way considering I almost fell off my ladder and down forty feet.

 

I couldn't help but wonder if I'd see him tomorrow, would he be back to make funny faces and slack off work, or would he be gone and I'd be left curious.

 

But I shoved it out of my mind until later, after all, it was rare I got an early day off work.

 

Not that I'd have much to do.

I couldn't afford to particularly do anything.

 

The most I could hope for was the prospect of a good movie on one of the three channels I had access to.

Although it was likely the only thing that would be on would be some American talk show, or Cash In The Attic reruns, which I'd most likely watched from the of all the old ladies' windows I've washed.

 

But hey, beats being stuck up a ladder washing windows.

 

I stirred my tea and poured some milk into the cup, squeezing the teabag against the side of the cup and throwing it into the sink to remove later.

 

I took a sip to make sure it was sweet enough for my liking and switched on the fuzzy TV, waiting for the static to clear and the picture to return.

 

When it did, I found that the only thing on was some strange Spanish quiz show where the contestants appeared to be dancing around and screaming at  each other in Spanish.

 

Why on earth was this even on? 

 

I can't speak Spanish.

 

I stared blankly at the confusing antics before switching over the next channel, an American soap opera was on, it was the best I was going to get at this time of day, so I snuggled into the ratty sofa and curled my legs up, my hands wrapped around my hot mug of tea resting against my knee.

 

One of the things I miss about England was definitely the familiar TV programmes.

 

What I wouldn't give to see Jeremy Kyle's bitchy face and sassy remarks right now.

 

Sure, I could access it using the Internet, but I can barely afford food and heat, never mind the Internet.

 

Hopefully Pablo is right and this new job really is our big break, we could surely use one!

 

Perhaps then I could afford a laptop, or maybe even a better TV!

Maybe a DVD player...the possibilities are endless.

 

It would certainly be nice to not have to skimp and scrape to get by.

 

I stared at the TV mindlessly, the sound had started to crackle, I sipped at my cup, watching the unrealistic portrays of 

everyday people, argue with each other dramatically, their accents extremely American.

 

I drained the rest of the cup, the hot liquid sliding down my neck as my taste buds tingled.

 

I laid the mug on the floorboards beside the edge of the sofa and curled my legs back under me as I resumed my comfortable position.

 

After a while, I felt my eyelids grow heavy, I rested my elbow against the sofa and leant my head against it, staring at the TV as suddenly my view of the screen was replaced by the warm view of inside my eyelids as I drifted off.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 2

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hours later, a loud sound pulled me from my peaceful slumber, I jolted awake and glanced frantically around in the darkness.

 

I cursed as I realised what had happened. The damn bulb had exploded. Again.

 

This was becoming too often for comfort.

 

I pulled my aching body upwards, stretching my arms as I saw the darkness around me through my bleary eyes, through the back of my cloudy mind, I had a faint recollection of where I kept a spare bulb.

 

Stumbling upwards, I managed to make my way on unsteady feet, feeling way way through the dark, to the cabinet under the sink.

 

Rummaging around for a bit, groping the different items inside, I found my last remaining bulb.

Shattered to pieces.

 

This was just great, now I had no light.

 

I caught hold of a long object in the back of the cupboard, realising it was a candle, I pulled it out and found the packet of matches with ease.

 

I stroked a match and lit the candle, it immediately caught flame, a sudden yellow light emerging before it settled to a warm, steady orange.

 

I found a saucer in the overhead cupboard, pouring some melted wax onto its surface, I held the candle in place with the now hardened wax.

 

I placed the saucer on the draining board, mainly for safety, -at least if it fell over, the draining board was fire resistant.

 

The warm orange glow alit the room, casting shadows against the dark wooden cupboards.

 

My head was foggy from sleep but despite my lack of clear thoughts, I felt pretty pissed off at my landlord.

 

Although I knew it was probably the cheap bulbs I was buying, I was exhausted and in need of someone to blame.

 

I carried my only source of light into my bedroom, placing the saucer on the bedside table while I pulled my clothes off.

 

All in all, the bedroom was pretty small, the curtains were long and almost touched the floor, they matched the bedcovers and the sofa in its' blue, yellow, and pink faded stripes, the room contained one, -thankfully double-mahogany bed, a wardrobe, two bedside tables on either side, and an ironing board I never used.

 

I don't even own an iron, why on earth I have an ironing board is beyond me.

 

I shrugged out of my clothes and flung them to the side, slipping under the duvet, the soft sheets cool under my skin.

 

I wriggled around until I found a comfortable position, burying my head into the pillow, eventually when I was sufficely comfortable, I blew out the candle beside the bed, the room immediately coated itself in darkness.

 

My eyelids were barely able to stay open to watch the candle burn out, the moonlight peaking from the sides of the curtains as I resumed my unconscious state.

 

It was finally light outside when I woke up next, I pushed myself up on one elbow to catch a glance at my ornate clock on the bedside table, my eyes fixed on the hands and numbers, my brain unable to register the time through my bleary vision.

 

I sighed and pulled the blankets back, I threw my legs over the side of the bed, taking the clock in my hands to get a better view.

 

Eventually the lump of meat inside my skull decided to cooperate and my eyes scanned over the clock's face, reading the time, 8:53am.

 

I was supposed to be there by 9:00am and I hadn't even got washed or dressed yet, eaten, and taking into account the actual walk, I was most certainly going to be late.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

 

I told Pablo I would pull myself together, he didn't seem to realise that I was just prone to disaster.

 

I sighed exasperatedly as I stood up, I should have been racing around my flat to at least try and make it on time but it didn't seem like much point, I was going to be late anyway.

 

I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt, searching around the room for my jacket with no luck until I found it sprawled under the bed along with a couple of spare socks.

 

I clutched two of the socks and shoved them onto my toes, after padding about in my socks for a few minutes, I located my high-tops by the door and pulled them over my feet and ankles.

 

I raided the cupboards for something to eat as the clock hands ticked louder than usual, tormenting me.

 

I found after my early rest last night, I was starving. I found some breakfast muffins, I quickly buttered one and, muffin and keys in hand, raced out the door. Thankfully the keyhole was kind to me, allowing my key to lock the flat before I shoved said keys into my jeans, biting into my muffin as I raced down the hallway.

 

Ten minutes later I was halfway there, almost bulldozering through most of the busy New-Yorkers, if I hadn't have been in such a rush I would've felt bad for my lack of street manners but I couldn't risk getting sacked.

 

Five minutes later I was within sight of the van, Pablo's head submerged inside, unloading the equipment as usual.

 

I sprinted over, out of breath as I stopped beside the van, "H..hello," I panted.

 

Pablo's head flicked up, "Late," he spat, his eyes showing more ferocity than his words.

 

"Sorry, my bulb exploded...overslept," I halfheartedly tried to explain, Pablo was having none of it, "Buy a fuckin' alarm Jonny and help me with the damn ladder,"

 

I didn't argue, rushing around the side to help him, once the ladder was laid against the building again, I helped Pablo with the second ladder, carrying it to the other side of the building.

 

"Get to work," I was thrown a bucket and my usual equipment, Pablo leaving to the other side and leaving me to start in the windows I began yesterday.

 

Once I'd reached the top again, part of my brain wondered what had become of the crazy man in the window yesterday, part of me wanted him to come back and entertain me from my otherwise dreary activity.

 

I found my gaze creeping into the glass, the office seemed empty, the same as before -minus the man.

 

I repressed a sigh, shoving a sponge into the bucket and carelessly sloshing its suds against the window, rubbing it with little care.

 

I was almost ready to start polishing when movement in the office caught my eye, I inconspicuously followed my gaze towards the corner of my eye.

My heart almost kept out of my chest as I was met by a wide set of grinning teeth.

 

I traced my eyes upwards until they landed on a pair of vaguely familiar blue eyes.

 

-It was the crazy man.

 

His face seemed to be visibly lit up, his excessively large eyes, wide and deep blue, a huge smile on his ecstatic face as he gave me a little wave, his movement quick and dainty.

 

I couldn't help but find myself smiling back at him, although it confused me to all extremes, his perkiness was contagious.

 

I picked up my rag and attempted to polish the glass as I kept my eyes on his, the edges of my mouth curled in a pleasant smile as he grinned back at me.

 

As I worked, we kept our glances and smiles, the man automatically rushing to his station at the coffee machine when his boss entered, and pulling funny faces when he was gone.

 

I found myself physically giggling to myself as he stuck his tongue out, our crinkled his nose, or pulled some other facial expression.

 

I rolled my eyes, or scoffed at him, but I felt less lonely with this strange man's

silent company up forty feet in the air, separately by a wall of glass.

 

He didn't do as much of the singing and dancing today, clearly his embarrassing mishap yesterday had warded him off singing loudly in his workplace.

 

By the time I was on the higher windows, he walked past the windows and looked up at me, winking as he passed.

 

I almost fell of my ladder. I had not expected any winking.

 

But entertainment was minimal up a ladder, so I went with it, winking back at him as he poured coffee into a polystyrene cup.

 

I chuckled as he wiggled his tongue at me in return, I raised my eyebrows in feign shock, he mirrored my expression with extreme accuracy that I couldn't help but laugh.

 

It was the most I'd laughed in a very long time. It was almost like before my life headed downhill into a life of debt and broken dreams.

 

Strangely enough, without even having to speak, he brought out a more carefree side of me I had forgotten existed.

 

The next day, I got up earlier and was actually in time for work!

 

"Jonny...is early?" Pablo teased in feign surprise, "Is it the apocalypse already?"

 

"Haha," I said flat tone complete with an unamused expression, "Maybe this is why I'm always late,"

 

"Look! Watch out for that flying pig behind you Jay," Pablo exclaimed monkingly, I narrowed my eyes at his cheeky grin.

 

"Here," he rolled his eyes, laughing ad he thrust in my arms, the familiar yellow bucket.

 

Once up in my forty-feet high ladder, I immediately scanned my eyes around for the set of eyes in question, determined to spot him before he spotted me, I couldn't allow him to scare me again.

 

The room seemed empty until I noticed a bushy figure pushed against the glass  on the other side, stretching over to view the object, recognising it to be a mop of golden curls, I rapped the window loudly with my knuckle, successfully scaring the shit out of the unsuspecting man.

 

He immediately hopped to his feet and shot around, his eyes wide and afraid until they landed on me and visibly softened.

 

He frowned at me in attempt to appear annoyed, I laughed innocently at his expression, his face reluctantly giving up its battle and slipping into a wide grin.

 

He gave me salute which I returned with a laugh, he was by far the strangest person I'd ever met.

We hadn't even had a spoken conversation but I almost felt like we had. I almost felt like we didn't need to, but that didn't mean I didn't want to speak to him, because of course, I did.

 

A couple of more days passed, I continued the frequent work ethic, Pablo was bewildered by my sudden motivation, oblivious to my silent conversations with the crazy man in the office. Surprisingly, the latest I had been in the past few days had been five minutes, which is nothing compared to my usual half an hour or an hour late.

 

Our winks, smiles, grins, and funny faces continued over the days, the continuous hiding the slacking from his boss and the mutual war to scare the other first had begun.

I had started to enjoy work, the prospect of watching those crazy eyes dance in his head as I rubbed hot suds into the window was surprisingly blissful.

 

Until one day I turned up to my regular window and there was no sign of the man.

 

Except a single piece of paper taped to the outside of the window. I suspected the leaver of the piece of paper had to push their arm through the gap in the window and awkwardly tape it to the outside but they had managed to be successful and I tugged the paper from the window.

 

I stared at the page. The letters on the page may has well have been written in an alien language as it wouldn't have made a difference.

 

I couldn't read.

 

The symbols didn't add up in my eyes, none of it made any sense, and I knew this note must have been from the man at the window.

 

I desperately wanted to know what he had wrote to me, I wanted to know where he was, I wanted to talk to him.

 

But I couldn't. I couldn't read what he had wrote to me, I had never been able to read. It was wonder I even got this job.

 

Pablo knew that I couldn't read, he knew that I hadn't passed many of my exams, yet he still took me under his metaphorical window-washing wing.

 

I could have asked Pablo to read it out to me, but the truth is, I was embarrassed, I was embarrassed to ask for help, I was worried about what it would say.

 

What if it were something I wouldn't want Pablo knowing?

 

I couldn't risk permanently embarrassing myself and getting the piss took out of me by Pablo for the rest of my living life.

I couldn't ask him. But I couldn't read it myself. I had a dilemma.

 

I folded the piece of paper and shoved it into my jeans pockets, attempting to fold it up and shove the wretched thing out of my mind.

 

When I'd finished with my job, the curly-haired man making no appearance, I trudged home to my flat, barely even mumbling a goodbye to Pablo, shoving the door open and taking to the sofa.

 

I carefully unfolded the page, my eyes tracing over the pen-made lines and swirls.

 

If only I had the Internet, but I realised that it wouldn't have made a difference saying as I'd actually have to be able to read, to read how to read.

 

I sighed exasperatedly, I wanted the sofa to swallow me whole, or give me the ability to read. Or at least tell me what the damn thing says.

 

But it was unlikely the sofa was going to do that anytime soon, so I returned the note to my jeans and made for the kettle.

 

When I was settled back on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand and the TV switched on, I thought about how I was going to play tomorrow.

I could simply pretend it didn't happen, I could just let it slide, besides, it might not even be important. 

It probably just said he was going to be away for the day or something of the sort.

 

Yes, that was probably it.

 

Nothing to be concerned about.

 

He would be back tomorrow and we'd continue our shenanigans.

 

But when I trudged back to the building the next day, once up on the ladder, he wasn't there.

 

A few polystyrene cups were laying haphazardly on the carpeted ground, suggesting he would have had to be here earlier.

 

I kept myself hopeful, my eyes flickering upwards anytime I thought I seen any movement in the room.

 

But no one came. 

He wasn't there.

 

I made my way down the ladder at the end of the day, the evening sun beginning to set as I flung my bucket into the back of the van with a loud crash.

 

"Woah," Pablo came up beside me, a ladder balanced on his shoulder, "What'd that poor bucket ever do to you?"

 

I turned to him with eyes to kill, obviously not in any mood for it.

 

"What's rattled your cage?" he said accusingly, poking me teasingly in the arm.

 

"Nothing, alright!" I snapped defensively.

 

Pablo raised his hands in an attempt to calm, "Okay, okay! Don't bite my head off,"

 

"I'm not!" I growled.

 

"What's gotten into you?" he said, although suspicious, he seemed concerned.

 

"Nothing! I'd prefer if you minded your own fucking business,"

 

"Geez, I'm only trying to help,"

 

I sighed deeply, Pablo had a way of making me feel guilty when I sassed him. I hated having a conscience.

 

"Sorry," I softened my voice a fraction, although evident hostility was still lingering, "It's nothing to worry about Pablo,"

 

"If you say so," he faltered for a moment, lighting a cigarette in the process, "You can...you can talk to me you know, if something's up,"

 

"Yeah I know that, 

 

"As long as you do," he responded, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

 

We said our nonchalant goodbyes, and I went my usual way, Pablo staying behind as usual to clear up the rest of the equipment.

 

I dragged my feet along the pavement, I felt really disappointed.

I had begun to enjoy seeing the crazy man each day, and now he just fucked off and left me there.

 

Like I was worthless.

 

I felt worthless.

 

If I disappeared right now, no one would even notice. Pablo might notice that I'm late, he wouldn't particularly care, it might be an inconvenience, but he wouldn't care. He'd replace me before the day was out.

 

Nobody else would even notice.

I was just another number, just another face on the street.

 

Just another face by the window.

 

I felt furious at this man. How dare he cause such an impact to my happiness, how dare he skip into my life and then just fuck off.

 

Why did I even care?

 

It's not even as if we were friends. I didn't know him, he didn't know me, hell, I didn't even like him anyway.

 

With my self-pity in tact, I found myself slipping into the creaky doors of a nearby coffee shop.

 

I couldn't afford to spend money, I couldn't really afford anything, but I honestly didn't care.

My landlord can suck it up because today's wages will be spend aimlessly on high calorie food instead of going towards my rent.

 

I knew I'd regret it later, but I bought a giant hot chocolate with marshmallows and a chocolate muffin.

 

I sloped off to a booth in the corner, the thick scent of strong coffee filled my senses as customers came in, the bell above the door ringing upon each open of the door.

 

When my order came, I stared blankly into the frothy liquid, why exactly, I didn't know.

It's not as if my whole life focus was going to form itself between the half-melted marshmallows.

 

Once I'd ate and gulped down my drink, I paid and sloped into the confectionary shop nearby to purchase my items of self-pity, mainly consuming of a large tub of bubblegum ice-cream, a jar of milk for excessive amounts of tea, and popcorn.

 

I was certainly breaking the bank with my gloomy mood, but right now, the only thing that could help me was sugar, and lots of it.

 

When I'd curled up on the sofa, lit my only source of light for the moment- the candle, and turned on the TV to some old, western-style movie, I pulled my duvet from my bed and wrapped it around me, scooping ice-cream straight from the tub.

 

After eating half a tub of ice-cream, I decided to stop, not because I didn't think I could eat the rest. But because I literally could not afford to get diabetes.

 

I was pretty sure insulin is costly and unfortunately, medical care was not free over here in America.

 

So I shoved the lid on the ice-cream tub and returned it to the small freezer section in the fridge.

 

When I snuggled back down on the sofa, I found my cup of tea and buried my body in the duvet.

 

I stared at the TV, my brain drenched in self-pity and my blood coursing with an inexplicable anger and disappointment.

I felt let down. And I felt like fool for feeling let down.

 

I felt like a failure.

 

And I felt like a fool for feeling like a failure.

 

My brain was split between a self-deprecating mass of destruction, and the other half, a self-deprecating mass of contradiction to the other.

 

I laid my empty mug beside the sofa and blew out the candle, too lazy to make my way to bed, I fell fast asleep inside the comfy duvet in front of the flickering TV.

 

When I arrived at work the next day, five minutes early, I immediately spotted Pablo.

 

"You're early!"

 

"Yeah," I responded flippantly, waving my hand dismissively.

 

The main reason I'd turned up early was to be there before the other man had a chance to leave his office, I wanted to make sure I wasn't just missing his arrival.

 

When I'd secured the bucket to the hook and was up forty feet in the air, I gazed around though the glass, I couldn't help the self-destroying hope rise in my chest.

 

My heart almost leapt out of my chest as I noticed a tall figure by the coffee station.

 

My eyes widened as I recognised the curly-haired man, I stared at him until he caught my gaze, ready to pounce on him with one of my funniest faces, until he caught my eyes and stared right through me, boring holes through my soul.

 

A horrible feeling crept its way through me, I sickly emotion settling in the pit of my stomach as his eyes remained cold

from across the room, only glass separating us.

 

I gave him a little wave, a nervous wave, my eyebrows raised as a worried smile played on my lips.

 

He narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly as he stared at me, his eyes practically stripping and murdering me at the same time.

 

I furrowed my brow in confusion.

 

He seemed furious with me, upset even.

 

I frowned pathetically, half-hoping this was one of his little jokes, any minute now he'd pounce up to the window, his perky little tongue on display as he tried to make me laugh.

 

But he didn't.

This wasn't a game.

He was angry at me.

 

I beckoning him forward with my hand, my eyes displaying evident sadness and disappointment as he ignored my gesture and turned his back to me.

 

Furiously stacking polystyrene cups and filling them with a dark liquid.

 

My heart sunk.

 

Well...I don't need him.

 

Why won't he look at me?

 

I don't care.

 

But...I do care.

 

I didn't know what to think, I didn't know how to feel, all I knew was that I wanted to stop the crushing feeling in my chest and I wanted him to smile at me.

 

I'd never seen such a cold expression in my life. I couldn't understand why he would feel so angry at me.

 

Surely this couldn't be about the letter.

It couldn't have been that important.

 

But I guess I'll never know.

 

A deep, sinking feeling settled inside of me, the kind of feeling that isn't an initial pang, it is the type of feeling that is slow and agonising and slowly but surely takes over and all you can do is sit back and wait for your happiness to disintegrate.

 

I watched as he carried about his business, my expression innocently upset, my eyes trailing after him pleadingly.

 

But he didn't look my way once, I had almost convinced myself I was invisible.

 

Perhaps that hot chocolate from yesterday had invisibility powers in the cocoa beans.

It was a legible theory, but unlikely.

 

I inhaled deeply and sucked it up, I would at least have to finish the day's work.

 

Hey, at least I have half a tub of ice-cream waiting for me at home.

 

The rest of the day carried on pretty normal, the man left and returned with coffee and empty cups, never once looking my way as I washed and polished the glass miserably.

 

I found him staring at me from the corner of my eye, I immediately glanced towards him, the mili-second we spent, eyes locked, something about his eyes mirrored the disappointment and pain I was feeling.

But he quickly regained his hard, cold posture before turning away from me.

 

I sighed and finished up for the day, Pablo said something to me as I loaded the van, I couldn't register what he was saying so I grunted in reply.

 

"Fuck Jonny, your pretty glum today," I managed to pick up after a moment.

 

"I'm sorry I can't always be a ray of fucking sunshine,"

 

"I mean- you were fine earlier!"

 

"Was I though," I replied in a flat tone.

 

He shook his curly, baseball capped head and stared at me with his dark eyes.

 

"Right, you're coming with me for a drink,"

 

"Pablo," I began to protest, "I can't-"

 

"I'm paying, so shut the fuck up and get your grumpy ass in that van 'till I clear up,"

 

I smiled halfheartedly and did as my boss told me, slipping into the passenger side of the van, waiting for Pablo to finish loading up the equipment.

 

Once we'd arrived at the dainty little bar nearby, -the place packed with New-Yorkers, Pablo ordered us drinks and we slid into a booth.

 

I couldn't drink much, my head already feeling light as it was. I took a few sips and gave the rest to Pablo who happily downed it, ordering me an orange juice.

 

We didn't talk, Pablo's eyes fixated on the TV screen displaying sports, I allowed my mind to wander, the silence between us peaceful.

 

After half an hour, I told Pablo I was leaving to catch up on sleep, and we said our goodbyes as I slipped out of the bar.

 

The cold air hit my face as I trudged down the pavement, my high-tops looking at my miserable face pityingly.

 

Cold, white clouds made their way into the sky, settled around the tall outlines of the huge buildings.

 

I kept my head down, until a loud car horn sounded, jolting my head upwards.

 

Just at that moment, my eyes caught a figure leaving a building in the distance.

As I squinted my eyes to see clearer, I recognised the body to be the crazy man in the window.

 

This was my chance.

 

This was my only chance to ask him why he'd been staring at me with such anger.

 

I sprinted down the pavement as I fast as I could, keeping my eyes on him as I stupidly dashed across the road, loud car horns blaring as they hastily breaked to a stop to accompany my stupidity and impulsive moment, but I raced after him, ignoring the furious drivers, until I was within reaching distance of him.

 

Taking my chance, literally, I grabbed his arm and he spun around defensively to me.

 

"It's you," I said dumbly, ashamed to admit that the beautiful colour of his eyes had stunned me speechless.

 

He glared as he recognised me, then shifted his gaze towards my hand on his arm, his eyebrows narrowed in anger.

 

"Get off me," he spat.

 

"You're that guy from the window," I said, again- dumbly. 

 

"I'm leaving now," he said with an air of annoyance,

 

"Don't go!" I pleaded suddenly, catching his arm quickly before he left, "Have I done something wrong?" I asked, evident fear in my eyes.

 

After a moment I realised he wasn't going to answer me, staring at me like I'd just slapped him.

 

"You aren't American," I pointed out, I noticed he didn't have the distinct American accent, but he sounded surprisingly British.

 

"What's it to you?" he answered coldly.

 

"I'm not either," I stated. I was surprising myself at my ability to be utterly terrible around new people. 

 

"So I see," he muttered, his eyes displaying a strange air of excitement, covered deeply by a mask of pain and anger.

 

"Why are you being like this?" I suddenly quizzed.

 

"Being like what? -You don't even know me!" he snapped.

 

"I thought we were getting along okay," I mumbled timidly, "I thought we were friends," I looked at him with wide, sad eyes.

 

"I don't like people messing me about," he suddenly said with such a firm tone, it shocked me a little.

 

I opened my mouth to reply but he interrupted me, "If you didn't want to meet me, that was fine, you could have been man enough to say it to my face, you didn't have to humiliate me like that," 

 

My eyes widened in shock and my mouth opened slightly with little control, "I...-" I stuttered helplessly, he didn't bother to listen.

 

"I'm going now," he said coldly and began to advance away from me.

 

I stayed there in the pavement in my stunned stupor, before catching onto my senses and calling after him, "Of course I wanted to meet you!" I shouted after him. 

 

He ignored me, I wasn't going to let him go that easily, running to catch up with him, standing in front of his route, blocking him.

 

"Of course I wanted to talk to you!" I repeated, my voice and eyes full of sincerity, "I just didn't think you did,"

 

The man's eyes suddenly looked at me with an innocent confusion, "B..but...I left a letter,"

 

I stared sheepishly at he ground, I mentally debated telling him or not, but I realised I wanted this friendship more that I wanted my pride.

 

I slowly took the folded up piece of paper from my jeans pocket and placed it in his palm.

 

"So you did get it," he muttered, the anger returning to his eyes.

 

He almost began to leave again, but I blurted out, "I couldn't read it,"

 

He stopped and stared at me for a moment, "My writing isn't that bad,"

 

"I..." I trailed away, rubbing the back of my neck nervously as I felt my cheeks grow hotter, "I...um..."

 

"What?" he prodded impatiently.

 

"I can't...."

 

"You can't what?!"

 

"-I can't read okay!?" I blurted out.

 

I felt his gaze on me as I dropped my eyes to his shoes, I felt my face blush a deeper red, much to my misfortune it displayed every inch of shame and embarrassment I was feeling.

 

I subtly fixed my hat down lower on my head, silently hoping it would swallow me whole.

 

When I finally gathered the courage to glance up at him, I gasped in shock as I was greeted by a small smile on his face.

 

"I thought you had ignored me," he said quietly, "That's why I felt so annoyed,"

 

He kept his soft eyes on my boiling face, "I feel pretty stupid now," he mumbled with a small smile on his lips.

 

"I..." I trailed away pathetically, my mouth just didn't seem to be cooperating with my brain today.

 

"Thank you for telling me," he said quietly, "But...back to my initial question," I kept my eyes on his, awaiting the question he wanted to ask.

 

"Would you like to meet up sometime?" he asked hopefully, his eyes twinkling.

 

"I..." I managed to locate my voice, "I would like that very much," I said quietly, my voice tinted with excitement.

 

A wide, familiar grin, crept its way onto his face, his eyes bright and wider than humanly possible.

 

"That's brilliant! How about tomorrow? My shift finishes at 6pm,"

 

"That sounds great to me," I returned the goofy, contagious smile.

 

He squeaked in excitement and bounced on the spot, "I'll see you tomorrow then!" he grinned as he began his way down the path.

 

I shook my head, laughing in disbelief as I caught up to him once last time, I caught his elbow from behind and leant into his ear.

 

"I'm Jonny by the way,"

 

He suddenly spun around with a huge grin on his face, the edges of his eyes were crinkled in good humour as was his nose as he bit his lip, "How stupid of me..."

 

"I'm Chris!" he said, brimming with excitement as he stuck his hand out for me to shake.

 

I clasped his hand in mine and shook it, laughing at his ridiculousness, "Nice to meet you Chris," I said through a laugh.

 

"Dreadful start to the beginning of a prosperous friendship, eh?" he said, his eyes glowing in good humour, "That indeed," I agreed with a chuckle. 

 

 

 

[coldplayer#16]

Coldplay in Wonderland

 

Part 37:

 

NOTE: If you are at all squeamish, you may want to skip this half way through. Don't say I didn't warn you.

 

 

 

"Just leave them," Tori said, "I don't care, nor do I see it as a problem."

 

The Hatter looked at the girl, blank faced, but he cracked a smile, "If you insist. I just thought a different pair would fit better, especially with your girlish figure, Chris."

 

The rabbit looked absolutely modified by his lover's comment, which made his face glow a bright red. He punched the Hatter's arm, "SHUT UP!"

 

The Hatter laughed and rubbed over where the rabbit struck his arm, "That hurt you know."

 

"Good," was the rabbit's simple retort. The Hatter laughed again and turned on his heels, walking out of the room, "Where are you going?"

 

"Get some water."

 

"For what?"

 

"Her," the mad man said, pointing at the girl.

 

"Who said I needed water?" Tori asked.

 

The Hatter shrugged, "It's just a comfort, I guess. I have a glass and pitcher set up for when I wake up with a dry throat. Also, it might act as a good defense."

 

Tori looked at the mad man quizzically, "Defense?"

 

"Grab the base of the pitcher and ram it into the head of your attacker," Chris said flatly, "Works every time. You can get a couple of hits if the glass doesn't shatter immediately."

 

Tori stared at the rabbit, wide-eyed and slightly terrified, "How do you know that?"

 

"What? You don't think I haven't bashed a few heads?" Chris replied, "I'm not as cute and cuddly as you think I am."

 

"No, I know you're not, but-"

 

"But what?"

 

Tori's expression was one of fear and confusion, she knew Chris had fought when he was younger, and went absolutely ballistic when he was mad, but it was all kind of swept beneath her . . . until she actually thought about it, which she didn't necessarily like to do.

 

"You okay?" Chris asked, putting his hand on the girl's shoulder.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Tori lied.

 

"Right, Chris, why don't you come with me? We need to chat quick, again."

 

"Okay? Sure," the rabbit said, slightly confused, "but I'm still mad at you."

 

The Hatter rolled his eyes and the two left again, and Tori sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees and hands hiding her face. She sighed and shook her head. She felt arms suddenly come around her and the girl looked up.

 

"Chris is a bit of a monster, but that's why he's considered mad," she heard, the cat's familiar voice smooth and tone cold, "he's had help from a mad man to control his anger and fear, and you've helped too."

 

Tori turned and hugged Phil back, "Why are you telling me this if I already know that he's not . . . 'okay'?"

 

"Just a reassurance," the cat laughed, slinking out of the girl's arms, "besides, he says he's not cute and cuddly, but in front of you, unless provoked, he's nothing but." Tori smiled at him and Phil realized what he'd said, "You tell him any of this and I'll have to murder you."

 

"Cross my heart I won't," the girl laughed, miming the cross with her hand over her chest.

 

The cat smiled and faded away, the Hatter and Chris coming in immediately after he was gone. Chris was back to his younger body, and the Hatter had a tray with a pitcher or water and glasses.

 

"Well, I think that's it for today," the Hatter said, "I'm going to get some sleep. Nothing funny, you two."

 

"JON!" Chris snapped, still somehow surprised by the mad man's remarks.

 

The Hatter laughed, "You know I love messing with you," he walked over to the girl and hugged her, "G'night, get some sleep."

 

Tori laughed and hugged the mad man, "I will."

 

The mad man smiled, letting her go and kissing Chris before he left. Tori knew that was a 'I'm-just-sharing' reminder, but she rolled her eyes and immediately clung to the rabbit once the mad man was gone.

 

Chris was surprised by the girl's vice like grip, "Why'd you lie to me?"

 

Tori looked up at him and shrugged, "Didn't want to say anything in front of the Hatter."

 

Chris sighed and let out a slight laugh, "Humans," he sat down on the bed and wrapped his arms around Tori, "what's on your mind, love?"

 

"Okay, first, new nickname?"

 

The rabbit shrugged.

 

"Whatever," she said, "I guess, I dunno, when you talk about fighting and stuff, you don't seem yourself. Your voice loses all its life and becomes cold and . . . you scared me a bit."

 

The rabbit's eyebrows and ears raised in surprise, "Me? Scare you?"

 

Tori bit her lip and blushed, "I'm sorry, but you asked."

 

Chris laughed and tightened his grip around the girl, "Give me one reason why I would ever lash out at you? Why I would even lay a finger on you out of anger is beyond me, you should know that. I don't mean to be frightening or monstrous, in any way, shape or form."

 

Tori smiled and rested her head on the rabbit's shoulder, "I know."

 

"Then why be scared?"

 

"Because the few times I've seen you get like that you do lash out and become a monster."

 

Chris cringed at the name 'monster', but he had to let it slide. He put his hands on the girl's shoulders, separating each other and looking Tori dead in the eye, "I would never do that to you, ever. I'm sorry you had to see me . . . like that. I really am."

 

Tori smiled and hugged the rabbit again, kissing him. Chris wasn't quite expecting her to react like that, but he didn't mind. He started kissing back and . . . well, I'm just gonna put it like this:

 

Teenagers and their relationships.

 

The rabbit and girl were out soon after they had their fun, falling asleep with their arms around each other. It was not too late into the night though when Chris awoke to the sound of the door creaking open. Whoever entered did a poor job of sneaking, they left the door open just a little too much, moonlight shinning in from the windows outside and an obvious sign they were an uninvited guest.

 

Chris heard a hissing coming from over Tori's side of the bed and he felt the shifting of weight as the predator positioned itself to attack. Chris fell to instinct, grabbing the intruder by the head and grabbing the water pitcher.

 

He swung full force and broke the glass into the intuder's skull, causing water to splash on the bed and onto Tori. The girl awoke with a jolt and turned on the light, letting Chris to finally see the predator in full view.

 

He was a twisted hybrid of beast and serpent, dark body and red eyes that were meant to pierce and hypnotize. Chris knew what he was up against. The creature roared at the rabbit, who had grabbed the in-tact top of the pitcher. The intruder lunged at Chris.

 

Chris ducked and timed his shot, shoving the circular, fragmented glass into the creature's neck, causing it to scratch and whine in pain. The rabbit walked over to where the enemy lay, pulling the circle down and ripping the monster's throat and down to the chest.

 

"Could use some help here, babe!" Chris yelled. Tori was frozen blood staining the bed sheets, the floor, and all over Chris's shirt and hands. "In a now-ish time frame, please?!"

 

Tori shook her head and grabbed the dagger, which changed in her grip to a sword. She jumped off the bed and aimed at the intruder, whose vocal chords and neck muscles were now visible, splattering blood as the contracted and strained to make noise.

 

"Move!" Tori yelled, running full force and sword at her side.

 

Chris bounced away onto the bed and was witness to the girl's first murder, watching her shove the sword into the monster's gut and pulling up to make sure whatever this thing was remained dead. The sword pulled out with shards of glass at the beings neck, which was soon cut through.

 

Tori watched as the creature fell, his body collapsing and pooling with blood on one side, its decapitated head rolling to the other.

 

"Oh my god," Tori whispered, tears welling up in her eyes and hand moving up to cover her mouth in disbelief. She and her sweet, not-so-innocent bunny had just tag teamed a murder.

 

"Get used to it, sweetie," the rabbit said, walking over to the body and picking up the creature's head, "This is war, and it ain't pretty."

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 3

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

When I returned to my flat, I couldn't help but grin inexplicably to the scrappy confines.

 

The smile remained on my face as I filled the kettle with water, unable to control the bubbling excitement and glee building within me.

 

I couldn't believe I had actually spoken to him, I couldn't believe we were actually going to meet.

 

Somehow the impending loneliness didn't seem to bad anymore.

 

More thoughts began to flood through my head as I wondered where we were actually going to go tomorrow.

I knew I couldn't afford anything really, I was already behind on my rent from all the damn ice cream I'd purchased.

 

But as always, I shoved the thoughts of debt out of my head, deciding to take a shower in early preparation of tomorrow.

 

The bathroom, -much like the rest of the flat, -was pretty tatty, the cream coloured wall tiles were badly in need of a good wash, as was the floor.

The surfaces of the tiles were scratched and chipped, the blinds on the only window, filthy and falling to pieces.

 

In a toothpaste-stained glass on the sink, housed my toothbrush and toothpaste, beside it a bottle of deodorant and a half-broken comb.

 

I closed over the wooden door, not bothering to lock it, I pulled hard down on the shower switch, it took a moment for the bathroom to be filled with a rattling sound before low pressured water zipped through the tiny holes on the shower head.

 

I shrugged out of my clothes, stepping into the icily cold shower.

The tiny bullets of hypothermia-inducing water, shot themselves at my skin, the immense excitement inside of me ignoring the freezing feeling.

 

I couldn't have felt happier.

This was really happening!

-I was actually going to meet with the man that had been entertaining me for days.

 

I lathered my skin with some soap before rinsing in the Antarctic water, turning off the shower and stepping out onto the tiles.

 

I dryed off with a starchy towel before pulling over my clothes, lightly towel-drying my hair.

 

I threw the towel back into the corner of the room, leaving to finish making my cup of tea.

 

As I stirred, something loud and rhythmic caught my ear.

I listened carefully, silencing the teaspoon as I leant my head closer towards the sound, I recognised it as thumping footsteps across the landing.

 

My building of flats wasn't exactly the most conventional accommodation, but usually everyone kept to themselves and never did anyone randomly run across another's floor.

 

It seemed odd. 

 

The prospect of unwanted guests crossed my mind, perhaps this person was running away from something.

 

Likely thugs.

 

Perhaps I should have gone out to see, but I didn't particularly want to risk getting punched in the face, nor did I want to be mistaken for one of these potiential criminals.

 

So I simply shrugged it off and finished making my tea.

 

Part of me yearned for some place more quieter and peaceful, but I would just have to suck it up because that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

 

When I'd finished my tea, I didn't bother to watch any TV, immediately slipping under the duvet of my bed.

I wanted to be fresh faced and alert tomorrow.

 

I didn't want to be on the verge of falling asleep while I spoke to him.

 

So as I snuggled into the pillows, I felt myself slip into unconsciousness, half-hoping to dream of a life where all my dreams had been accomplished and I was living a first class lifestyle in my summer home in Portugal.

 

But when I awoke to a thick darkness around me, my cloudy mind did not recall any dreams of a wealthy lifestyle and I slowly yanked my eyelids open, a small speckle of moonlight trickled through the gap in the long curtains, firing itself beside my head.

 

I yawned and took in my hands the clock beside my bed, as it was dark the hands on the ornate object were hard to detect, so I stumbled upwards and made my way to the curtains, pulling them back slightly so an array of moonlight spilled in and fullfilled my clock-viewing ways.

 

3:42am.

 

Why the fuck do I always wake up at the most riduclous times ever.

 

Why can't I just sleep until morning like normal people seem to do.

 

But with my silent grumbling in tact, I resumed to my squishy mattress and shut my eyes determinedly.

 

When I next opened my eyes, it was safely a time to arise.

 

8:04am.

 

That gave me precisely fifty-six minutes to be at work, which for me, was an insanely vast amount of time.

 

I knew if I stayed within the comfort of my own bed for much longer, I ran the risk of falling back to sleep, so I slipped out from the covers and allowed the furiously cold air to pounce itself on me and contaminate my previously warm state.

 

I opened up my wardrobe, I wanted to wear something a little decent today, strangely enough, I wanted to make a good impression on this man.

 

Searching through the small rack of my clothes, I had almost convinced myself I owned nothing worthy and I'd look better in a bin-bag.

 

Until I spotted a rather snazzy t-shirt to accompany my usual jacket and jeans.

Not forgetting my high-tops, I slid them on also, safely confirming that I was indeed dressed for the day, I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and shoved a hat over my head.

 

With half an hour to spare, I made coffee- I was certainly pushing the boat of spontaneity out today. A warm coffee in hand, I chose to nibble on the bag of popcorn I'd bought in self-pity, silently thanking my past self as it tasted unbelievable.

 

With my sugary and caffeine-filled breakfast over with, I still had extra time, so I did the unthinkable.

 

And left early.

 

I never usually chose to leave my flat without some sort of reason other than work or necessities, but when I did, I truly soaked up the sights.

 

Not sights as in the Empire State Building or the Statue Of Liberty, no, that would be too easy, anyone could do that. I liked to soak up the sights that needed to be soaked, if you understand my analogy.

It was the little, rather insignificant to most, things that I truly wanted to see.

 

Like the way a leaf would distatch itself from a branch and drift its way down towards the ground with no sole purpose other than to go where the wind takes it.

 

As strange as it may sound, It gave me a deep, overwhelming sense of serenity.

 

Almost as if we were all leaves, floating our way around in the world, going where the wind takes us.

 

But then there were the leaves that stayed on the tree, clutching to its safety and reliability.

 

I shrugged myself out of my musings, blaming the slightly strange thoughts on my weird sleeping patterns and grabbed my keys to leave.

 

When I had managed to -after five minutes- lock my flat, I set off on a slow-paced walk down the streets of New York.

 

Despite the rushing people around me, I walked at my own relaxed pace, breathing in the thick chemical-filled air, my mind wishing it were a clear breeze in a mellow countryside surrounded by trees and wild flowers.

 

And the racing people around me were friendly locals ready to offer me their home-picked apples and bake me pies.

 

That would be just swell.

 

But then, if that were the case, I wouldn't be meeting with the curly-haired, -borderline afro, big blue eyed, coffee-making man called Chris, today.

 

And that would not be so swell.

 

I walked further, a slight skip in my step, -metaphorical of course, -I was pretty sure I'd either be mugged or admitted, if the regular New-Yorkers saw me skipping merrily down the street.

 

The sky was decently bright and open, the lazy rays of the early morning, hitting the concrete ground as though it wanted to search inside for something a little more to its tastes.

 

A small breeze tingling over my skin as the whizzing vehicles passed.

 

I dashed across the zebra crossing, raising my hand halfheartedly to the driver in politeness.

Being my English self, I wasn't sure if Americans did this, so for a moment, I self-consciously worried that I'd looked stupid, but shrugged it off as I didn't particularly care.

 

When I strolled towards my usual spot, Pablo was just stepping out of his van, he glanced at me and did a double take.

 

"Fuck, Jay, you're bright and early," he said with a slight lop-sided smile.

 

"Why on earth does that surprise you?" I teased.

 

"You seem perkier today," he smiled genuinely, "I see that drink yesterday did you the world of good,"

 

"Oh something like that," I smiled to myself at the fond memory of finally speaking to the man at the window, "I just needed to sort some things out,"

 

"Well you seem a lot better now and that's all that matters to me," Pablo said as he patted my arm, climbing out of the van.

 

"Jay I will be heading away for a while later, my aunt is sick and my cousin has to head out of town for the day,"

 

"Oh, is she alright?"

 

Pablo rolled his eyes, "She's fine, just the flu but you know what she's like, completely incapable of sticking on the fuckin' kettle when she's broke a nail, I will help you set this up, then I'm off,"

 

I smiled as I remembered the quite amusing stories of his aunt and her ways, "That's fine," I said, surprisingly placid of me.

 

Pablo seemed discreetly surprised by my unwillingness to sass, "I should take you drinking more often," he grinned with a raised eyebrow.

It isn't like I actually drank anything except a sip of the sickly liquor before a glass of orange juice, but I simply smiled in return.

 

"I'll be back later to clear this stuff, okay? You can manage until then on your own, can't you?"

 

"Of course," I told him in a self-assured tone.

 

Then a thought worked its way into my mind, I realised now was as good of time as any.

 

"Hey Pablo..." I began in the voice of a kid who's about to ask their parents for something, "I was thinking...could I get a little advance on my wages?" I said in as sweet of tone as I could muster.

 

"Why is that Jay," 

 

"You know how it is with my rent, I...I really need it soon," I explained, looking at him with enlarged eyes.

 

"Well, I can't give you anything I haven't got, I haven't gotten paid by the owners yet, but I will be getting it soon, I'll give it to you when I get it Jay,"

 

"Thanks," I said quietly, I was pretty sure my landlord wouldn't see it like that.

 

My rent was due by the end of the week, I knew I was on the last straw with my landlord after the last time I was late. I was certain it wouldn't be accepted again.

 

"Sorry kid," Pablo sighed, straightening his signature baseball cap against his dark -tamed- curls.

 

"It's fine," I said, although my stressed expression might have suggested otherwise.

 

When I was halfway up the ladder, I gave Pablo a wave as he chugged away in the van.

 

I was anticipating reaching the top of the ladder, half of me felt strangely nervous, I mean, what if Chris didn't show, what if it were all some sort of joke or-

 

I was immediately pulled from my thoughts by a rap on the window from above.

 

I looked up immediately, and about twenty feet from my view was a grinning face looking down at me.

 

I internally smiled, -and externally smiled, and made my way up the rest of the ladder swiftly.

 

When I had reached the top, I felt a fond smile grow on my face as I watched as he pushed his nose against the glass, his voice audible through the small opening in the window.

 

"Hey you," he said in a sly voice.

 

"Hello Chris," I said in an equally sly tone.

 

Chris scrunched his nose up and widened his eyes comically as I tried not to laugh.

 

"Are you all set for later?" he chirped eagerly.

 

"Yes," I grinned, I didn't outwardly express the extent of my excitement. But in my head, I was doing cartwheels and loopy-loops.

 

"6pm, right?" he confirmed with brightly lit eyes.

 

"That is correct," I said, trying to contain the wide grin that held me at a mental gunpoint.

 

"Eek!-" he squeaked, literally, he squeaked, I am not joking. In the three years I have been in New York, not one person had squeaked. "-I can't wait!"

 

I giggled, "Are you sure about that?" I teased.

 

"Oh! this is going to be great! I knew as soon as I seen you we were going to be friends! After all, you didn't give me the middle finger as soon as you saw me, so that must mean something, right?!" he rambled away with extremely large and wondrous eyes, I couldn't help but laugh, "Oh I wanted to all right," I sassed cheekily.

 

He widening his already large eyes in surprise, I continued, "After all, you did almost freaking kill me!" I exclaimed with a slight grin.

 

He chuckled, it was a rather pleasant sound, "Hey! I just wanted to rattle your cage a little, I didn't set out with homicidal thoughts as soon as laid eyes on you Jonny,"

 

I couldn't help but involuntarily grin goofily as he practically purred my name.

 

"Hmmm, well I've got my eye on you, I still firmly believe you are secretly a serial killer," 

 

He feigned a gasp, "How dare you," he poked the glass in front of my face leaving a fingerprint, "Maybe I am a serial killer," he retorted, sticking his tongue out at me.

 

"That's what I thought," I laughed, shoving a soapy sponge against the glass in front of his face.

 

He involuntarily flinched, I couldn't help but snicker at the look plastered on his face.

 

"I'll get you back for that," he threatened, attempting to sound serious in his quirky accent.

 

I must remember to ask him whereabouts in Britain he is from.

 

It is typical of me to spend three years in America and the first person that actually intrigues me, is British like myself.

 

"Speaking of getting back, shouldn't you be getting back to your job," I giggled, although I'd happily spend the day forty feet in the air talking to him, I had a feeling Pablo wouldn't hesitate to dock my wages if nothing was done by the time he returned.

 

"That is probably a good idea-" Chris was cut off by a familiar slamming of the door.

 

He immediately jolted alert, spinning around to glance at the suited man. Somehow, I can't understand how, he tripped over his feet and slammed face-down on the carpet.

 

I didn't know whether to laugh or smash through the window to check on him.

 

I couldn't hear what the balding man in the suit was saying, but the wildly angry expression lit in his dark eyes told me everything I needed to know.

 

Chris sheepishly picked himself up and, I could hear through the opening in the window, he explained himself and assured the man that he was fetching coffee cups from across the room and was certainly not slacking off.

 

The man did not seem to buy this and, furiously yelled at him, I watched helplessly as Chris slowly shrank into himself, wincing as the other man lashed out.

 

After excessively pointing towards his station and several other jobs that needed to be done, the man left in a similar style to usual.

 

I would have immediately teased him if not for the look of utter fear rippling inside of his eyes, "I'll meet you outside at six," he said quietly, before rushing off to complete said chores.

 

I was certain that if Pablo spoke to me in such way, he'd get the bucket of water tipped over his head and my resignation shoved in his face.

 

I nodded silently, I didn't want to distract him further, mainly as I didn't want to see him get yelled at again.

It gave me a feeling of unease watching him like that.

 

So I washed and lathered, rinsed and polished, and completed my job efficiently as time ticked by, occasionally stopping for a drink of water but other than that, I worked pretty well.

 

Hell, I'd hire myself!

 

It also helped to have Chris so nearby, it made me feel like I wasn't completely alone, we smiled at each other when we were both in the same room, Chris frequently popping out with cups of different liquids in each hand.

 

Chris occasionally pulled an odd face which I responded with usually a look of feign concern or my usual grin.

 

Half five approached and my biceps were aching from actually having to work!

 

Pablo chugged up on the side of the road, I gave Chris a little wave which he eagerly returned, before sliding down the ladder.

 

Of course I didn't literally slide down.

Gosh, I'm not spiderman.

 

No, I simply stepped down and greeted Pablo on the pavement.

 

"Looking shiny Jay," Pablo nodded towards the windows.

 

"How's the aunt?" I asked.

 

Pablo let out an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Fine of course, fuck Jonny, I'd rather spend the whole day here than make her fuckin' soup,"

 

I laughed, "That bad?"

 

"Worse,"

 

"Worse how?"

 

"The consistency of the soup wasn't right, Jonny I have made fourteen pots of soup today, -fourteen!" 

 

I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by "Four- fuckin' -teen, pots of fuckin' soup," I was interrupted once

more, "There's only so much fuckin' soup once person can make!"

 

I rolled my eyes, "So it wasn't a day filled with sunshine and happiness?" I quipped sarcastically.

 

"Oh fuck you," my sailor-mouthed boss replied as he shut the door to the van, walking over to collect the equipment.

 

He glanced over at me as I hung around, "Aren't you heading off?" he asked with a bit of confusion.

 

I was waiting until six o'clock for Chris to clock off, but I decided I wouldn't let Pablo aware of this just yet.

 

"Er...no, do you want some help?" I swiftly walked over and took the ladder from his hands.

 

He looked at me suspiciously as picked up the bucket and other equipment and followed me towards the van.

 

As I loaded the ladder into the back, he leaned against the van.

 

"Are you pregnant or something?" he suddenly asked, rendering me stricken.

 

"What?!"

 

"I mean, yesterday you were ready to fuckin' stab someone, and now today your full of rainbows and daisies and you're actually staying later than usual!"

 

"I told you, I was just having a bad day,"

 

"Personality transplant,"

 

"Nope,"

 

"You on drugs?"

 

"Nope,"

 

"The I guess I'll have to take your word for it," he said with a wink as he patted my shoulder.

 

As he slid into the driver's side of the van, I realised I'd better pretend to at least walk in the other to not raise suspicions as he drove away.

 

Doing just that, I waved at him, before making my way back to the door as soon as the van was out of sight.

 

I waited until a little after six, when Chris' lean figure suddenly burst through the doors and skipped towards me.

 

"Hello!" he chirped, his eyes lit up a million times brighter than Vegas would.

 

"Hi!" I smiled, relieved he was finally here so I wouldn't have to wait any longer, leaning against the small wall near the building, looking like some sort of stalkerish creep to any passer-bys.

 

"What's up?" I said with a silly grin.

 

"The sky, obviously," he quipped.

 

"Not particularly," I retorted, "The sky is the atmosphere, the atmosphere is everywhere, even on the ground,"

 

He shoved me playfully, "Don't be so damn cheeky,"

 

"Oh you can give it but you can't take it?" I teased in return.

 

"Where shall we head to?" he suddenly asked, practically bouncing on his toes in excitement.

 

I thought for a moment, I couldn't really afford to go anywhere with my present financial state.

 

"Erm..."

 

"How about we take a walk around the city and then to the park or something?" 

 

"That sounds perfect to me," I agreed with a relieved smile.

 

"Fantastic," he grinned widely, immediately skipping ahead, waiting as I followed him, walking side by side as we headed down the concrete paths.

 

"So, Jonny, tell me your life story,"

 

This caught me off guard, I laughed, shaking my head, "Tell me yours, where are you from?" I asked him in return.

 

"Not America," he said with a laugh, "Devon, that's in England, Exeter to be precise,"

 

"Ah, so that's where that accent comes from,"

 

"What accent?" he quizzed in a higher pitched voice.

 

I chuckled, he responded with a light poke and a question of his own, "Where are you from then?" he raised an eyebrow.

 

"Islington, in London," I concluded.

 

"City dweller, eh?"

 

I laughed and gave him a little shove, "We actually moved to North Wales when I was young,"

 

"Wow! So how long have you been in this little slice of the world," he indicated to the bustling city around us.

 

"Three years," I told him, I decided I wouldn't tell him, -unless forced to, about the crushed dreams and the continuous spiral downwards my life had become.

 

"That's so cool!" he beamed, I was pretty sure if I told him I had drank a cup of coffee this morning he would have responded with as much enthusiasm.

 

"What about you? How long have you been here?"

 

"Four years,"

 

"Are you just saying that to top mine?" I asked him jokingly.

 

"Yes Jonny, I'm just saying that to top yours," he said through a laugh.

 

As I skilfully dodged a ready-to-shoot-someone- 'shit, I'm late for the tube' 

-man with a briefcase, I managed to keep in stride with Chris as we walked further.

 

"So what's your job like?" I asked, the image of the furious suit man flashed in my brain.

 

"Oh, it's erm..." he faltered, "It's...Mr Champion doesn't particularly like me,"

 

"Suit man?"

 

"Yeah, he's...-" he looked around as though Mr Champion could be standing ease dropping, reading to pounce out from behind a hotdog stand, "-...He's rather angry,"

 

"I can tell, he flipping bit your head off!"

 

"I...I probably shouldn't have been slacking off,"

 

"He has no respect!" I told him, I felt like this man had no right to talk to anyone the way he had, certainly not a friend of mine.

 

"Maybe..." Chris trailed away, biting his lip anxiously, even being far away from the office, he still seemed terrified of his boss' watchful eyes and razor-sharp hearing.

 

"Anyway!" he began, immediately brightening at the prospect of a conversational topic that alternated to his boss, "What's your job like? Do you like it? Is it scary being up so high?"

 

I laughed at the large array of questions, it had been ages, literally forever, since I had talked about myself, "Well, my job is what it is, washing windows, I don't particularly hate it, but it wasn't my first choice in occupation and no, I'm used to the height, although, it was pretty scary when someone," I added exaggerated emphasis on the 'someone' "-Almost knocked me off my ladder,"

 

Chris giggled, "I still laugh when I think about that," his eyes lit up in mirth.

 

"Imagine if I had have fell..."

 

"Don't worry," he assured me, "I'd have brought you the best grapes the hospital store could have on offer," he teased.

 

"Hey! I'd at least want some ice cream,"

 

"You like ice cream!?" he asked in awe, as though he'd just found out that we were both long lost friends from millions of years ago due to time travel rather than both of us liked the frozen dairy dessert.

 

"Yeah," I laughed.

 

"So do I!!" he squeaked.

 

"That is surpising," I said sarcastically.

 

"It's truly amazing," he said in a wondrous tone.

 

As we neared the small area of grassy banks and tall ever-green trees, I suggested we sit on one of the benches to talk.

 

The orange sun was sliding down the sky, leaving in its wake a hazy orange hue, the glow peaking from between the leaves casting shadows on the grass.

 

The air was beginning to cool as we took a seat in a more peaceful part of the city, less noise pollution, a few people walking through the grassy pathways and children laughing and squealing nearby.

 

"We should do this everyday!" Chris said quietly as he curled his legs up under him as I lowered myself to beside him on the bench.

 

I listening to the muffled sounds of car horns in the distance as someone's car alarm sounded, "I would like that," I agreed, turning my head to face him with a gently smile.

 

"I'm sorry for being such a douchebag yesterday," he suddenly said, almost out of nowhere.

 

"What? Hey, you couldn't have known,"

 

"But I still feel bad, I treated you so bad,"

 

"But I understand, you had no way to know, for all you knew I was just a dickhead who didn't bother to reply to your letter, I would have felt the same,"

 

"I'm really glad," he said with a genuine smile, "I felt terrible,"

 

"Well don't, this is the beginning of a great friendship, I can tell," I said as I clapped his knee.

 

"I'll be seeing you at six o'clock tomorrow then," he said with a grin as he tapped my nose with his index finger.

 

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

 

After a moment, Chris pounced another question on me, "Where do you live?" 

 

I smiled, "Just a couple of blocks away from the office,"

 

"That's the same with me!" he appeared in deep thought for a moment, "Except I live in the opposite direction," he concluded.

 

After another hour of chatting, learning about one another, I spoke.

 

"Shall we make our way back?" I suggested, taking a glance at the darkening sky, the street lamps lighting up as the buildings prepared to ignite their star-overpowering lights.

 

"Okay!" Chris replied, hopping up off the bench.

 

I stood up and followed him over to the pavement, the top of the sky was trickling with a deep, darkening blue, the middle of the horizon, a silky purple, twinged with crimson as it merged to an orange, the sinking sun creating dark shadow patterns against the tall buildings, the trees seeming black against the tricoloured sky as wispy silver clouds poked out from behind the buildings and trees.

 

We walked side by side, quietly, I turned to face him as the streetlamp above shone down around us, illuminating his bright eyes.

 

"I'm really glad I met you," he said softly, I glanced at the wistful smile on his lips.

 

"And I you," I replied in a kind tone, "I haven't got many friends," I paused for a moment, "I haven't got any friends for that matter, well, except Pablo I suppose,"

 

I decided to continue, half surpising myself at my willingness to talk, I was usually more of a listener, "You are different from most people around here,"

 

"Bad different?"

 

"No, you idiot," I shoved him slightly, laughing, "Of course not bad different, it's a good different, no, scrap that, it's an amazing different,"

 

He smiled at me gratefully, "No one has ever said that to me before,"

 

"They've probably said something better, poetical even,"

 

He shook his head, giggling, "No, not at all,"

 

I watched as his giggling trailed away as he stared out towards the buildings, "It's usually the complete opposite," he said quietly.

 

I looked at him carefully, I couldn't imagine anyone insulting him and actually meaning it.

 

"Well they must be pretty damn stupid," I said jovially.

 

He laughed in disbelief, "I don't think so,"

 

"Well you must be pretty damn stupid then," I teased playfully.

 

"One minute you're complimenting me and then the next minute I'm stupid?" Chris feigned shock, "You just can't make up your mind, can you?"

 

"What can I say?" I laughed, "Hanging around with you has made me bipolar,"

 

He laughed in response, I couldn't quite grasp how much I'd actually laughed with him. I couldn't quite come to terms with how genuinely happy I actually felt.

 

"Alright," he clapped his hands in determination after successfully dodging a man on a white scooter, "Tomorrow I am taking you to my favourite café and I won't take no for an answer," I chuckled at his bluntness.

 

But sadly I was pulled from my oblivion and was forced to consider reality, "I wish I could...but I...I really can't afford it," I mumbled sheepishly.

 

He looked it at me carefully, "I said I was taking you, which means I'm paying, which means you have to choice but to accompany me,"

 

"I'm not taking your money,"

 

"Well that's where you're wrong Mr-Smart-Window-Washer,"

 

I raised an eyebrow, "Chris-"

 

"No," he concluded, clapping a hand over my mouth, "No ifs, no buts, I'll see you tomorrow," he finished with planting a sloppy kiss on the top of my head before making his way back down the pavement.

I only realised I was directly outside my apartment building.

 

I shrugged off my strange daze and waved him goodbye as he half-skipped down the pavement, I kept the goofy smile on my face even as I entered my flat, unable to get rid of the fleeting happiness bubbling inside of me and rippling through my veins.

 

I loved it.

 

Happiness.

 

Happiness was such a remarkable and unappreciated feeling. I didn't want it to end.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 4

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

The next day continued as similar, Pablo commenting on my strange demeanour, mumbling some sarky comment about my apparent usage of drugs, before I continued the day shooting silly faces and smiling at Chris, although I toned it down a little, I didn't want to see Chris in the same position as the last time his boss caught him slacking off, but the day passed by relatively fast with the thought of half five etched in my mind.

 

When it finally arrived, I popped the big, million-dollar question.

 

"So, have you been paid yet Pablo?"

 

"Nope," Pablo said as he shoved the ladder into the van.

 

I internally cursed a colourful string of words, "That's okay," I said aloud.

 

After waving Pablo goodbye, faking my exit, returning up the street, appearing to be a creeper to passer-bys, and waiting until six o'clock, I was finally met with the literally sparkling face of Chris, or Christopher as I learned his full name to be.

 

"Hey!" he chirped cheerfully, I grinned happily in return, "Let me lead the way," he purred, grabbing my arm and half dragging me down the pavement.

 

"I still think you could be a serial killer," I laughed.

 

"Ah, now you know my secret I have no choice other than to kill you, or imprison you in my dungeon," he wiggled is eyebrows comically.

 

"I suppose I'll just have to accept that," I said, feigning sadness as I felt my face literally alight with inner happiness.

 

As we stopped at a small café down a few blocks, Chris released my arm and held both of his arms out in front of him, "Here it is," he announced.

 

As he pulled me through the door, I was hit by the waves of smells coming from the small kitchen at the back.

 

Chris literally pushed me onto one of the booths as he hopped towards the counter, I watched the back of his curly head as he chatted to the small man behind the counter.

 

The low light in the cafe hit his head perfectly, his curls shining golden with each small, unruly loop.

 

He suddenly spun around and startled me as he dropped himself onto the seat in front of me in the booth.

 

"I've ordered us a lot, I'm starved!" he grinned, "You really shouldn't have..." I began feeling extremely guilty.

 

"Nonsense," he wrapped his hand around my wrist, "You're so skinny, you need to eat more,"

 

I shrugged away his concern, "I'm fine,"

 

"You are okay right? With the money thing and everything?"

 

"Of course, I'm fine Chris, honestly,"

 

He didn't look convinced, but he chose to drop it at that.

 

A few minutes later, a tray of food was brought over to our table, Chris thanked the waitress and shoved plates of food in front of me.

 

"Eat," he said with a smile, taking the straw of his milkshake between his lips.

 

I didn't particularly want to, after all, it was his money, I couldn't accept it, but I didn't want him to feel disappointed either.

 

"Why are you not able to read anyway?" Chris suddenly asked me, his eyes wide and innocent.

 

I swallowed the chip I was eating and looked up at him, "I never learned," I told him honestly.

 

"Didn't you go to school?" he asked me in a non-judgemental tone, but a more curious tone.

 

"For a little while, yes, but I just didn't catch it on, so I dropped out,"

 

"You can just...drop out?"

 

I laughed at his expression, dripping in amazement.

 

"At that time, and the school I was in, yes, I suppose I went unnoticed anyway,"

 

"With those eyes I doubt you'd go unnoticed," he said bravely.

 

He suddenly blushed at his spontaneous statement, I smiled sincerely, internally touched.

 

I couldn't help but grin as he bit his lip sheepishly, his cheeks burning.

 

"I mean..." he trailed away, eyes darting around the wall for some sort of distraction.

 

"Thank you," I said quietly, "-and thank you for this too," I indicated to the feast laid on the table.

 

He seemed relieved of the change of subject, I found it adorable, "It's fine! It's nothing much,"

 

"When I get paid," I poked him slightly, "I'll be buying you everything,"

 

He laughed, "On that note, I want a Ferrari,"

 

"Deal," I laughed, "When me and Pablo are a multi-millionaire window washing business, I'll buy you your Ferrari,"

 

When we were finished eating, Chris and I took a stroll to the small park we were at the day before, over that time, I felt our friendship growing, growing at an alarming rate.

 

"See you tomorrow!" Chris called as he walked me to my apartment building as the sun began to set, and that we did.

 

Over the next week or so, each day, Chris and I met at exactly six o'clock outside his building. Pablo was almost convinced I'd been abducted by aliens and they had replaced me with a hard-working, less back-chatting, clone, and each day I found myself becoming closer to Chris than I had to anyone else before. I trusted him more than people I had known for all my life.

 

He seemed to understand me, almost better than I understood myself at times.

 

He was different, quirky even, but this was what kept me on my toes, I wondered frequently about what random scheme he would pull, but everyday we usually ended the day with talking at the same bench in the park and him walking me back to my apartment building before making his own way home.

 

Over this week, Pablo had been paid, but the wages I received didn't cover all of the rent I owed, and that of course, annoyed my landlord.

After promising several times I would get it by the end of the week, I was eventually let off the hook this time.

 

It was almost the end of my shift, I finished the last window with a bit of polish and rubbed it tenderly with a rag until I could see my reflection in it.

 

It was an Autumn evening so the sun was beginning to set earlier than it did during the Summer, the air had a nippy chill to it as I slid my way down the ladder.

 

"Good day's work today Jay," Pablo clapped me on the shoulder as I passed him, "As always," I grinned smugly, "I am just the definition of a perfect employee, aren't I?"

 

"Oh I could think of another title for you," Pablo said, rolling his eyes.

 

I narrowed my eyes at him, shaking my head in disapproval.

 

"Have a good evening Jay," Pablo called through his cigarette as he pulled away in his van, I did my usual walk to the corner, until his van was out of sight, then I waited by the low blocked wall beside the main doors.

 

Exactly ten minutes later, Chris arrived as usual and proceeded to tell me about his day, the amount of cups of coffee he had spilled, and a show he watched on TV last night, as we made our way down the streets of New York.

 

"-And then I said, 'bitch, please, you don't know a cappuccino from a latte'," he rambled, I listened intently, smiling at his antics of the day.

 

"So how was your day today Jonny?" he chirped enthusiastically.

 

"Oh, it was fine really, nothing interesting,"

 

"Ah, I bet being fifty feet up in the air is rather boring compared to making coffee for snobs," he quipped sarcastically.

 

"Forty feet actually," I corrected, "I've checked,"

 

"Apologies for my error,"

 

"You are forgiven just this once," I teased.

 

"Shall we head off for a coffee? It's kinda chilly,"

 

"Okay dokey," I agreed, silently thankful I had enough change to pay for both us so he wouldn't have to pay.

 

When we were both seated inside a warm coffee shop, Chris played around with the sachets of sugar, smiling up at me with wide, sea-blue eyes.

 

I smiled back, a yawn escaping from my mouth involuntarily.

 

"Tired are we?" Chris raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

 

"Wrecked, I woke up at 4AM again," I complained, "Those damn footsteps up and down the hallway all flipping night,"

 

"That sucks," he said understandingly, his eyes filled with kindness, "Why don't you tell them to shut the hell up or something?"

 

"-And risk potientially getting my face rearranged? I'm alright thank you very much,"

 

Chris twisted his mouth in thought, "On second thought maybe you should just buy earplugs or something?"

 

"I'll keep that in mind," I laughed.

 

When we had finished our warm drinks, we made our usual trip to the park, the leaves had begun to change colours, the park lit up in oranges, golds, yellows and browns, contrasting to the emerald grass below, the white clouds settling between the tips of the evergreen trees in the distance, we curled up on our bench, the chilly air drifting around our rather unprepared-for-Autumn, bodies.

 

"Autumn is one of my favourite seasons," Chris told me.

 

"Really? You seem like more of a Summer person,"

 

"Pssssh, do you see this skin?" I caught a glimpse of his rather pale skin, "I burn to a crisp in Summer! No, Autumn is a lot more peaceful,"

 

"Why is that?" I asked him curiously.

 

"It doesn't jump out at you like the other seasons,"

 

I laughed at his explanation, he elaborated, "I mean, Summer is the hottest, Winter is the coldest, Spring is like the beginning of the seasons, so Autumn kind of just drifts in, and is there, always reliable," he stared at the trees in thought, then he turned to me, "What is your favourite season?"

 

I thought for a moment, "I like Winter,"

 

"Come on, you have to explain," he nudged me with a wide grin.

 

"Well," I thought for a moment, "Simply because it sometimes snows in Winter, and I like snow, I like the way it looks, the way it feels, I just love it, the fact that every snowflake has its own pattern, it fascinates me,"

 

Chris listened to me intently, his wide eyes studying me with awe, I had never had anyway listen to me like that before, No one had ever really wanted to actually talk to me before and it felt good to talk about these things.

 

"That's amazing," he said quietly, a peaceful silence drifting over us as we stayed in thought.

 

After a couple of minutes, Chris spoke, "I think you are my best friend,"

 

I turned to him, my heart swelling with affection, "I think you are my best friend too," I smiled.

 

I wasn't sure how to show him how much I appreciated that, there were no words I could say.

So I simply locked our gaze, and patted his hand gently with my own.

 

He smiled at me in return, the small creases around his eyes returning, this suggested to me that he was the kind of person who laughed a lot.

 

He leaned against my side, "Imagine how different life would be if we didn't meet,"

 

I thought about it, "I don't know, but all I do know is that I am so thankful that we did,"

 

When the air had started to become almost too cold to bear, we both decided to make our way back to my apartment building.

 

Many people zoomed past in colourful scarves and hats, I decided I would have to get myself one of these cosy looking scarves before Winter fell upon us.

 

"Bye Jonny!" Chris said as he hugged me goodbye as I made my way up the steps to my building.

 

"Bye, be careful getting back, alright?"

 

"Of course, mother," he quipped.

 

I grinned cheekily before waving him off, making my way up the stairs and along the landing to my flat.

 

As I reached into my pocket for the key, I looked and found that it wouldn't be necessary, the door was open slightly.

 

'Fucking lock,' I thought bitterly, the lock had finally gave way, this was just flipping fantastic!

 

Who knows how much a locksmith would cost and I was as sure as hell my landlord wouldn't fork out for one saying as I was late with rent.

 

But as I grumpily opened the door further, I realised the lock was the least of my concerns.

 

My eyes set upon utter chaos and destruction.

 

The windows were smashed, broken glass lying around the carpet, the sofa turned upside down, the TV had been stolen, along with basically everything else of any sort of value.

 

I immediately rushed towards the bookshelf in which I kept my sentimental objects, devastated to discover that the only thing left were the photos of my family, the photographs took from their frames and the frames stolen.

 

I felt a pang at my heart, before turning towards the kitchen, finding it in a similar state, not one thing had been left except the actual cabinets, the doors left open.

 

I took a deep breath, checking the bedroom and bathroom.

 

Everything.

 

They took everything.

 

So it was official.

I owned nothing but the clothes on my back and the photographs of my family.

 

My head whirred with thoughts, one minute I felt so happy, one minute I was with Chris, having a good time as we did every evening, and now I was basically homeless.

 

I found myself walking out of the flat, almost as if I wasn't controlling my own body, running down the stairs as I managed to control my breathing.

I knew my landlord had a luxury flat on the bottom floor, and an office next to it.

 

I banged my fist against the office door repeatedly, eventually the door swung open revealing a middle aged lady with shortly cut crimson hair and darkly lined eyes, a pink track suit jacket complete with cheetah print jeans, she looked me up and down, a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

 

"Here to pay your rent?" she asked.

 

I took a deep breath, "I've been freaking burgled !" I managed to say in a rather strained tone.

 

"You as well?" she said, almost as if she couldn't care less.

 

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth.

 

"Well, that's the fifth burglary today, as you know, I can't do anything about it, you ain't got no insurance on it, no contracts, and your rent is late, so if I were you I'd grab what you have left and go," she said nonchalantly.

 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

 

What did she expect me to do!?

 

"I..." I faltered, staring at her with wide eyes.

 

She didn't wait for a response, slamming the door in my face.

 

My heart sunk to the bottom of my chest.

This was just perfect.

 

I was homeless.

 

I repeated it over and over in my head but it wouldn't sink in, I slowly made my way back to the flat to retrieve the only possessions I had left. The photographs.

 

Before I knew it, I found myself walking along the streets of New York, my photos carefully folded up in my jeans pocket, homeless.

 

And there I was thinking I was already pretty poor.

 

Now I didn't even have a flipping home.

 

I kept walking, unaware of the people rushing around me, barely even taking in my own thoughts and movements.

 

Maybe if I kept walking I'd wake up and this would all just be a dream?

 

Maybe if I kept walking I'd stumble upon the solution to all my problems.

 

But before I was even aware of my surroundings, I felt a voice call out to me. A familiar voice.

 

I looked around in my half-tranced state, realising I'd walked a couple of blocks towards a tall, red bricked building.

 

The voice called out to me again, I looked up blearily, unable to work out where this person was.

 

Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder, I flinched and looked up towards the owner.

 

"Jonny? Are you alright?" Chris asked me gently, his eyes displayed evident concern but they were coated in warmth.

 

"I...I..." I couldn't speak. No words would come out, I was in shock.

 

"Did you walk all the way here?" he asked me quietly.

 

After a moment, or perhaps longer, I wasn't really aware of the concept of time in my stupor, Chris spoke again, or perhaps he had been speaking the whole time and it had only just begun to register.

 

"How about you come inside and tell me what happened," he said softly, slipping an arm around my shoulders, carefully guiding me up the stairs.

 

The next thing I knew I was sitting on his furry, red sofa, and he was sitting right beside me, slowly running a hand up and down my arm.

 

I looked up at him, my eyes wide and afraid.

 

"You're so pale, Jonny what's happened?" he asked me quietly.

 

My voice was trapped inside my throat, he slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer as I buried my head into him.

 

"I'm...I'm homeless Chris," I whispered against his shoulder, my voice as shaky as my emotions were.

 

After a moment Chris spoke, running a hand through my hair, "That isn't a problem,"

 

I pulled away, looking at him, "How is this not a problem?!"

 

He smiled at me gently, "You will stay with me of course,"

 

I stared at him in shock, "I can't...I'm not.." I stutterer.

 

"Yes, you are staying with me from now on and that's final," he said, his smile stretching into a wide, excited grin.

 

"I...I...are you sure, Chris I can't just let you-?"

 

"Of course I'm sure!" he exclaimed, interrupting me.

 

I had no idea what to say, "...Thank you," I managed to whisper

 

His eyes twinkled with life, waving his hand dismissively, "Don't you worry about it," 

 

"-This is going to be so much fun!" he suddenly squeaked.

 

For the first time since I'd been rendered homeless, I let out a shaky laugh, "Yeah,"

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 5

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

When I finally managed to drag my eyelids open, I was abruptly aware of an extremely tight feeling around my whole body, almost as though I was trapped.

 

As I looked around, I saw nothing but complete and utter darkness.

 

Adding to my concern, I suddenly felt a warm tongue sliding down the side of my cheek.

 

Managing to shrug off the thick layer of sleep that had settled over me, I attempted to move my trapped arms, grumbling indecipherably in the darkness.

 

But before I could thrash around too much, a sudden bright light shone straight into my eyes, forcing me to shut my eyelids tightly.

 

Footsteps came into my hearing, slowly edging closer before, "Good morning!" a friendly voice rang in my eardrums.

 

I tried to move my hand, to reach out for the speaker of the voice but I found I was still trapped, the warm, wet feeling against the side of my face increasing.

 

"Get up sleepyhead!" Chris laughed, slapping my leg and he flopped down beside my feet.

 

Immediately the tight feeling faded as I realised what it was. Chris had wrapped me skin-tight in a duvet and blankets, many assorted coloured cushions behind my head, he reached over, loosened the blankets around me, allowing my arms to wriggle out from under them.

 

I slowly raised a hand to my cheek, the side of my face cool, and dripping with a liquid.

 

"What the-" I mumbled sleepily.

 

Chris laughed heartily, a hot mug between his hands, "That's Biscuit's doing,"

 

I stared at him like the lunatic my lethargic mind stamped him to be as he shook his head, giggling.

 

"That's this little beauty," he said, kneeling down on the carpeted ground beside my view, ruffling a dusty brown coloured Beagle between its long ears, making cooing noises and funny faces at the open-mouthed, drooling dog in front of him.

 

"Aha, that's a relief, I thought you had gotten hungry and decided to eat my face," I teased him sleepily.

 

He swatted at my leg, "It wouldn't be a surprise, there is hardly anything in, Plus he is just getting used to your taste, silly,"

 

"Isn't it your scent that dogs get used to?"

 

"Not Biscuit. Biscuit likes to get a good lick of any strangers,"

 

"That is the most normal thing I've heard all morning," I mumbled, Biscuit seemed to be a fairly old dog, but you know what they say, there's life in the old dog yet, I watched as its padded paws clawed at the sofa by my head, hopping up into my side between Chris and I.

 

"Is Biscuit jealous?" I teased playfully.

 

Chris laughed loudly, "Hell no, I bet he is relieved I've finally found a friend,"

 

"Is that so?"

 

Biscuit planted his sloppy tongue on my chin to confirm this statement, I grimaced a bit, laughing as he lapped at my face.

 

"I'm glad I can satisfy your hunger for humans, Biscuit," I stroked the Beagle's long, soft ear gently.

 

"Hey! He has me for that," Chris joked, flopping down on top of me, ruffling the top of Biscuit's furry head. "Maybe it's Chris who is jealous," I giggled, prodding his arm gently.

 

Chris slapped my head playfully, laughing, which made me realise my hat hand fell off my head during the night and onto the grey carpeted ground.

 

"Are you planning on going to work today?" he asked, softening his tone slightly as he sat up against the back of the red, fabric sofa. "I could tell Pablo you aren't feeling well, you could just take it easy here today," he offered kindly.

 

"Thank you, but I should probably get to work, I need all the money I can scrape together, I need to pay you some sort of rent,"

 

"Don't be ridiculous, I am not taking any money off of you! I'm glad you're staying here, I know it isn't much, but we can manage perfectly fine,"

 

I smiled at him genuinely, "That's very generous of you, but I have to pay my way somehow,"

 

"You can start by getting your ass off the couch and come make yourself some breakfast," he laughed, tugging back the blankets from me as he hopped across the room to fill the kettle.

 

"Couch?" I repeated, "I thought you were British?"

 

"Ah," he grinned widely, "When you live in a place for four years you begin to grasp their colloquial language,"

 

I laughed, "You're an American at heart Chris,"

 

As Chris showered, I took it upon myself to glance around the flat.

It was not that dissimilar to my own, the three rooms were plainly decorated, a red and white floral wallpaper stalked each wall, the pale pine cabinets along with stretches of bookcases with leather backed books and little ornate candles. It wasn't the fanciest flat, but it was cozy.

 

8:54am.

 

I was going to be late, but at least I had a reasonable accuse for Pablo, so I didn't rush, sipping from the tea I had made myself.

 

The sloppy noises of Biscuit lapping up his dog food by my feet pulled me from my thoughts as Chris suddenly dashed into the room, his hair slightly damp, curls bouncing wildly with each leap-like movement.

 

I set my cup into the sink, "You need clothes," Chris suddenly said, spinning to face me and stopping what he was doing.

 

"I'm alright,"

 

"You don't expect me to let you go out with that?" he played idly with the hem of my ragged shirt, "Come here," he said before grabbing my arm and trailing me down the hall to his bedroom.

 

"It's fine Chris, I can't wear your clothes,"

 

"Nonsense, they'll fit just fine,"

 

"But...you're doing enough for me, I can't accept it on top of everything else you've done,"

 

"I'm not taking no for answer, this is your flat too, we can share,"

 

"Chris I-" I couldn't quite believe how generous he was being, no one I have ever met in my entire life had treated me like this. I was sure no one else in the whole of the world would ever treat me like this, with so much kindness.

 

He waved his hand dismissively, "I don't want none of those damn thank yous, now, just take whatever you need," he smiled.

 

"-There are shirts in the top drawer, jeans and whatnot in the second and underwear and socks in the third, just help yourself," Chris called as he wriggled under the bed for something, likely his trainers.

Or sneakers as I assumed Chris would say.

 

I sheepishly opened one of the drawers in the pale pine chest of drawers.

 

"I have a little errand for you to run today Jonny," he told me as he crawled out from under the double bed, his trainers obtained.

 

"Of course, anything," I replied kindly, I paused on second thought, "Well, not anything, I'm not going to kill anyone if that's what you're asking," I joked.

 

"Dang it, I guess I'll have to find a new hitman," Chris played along.

 

"Afraid so,"

 

"Well I'll keep looking, but in the meantime, I need you to get a few groceries, saying as you get off work half an hour earlier than me,"

 

"That is fine," I agreed.

 

I knew the real reason he wanted me to get the groceries was to make myself feel better, to help me feel like I wasn't completely helpless and useless and that I could actually help him. I suppose he didn't want me to feel guilty about it, which of course, I did, and doing a couple of errands for him wasn't going to get rid of that, but all-in-all, I was extremely grateful.

 

"Fantastic, I'll leave the money on the counter, just get whatever tickles your fancy," I laughed at his strange choice of words, he raised his eyebrows, "What ever are you giggling at?" he teased, "Everyone says that!" he defended.

 

"Nobody says that," I retorted through a laugh.

 

"You clearly don't communicate enough Jonny, everyone says it,"

 

I nodded, feigning agreement, "Of course, of course,"

 

"Cheeky," he poked me slightly as he scooted towards the door, "I'll get out of your hair," he indicated to the clothes in my hand, "I'll be leaving in a bit, okay?" he said as he closed the door over a little bit, stepping out into the other room.

 

I shyly slipped off my clothes, shrugging into the new clothes, carefully watching the slightly opened door incase Biscuit or Chris decided they wanted to enter, it felt strange but the clothes fit quite well, the dark blue jeans snug on my hips as well as a nice light green t-shirt, deciding to wear my usual jacket along with my high-tops, I was ready, running a hand through my hair, I threw my hat on, neatly folding my other clothes inside my arms, I opened the door and ventured into the other room.

 

I almost leapt out of my skin as Chris unexpectedly appeared, wolf-whistling much to my embarrasment "Looking good," he grinned goofily, taking the clothes from my arms, "I'll get these washed up in the sink later,"

 

"It's fine, I can do it,"

 

"It's alright," he assured me, "I have to do my own washing later anyway, it's no bother,"

 

"Well, thank you," I replied timidly, I wasn't used to all this friendliness.

 

"I thought I said to stop that,"

 

I rolled my eyes, Chris took my clothes and planted them in the bathroom, quickly returning before throwing back his coffee.

 

"Did you eat yet?" he asked me, "I'm not really hungry," I replied, but Chris wasn't up for that answer, immediately thrusting toast into my hands.

 

"I'm ok-" I began to say, before I was cut off by a lump of buttery toast being shoved into my mouth.

 

Chris grinned, dusting his hands of crumbs as I managed to swallow it, "Thanks Chris," I mumbled sarcastically, narrowing my eyes, although I liked the way he cared about me.

 

"You can eat that on the way," Chris said before he slid a note into my pocket, "Just get whatever you like, as long as there is some chocolate," he added with a cheeky smile and luminous eyes.

 

I laughed, "Okay dokey,"

So we set off, as soon as Chris gave a farewell to his fuzzy friend and temporary house keeper, Biscuit.

 

"Now you be a good boy while I'm away, okay?" Chris knelt down, cooing at his dog, planting several kisses on his furry face and wet nose, receiving a few licks himself.

 

"We'll be back soon," Chris called as he tugged me out the door, Biscuit barking his reply, before the door was locked, I was almost taken aback at how easy his door was to lock. It just, slipped into place with such ease, I could have gasped. But I didn't of course, because that might have been irrelevantly strange to any on-lookers, or Chris.

 

I followed the skipping Chris up the hallway and down the stairs, before exiting through the main doors and out into the open world.

 

The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, a few wispy white clouds floating around the city's skyline as yellow taxis beeped their way past.

 

When Chris and I arrived at his work building, in surprisingly the same amount of time it usually takes me from my apartment building, Chris bid me farewell with a quick hug, muttering a sarcastic comment about how his day was going to be a bundle of rainbows and happiness with Mr Champion, before whizzing his curly head through the doors.

 

Pablo had already started, leaving my ladder laying haphazardly on the pavement, I glanced up at Pablo, who had came down halfway to shoot me a look that assured me he was pissed off, I gave him a little wave being the stupid person I am, getting a very pleasant, "Get to fuckin' work, fuckbag," in return.

 

"Nice to see you too Pablo," I yelled in reply, although I later realised I shouldn't be chatting back.

Pablo swiftly came down the remainder of the ladder, stopping at the bottom.

 

"You're late, it's all fun and games until we lose this job but what then? Then we are fuckin' fucked Jonny," he growled, getting increasingly more angry, "I'm sick of this carefree attitude, we have a fuckin' job to do you know? You can't just swing in here at any old time,"

 

"My flat got broke into yesterday Pablo," I suddenly told him, cutting him short of his employer-employee speech, "Everything I own got stolen, so no, so much for that carefree attitude you were talking about, I'm sorry I wasn't exactly on the dot of time, I'm sorry if that bothers you but I have other stuff on my mind,"

 

"Wait- where are you staying now?" he asked me, his tanned expressions becoming less furious.

 

"With a friend,"

 

"What friend?" Pablo raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Who?"

 

"It's no one you know," I shrugged off his interrogations.

 

"Hell, is it that guy who were walking with?"

 

"Maybe," I replied nonchalantly, Pablo greeted me with the excited eyes of what resembled a kid, "So where did you meet this friend?" his tone sounded awfully suspicious.

 

"Nowhere," 

 

"You're very secretive about this friend," Pablo narrowed his dark eyes playfully, "What are you hiding mister,"

 

"I am hiding nothing!" I raised my hands defensively, "How about we just get back to our job okay?" I proceeded in sorting my ladder, walking away from Pablo.

 

"So is this friend the reason for your brilliant lapse in moodiness," Pablo followed, calling teasingly from behind me.

 

"I thought you said we have a job to do?" I used his words against him, "Seems to me like you're avoiding the subject," Pablo chuckled as he returned to his ladder.

 

Sighing exasperatedly, I continued to my work, silently counting down the minutes until end of my shift so I could talk to Chris.

Upon examining the room, Chris appeared to not be there, likely tending to whatever jobs his demanding boss had set.

 

I wasn't sure if I could cope in such job, I knew I'd probably flip out at that boss of Chris' twenty-four seven, I would likely tell him where to shove his damn polystyrene cups if he spoke to me in that manner.

 

But thankfully I had my baseball-capped, curly-haired, rapid cursing, chain-smoking, sassy-ass, boss-type figure, Pablo.

 

By the end of the day, I was grateful for half-five, throwing my equipment into the back of the van, Pablo turned to me, "Not helping today?" he asked.

 

Before I could reply he answered for me, "You were waiting for that friend! 

-That's why you were helping me, oh you sly dog," Pablo chucked deeply, "I should hang back and say hello to this friend of yours," he teased.

 

"I'd prefer if you didn't scare away my friends Pablo," I shot back.

 

Our sassing continued for a few minutes before we both set off our separate ways, this time my intentions to leave were genuine and not just my usual cover up.

 

I slipped through the automatic doors of a regular retail store, grabbing a basket and dumping in the items I assumed were what would be necessary with the $20 I had been given, making sure we were equipped in teabags and chocolate, and of course other things I thought we'd need, I paid and trudged back down the grey streets with my carrier bags in tow.

 

But I had an internal smile on my face, I was happy that I would be spending the evening in the presence of Chris, and that in itself is a reason to smile.

 

When I'd finally managed to figure out which number Chris' flat was, accidentally knocking on the wrong door a couple of times, thanks to one of Chris' neighbours Kristine, which I later learned from Chris that she was staying with her cousin Sofia, two doors down from us, I figured that I now lived in flat thirty-seven, thanking our two-doors-down neighbours, before slipping into the room, throwing the carrier bags down on the sofa, taking a glance around the room for Chris.

 

Strangely enough, he wasn't there, it was going on half six, which meant he should be home by now, and besides, the door was open so he must be home-

 

My heart suddenly leapt from my chest as two surprisingly strong hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and yanked me down on top of the sofa, "SURPRISE!" Chris laughed hysterically as I attempted to recover from my cardiac arrest, and near death experience while he flung himself onto the sofa beside me, still laughing.

 

"Oh you are so easy to scare," he wiped the tears from his eyes, "What took you so long anyway?"

 

"I couldn't find the flat," I mumbled sheepishly, "-Oh yeah! I probably should have told you that, and gave you the spare key just in case," he mused, "I'll remember for again,"

 

"I only found it because of your neighbours,"

 

"Mrs Branson? The old lady who never speaks to anyone?"

 

"No, the other neighbours,"

 

"Oh right, Kristine and Sofia," that was when Chris proceeded to tell me how they were college students studying in a university in the city centre.

 

"It is so strange having nice neighbours," I said thoughtfully, "The rule in my apartment building is keep yourself to yourself -unless you want to be stabbed,"

 

Chris laughed at this, but I have no idea why, I was being completely honest.

 

Biscuit scampered across the carpeted ground to leap onto the small space between, coating us both in wet, mutt-kisses.

 

"Hello baby," Chris cooed, scooping the dog into his arms and rubbing his tummy and ruffling his ears.

 

"Have you been a good boy?" I half expected Chris to go into a series of 'yes you have, yes you haves' but surprisingly he didn't.

 

"Let's see what you've bought," Chris said, his legs crossed under him as he reached across me for the carrier bags.

 

"Ooh, good choice, thanks for that Jonny," he beamed as he poked his head into the bags.

 

He carried the bags over the counter and put on the kettle, "I can't really cook," he told me from across the room, "Join the club," I laughed.

 

Later that evening, when the sun had started to set, showering the room in a orange glow, Chris pulled the curtains and flicked on the TV, much to my surprise it didn't flicker and the sound appeared to be in working order!

Although the heating was not in working order, so we relied on the duvet off Chris' bed for heat, curling up on the sofa with the different foods that Chris had thrown onto a plate in front of us, thankfully Chris was basically like a sun, his body heat radiating off him and onto me, warming me sufficiently.

 

Halfway through an old American movie, Biscuit hopped onto the sofa beside us and curled under the blankets as well.

 

It was great.

I couldn't have felt more at ease and safe, and I felt like I actually belonged, for the first time in my life, I felt like this was where I belonged.

 

It was almost 7:30pm, when Chris suddenly said, "Want to go for a walk?" I happily agreed and we grabbed Biscuit's leash and hooked it to his baby blue collar, locking the flat and heading out into the darkened sky, the street was glowing with the different coloured neon lights from each shop, the tall street lamps illuminating the edges of the pavements, cars chugging past blowing polluted smoke onto our chilled skin.

 

The air was cold but it wasn't so bad when you're happy, almost like my inner happiness was glowing and heating my bones.

Although a scarf would have been nice.

 

Chris giggled and ran ahead as Biscuit tugged on his leash, I chuckled and followed, carefully navigating through the crowds of people, catching up with Chris, I grabbed his arm, "Do I have to put a leash on you?" I teased, he slipped his arm into mine, "Nope, that won't be necessary,"

 

I chuckled, walking side by side, we continued on our journey to no where in particular, just enjoying each others company in the noisy, congested city, although it felt like we were the only ones in it.

 

"Why did you come here?" Chris suddenly asked me, his blue eyes glowing against the bright lights and black sky.

 

My mind stopped for a moment.

 

"I...I came here to become president," I said quickly, hoping my joke was setting the conversation in a different direction, laughing nervously I realised Chris was gazing at my eyes intently.

 

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,"

 

"I-I do want to tell you, but I...I don't want you to think I'm a failure," I mumbled, staring down at my shoes.

 

"I could never think that!" Chris exclaimed, his wide eyes even wider, "I think you're fab!"

 

I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief at his oblivious admiration, 

 

"Well, I'll tell you why I came here first, you have to promise not to laugh," he threatened me with a wagging finger.

 

"I promise," I assured him sincerely.

 

"I...well, erm...I...I wanted to become a singer," he mumbled sheepishly, even in the night sky, the lamps faintly lighting the area as we crossed over the pavement, I could see he was blushing.

 

"That's amazing," I said in awe, I certainly think he could be a singer if he wanted to be. He had the potential to do anything he wanted I believed.

 

"No it's not, don't look at me like that," Chris said embarrassedly, attempting to look in the complete opposite direction of me to hide his face.

 

"You would make a brilliant singer," I said quietly, "I heard you singing that day we met by the window, I would buy your albums Chris,"

 

He smiled slightly, blushing deeply, "You're bias anyway," he shrugged off my compliments, I wouldn't let him off that easily, "You have the voice of an angel," I surprised myself by saying it, "I'm being completely and utterly honest,"

 

He looked taken aback, staring up at me with shining, slightly wet eyes, "Thank you," he whispered breathily, "Although it's not true," he added in a mumble.

 

I laughed, "I think it is true,"

 

Chris decided he was melting under spotlight, turning the questions over to me, "So why did you come here?"

 

His revelation had put me at a little more ease, "Well," I paused for a moment, "I came here for similar reasons to you, I dreamed of something bigger and better, something I thought couldn't be achieved back in my home town, I had a dream to become rich and famous, somehow I presumed it would work out, but with my job description and the inability to read, it ain't as easy as it looked, I-" I thought for a moment, starting down, debating whether to tell him the next part, but I gave in, realising I could trust Chris with my life.

 

"-I thought that if I was famous...I might be able to find my brother," I stopped, exhaling deeply as I allowed Chris some time to ponder it.

 

"Why would you need to find him?" he asked me innocently, I was surprised he wasn't laughing at my pathetic excuse and failed attempts, "I don't know," I told him honestly, "One day I woke up when I was around five, and he was gone,"

 

Chris frowned, "What did your parents say?"

 

"My dad left too," I told him, it was strange talking about something I'd kept bottled up my whole life, this was the one thing I had never spoken about until this moment, "-My mum told me they had left for New York, but she never told me why,"

 

Chris seemed to sense whatever jumble of feelings I was experiencing, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "I'm sorry to hear that, but you need to look ahead, forward, up to the future at beyond," he spoke mystically, "The past is the past, you are a brilliant person and great things are in store for you the future, you just need to keep optimistic," I smiled at his wondrous expression, "Do you think so?" he grinned widely, "I know so,"

 

Leaning his head on my shoulder, Biscuit's leash in one hand, he spoke, "One day people will know our names Jonny, I assure you, one day we'll make it in this big, scary city, but you can't give up on your dreams,"

 

"Meeting you was like a dream," I told him quietly, astonishing myself with the revelation, he turned slightly to me, his eyes tracing over mine, "I agree completely," his ocean eyes were lucent, almost hypnotising me, "Like the missing piece in the puzzle," he said with a wide stretch of a grin, the small, quite adorable gap in his teeth showing.

 

"How about we head home?" he asked me, I noticed the word 'home'. It was true. I actually had a home now.

 

"That sounds brilliant to me," I agreed with a smile as we headed back to the little flat that had now become our home.

 

When we arrived, Chris flung the keys onto the counter, surprised to noticed the time was 9:57pm.

 

"Time sure flies eh?" he laughed.

 

"Time is an illusion," I said in a mysterious voice.

 

Chris rolled his eyes, "Alright, the illusion of time sure flies," he corrected himself wryly.

 

I laughed and he joined in, unhooking the leash from Biscuit's collar and pouring us both a glass of milk, and a little bit for Biscuit in his bowl.

 

"Why thank you," I smiled as he handed me the cup from behind, "Not a problem," he replied dismissively.

 

After watching a couple of shows on the TV, I was getting tired, and judging by the yawn and the stretch of Chris', so was he.

 

"Are you coming to bed?" he asked with a yawn as he stood up and stretched his arms.

 

"Huh?"

 

"Well I'm not going to make you sleep on this lumpy couch again, damn, your back will be killed,"

 

"Oh it's fine really, you've been kind enough," I said reassuringly.

 

But Chris was not taking it, "Hey there is plenty of room," he told me, half dragging me to the bedroom, Biscuit trailing behind.

 

"I would say you could sleep at the bottom of the bed if that would make you more comfortable, but that's where Biscuit sleeps and I don't think he'd be too pleased with moving, so you can take the other side," he patted the other side of his squishy double bed, the two pillowcases neat and sparkling white, the duvet cover decorated in red and white floral patterns to match the curtains, a low lamp was glowing from on top of the bedside table, the curtains pulled and the room felt decently snug and cosy.

 

"Okay," I agreed with a smile, slipping sheepishly under the covers beside him. After tugging off his jacket and jeans, Chris flopped onto the bed beside me, almost sending me hurtling upwards in space, before pulling the duvet over him.

 

"You better not be a blanket-hogger," he raised his eyebrows challengingly.

 

"Touché," I replied with an equally challenging stare.

 

"Do you sleepwalk, sleeptalk or snore?" Chris asked me.

 

"Not that I am aware of, what about you?"

 

"Well," he crossed his legs under himself and sat on them, "Sometimes I get insomnia, but just ignore me,"

 

Biscuit curled up under the blankets by Chris' feet, burying his furry head against the bottom of Chris' toes, causing Chris to giggle and squirm slightly.

 

After a moment, Chris let his hand dwell by the lamp's switch, "Goodnight," he said with a kind smile, "Sweet dreams," I replied with a smile, before the room was coated in darkness and my head sunk into the pillow under my neck.

 

It was strange having a living person so close beside me as I fell asleep, and a living, drooling animal by my feet, but it felt safe, and warm for that matter.

I couldn't help but think what a wonderfully generous and kind person Chris was as I slowly felt my eyes shut

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic - Chapter 6

 

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 6

 

 

 

 

 

When I woke up the next morning, Chris was still asleep, breathing softly. Biscuit's furry head shared the pillow with me, his big black eyes staring into mine, almost making me jump until I realised what it was, allowing the furry creature to cuddle into my chest, I knew he was probably anticipating Chris arising.

 

Biscuit decided he wasn't waiting much longer for his owner/best friend/potential lover to wake up, using his little padded paws, he walked straight for Chris' peaceful face, stomping all over his delicate features with his little paws, licking at Chris' curly head before dragging his tongue down to Chris' forehead and eventually his mouth.

 

Chris' eyes shot open quicker than a speeding train, I half considered hiding Biscuit under the bed to mess with his head, but I didn't, "I bid you good morning," Chris mumbled sleepily as he shoved Biscuit's yelping stature off of his face and onto the mattress.

 

"Oh what did that bad man do to you," I cooed at Biscuit, mainly for Chris' benefit, pulling the fluffy dog towards me, making funny faces at it, "He is just terrible, isn't he?"

 

Biscuit barked in return, wagging his fluffy tail, clearly I had gained his approval in the short space of time we'd known each other.

 

Chris mumbled indecipherably, groping around the blankets for his clock.

 

I rolled my eyes at his blind attempts, reaching across and planting the clock in his clutches.

 

He opened his eyes slowly, carefully examining his clock, "It's nearly half eight," he yawned.

 

"Best get up, Pablo won't be pleased if I am late again,"

 

I slid from the under the achingly warm duvet, staring back at it longingly as I knelt by the chest of drawers.

 

"Take me out the blue shirt please," Chris said, still half asleep.

 

I did as asked, throwing the blue t-shirt towards his curly head.

 

He removed the t-shirt from his face revealing the goofy grin underneath, he sat up on the mattress and shrugged into the new shirt, throwing his old one haphazardly on the ground, before standing up and pulling on his jeans.

 

I averted my eyes as he dressed, although I was pretty sure he wouldn't care, he seemed comfortable around me.

 

When I had finished getting dressed, I met Chris in the kitchen/living room for breakfast, I took the cup from his clasped hands and sipped it, returning it to his possession,

 

He laughed, "Help yourself Jonny," he quipped, flicking on the kettle behind him. "Here is your spare key," he flicked the key across to me as I was in the midst of taking out a mug.

 

"Thank you," I said pleasantly, popping the key into my jeans, continuing to pour the now-boiled water into my cup, along with sugar and milk, I sipped at my tea as Chris informed me of a dream he had involving a talking tree and a wild, multi-coloured goose.

 

Chris scraped the contents of a dog food can into Biscuit's dish, and a few minutes later we were set to leave.

 

The days following continued as similar, Chris and I would walk to work together, I usually got some groceries in or went straight to the flat, before we ate dinner, went for a walk or to the park with Biscuit, and curled up on the sofa with a duvet, watching old movies and 'reality' TV shows.

 

I felt genuinely good, almost on the verge of feeling ecstatic.

I trusted Chris, and I felt like he was the one person on this planet that I could truly talk to, he truly understood me.

 

We grew closer, I felt like he was the missing piece to my life.

 

My guilt had started to subside, I didn't feel as useless or like a failure, I didn't feel like complete and utter shit anymore.

 

Chris, Biscuit and I didn't have that much in the materialistic retrospect, but we had exactly everything we needed. We made the most of what we had.

 

Even the nights when we just spent talking or walking around the darkened streets, I wouldn't have switched places with the Queen or anyone else for that matter.

 

But as a couple of days passed, I witnessed something at the window of Chris' office that darkened my mind, making every inch of me flood with a deep, boiling anger.

 

Polishing the sleek glass, I glanced my eyes upwards, upon doing so, I noticed Chris having a rather tense converstaion with Mr Champion, his boss, but as I looked closer, Mr Champion was yelling no doubt, but the fear spread across Chris' features was enough to send a knife through even the coldest of hearts.

 

But it didn't stop there, I watched as Mr Champion furiously grabbed the cup of liquid from Chris' hands, pouring the hot contents straight over my curly-haired best friend's head.

 

My eyes widened as Chris stood there, wide-eyed and open mouthed, dripping in what I assumed was boiling coffee.

 

I'd had enough of this, no one should be treated with such lack of respect and it infuriated me, I immediately slid from my ladder, filled with determination and a burning rage.

 

Pablo stared down at me quizzedly, sliding down to meet me, "Where the hell are you going Jay?" he asked as I pushed through the glass doors, "Jay!" Pablo yelled, I ignored him, marching towards the huge set of stairs, straight past the management desk until I reached my chosen floor.

 

A lady with a tightly fastened bun, a black pencil skirt, and a white ruffled blouse, stopped me on the corridor, her hand on my arm as her dark blue eyes pierced through me, "Can I help you?" she looked at my ragged appearance with distaste.

 

"I'm looking for Chris," I explained, the fury and anger still coursing through my blood.

 

The look of distaste in her face increased, her brow furrowing, "Room twenty-three," she spat.

 

I would have took into account her blantant rudeness, but I was too angry to bother about her, bursting through the door of Room 23, Chris nowhere to be seen.

 

I found it awfully strange to be on the other side of the window I had been washing each day, and although I was in no mood to, I glanced at the almost glistening windows and silently gave myself a pat on the back as these were indeed, superbly washed windows.

 

After glancing around the room for a bit, an empty polystyrene cup lying in the middle of the carpet, I noticed a small door in the back corner, noticing it was bathroom, I headed for it, knocking slightly on the door before sliding it open.

 

The small space was cramped, but I immediately noticed Chris' figure leaning over the sink in front of the mirror, his head bent down and his curls soaked.

 

"Chris," I said softly, his head immediately shot up in fear, his blue eyes widening as he looked up at me.

 

"J-Jonny, what are...what are you doing here??" his voice was shaky.

 

"I saw what he did, are you okay?" I tried to speak as tenderly as possible.

 

"I'm- I'm okay," he mumbled, he ran a trembling hand through his damp curls, "It's just one of those days," he said quietly.

 

"Did that burn you or anything?" I asked in an almost silent voice, moving closer towards him beside the mirror.

 

"No, No, it's okay," he said, his cheeks growing a pinkish hue.

 

"But it's not okay," I said firmly, "He shouldn't be allowed to speak to you like that, and what he has done today is just unacceptable, where is the bastard? If I have the right mind I'd-"

 

"No!" Chris' eyes grew wild and large, "You can't-" he began, but I wasn't having any of that.

 

"He can't just treat you like utter shit and get away with it Chris, I will not stand for that, who the fuck does he think he is?!" I ranted, passing Chris some tissues, idly dabbing at his now-soaked shirt.

 

"Why in God's name does he think this is acceptable??" I continued, furious to see Chris looking so afraid.

 

The terrified expression only intensified as the door clicked in the other room, his head immediately shot up, I took my chance, leaving the bathroom and heading straight for the suited man with a purpose.

 

"Oi," I began, I couldn't help my accent becoming increasingly more broad as my anger increased, "You're Mr Champion," I said, quite plainly as his razor-sharp brown eyes immediately cut through my soul.

 

"How can I help you?" he glared at me suspiciously, I was surprisingly taller than him, but I kept a short distance from his pristine attire, pointing a hand in the direction of the bathroom, "What the hell did you do to my friend," I snapped, but once my trigger had been pulled, it was very hard to stop it, "Who the hell do you think you are!? 

 

"-You have no manners or-"

 

He cut me off, "I think you'll find, I can do whatever I like, and if Mr Martin has a problem with that he can come and speak to me instead of getting the shabby window cleaner to fight his battles," he sniped.

 

I couldn't help but feel my feistiness practically radiate from every inch of my body, "Well he isn't going to damn well say it because you've intimidated him that fucking much with your constant yelling and petty shit,"

 

"I think you'll find I'm his boss,"

 

"That doesn't mean you should treat your employees with no respect, you aren't no better than anyone else, and it would be mighty fine if you got off your high horse and treated people with a bit of courtesy,"

 

"How about you get back to scrubbing windows?" he said in a dangerously low tone, his eyes practically ready to rip me to shreds as his mouth was upturned in a condescending smile.

 

"Does it make you feel good to put people down? Does it make you feel important?" I snapped, I could have literally broke his face but I knew it might been a little counterproductive and likely lead to me getting my own face broken, and Chris getting sacked.

 

And speaking of Chris, his timid figure appeared by the door, slowly sliding his half-soaked self into the room.

 

"Chris," Mr Champion began in probably the most arrogant and patronising tone I had ever heard, "Have you got a problem with the way I run things around here?" he smiled a wide and clearly fake smile.

It made my blood boil.

 

Before Chris could stutter his reply, Mr Champion turned to me, "Chris understands that I was fully intitled to do what I did, perhaps next time he won't fuck up," the quite sinister cheerily tone in his voice would give chills to the most warmest person on earth.

 

"So Chris," he folded his arms against his chest, "Have you got a problem with the way I run things around here?"

 

I caught Chris' glance quickly, he was obviously frightened, "N-No, of..of course not, s-sir," he stuttered fearfully.

 

Mr Champion turned to me, that self-assured, smug grin on his face, "Well, that's that sorted then,"

 

Chris turned to me with a helpless look, I was still brimming with anger for his boss, but I sighed, "You sure you're okay?" I asked him quietly, attempting to keep it out of earshot of Mr Champion, but I was pretty sure I failed.

 

"Of course," he replied shakily, fidgeting with his hands as his eyes told me he wasn't being completely honest.

 

"Well, I'll see you later then," I mumbled, eyeing his suited boss with glaring eyes, "Yes, back to scrubbing the windows," Mr Champion said with almost a snicker.

 

I gritted my teeth and kept walking, closing the door behind me.

 

When I'd made it to outside the building, judging by the small pile accumulated by Pablo's feet, he was on his fourth cigarette.

 

"What the fuck was that?" he snapped he saw me approaching.

 

I raised my hands as if to say 'Don't start,'

 

"That little bastard piece of shit in there," I indicated in the general direction of the building.

 

Pablo gave me a questioning look, "What the fuck are you going on about!!"

 

"Mr Champion," I spat his name like it was a poison, "Poured a cup of freaking coffee over my friend's head!" I exclaimed incredulously.

 

"Mr...Mr William Champion??" Pablo suddenly asked me in a deadly tone, his eyes wide and fierce.

 

"Er...Yes, I think so,"

 

"Oh fuck Jon," he slapped a hand against his face in despair, "What did you say to him!?"

 

"I gave him a piece of my mind, that's what," I replied confidently, much to my surprise, Pablo grabbed me by the collar and pulled me closer toward him, throwing the cigarette between his lips to the ground and facing me with an alert expression, "You stay the fuck away from him, I mean it Jay," he growled, "He will get us both sacked if he so much as clicks his fingers," he tightened his grip on my collar, "I mean it. Stay away from him!" he released me as I stared at him with shocked eyes.

I usually wouldn't have allowed Pablo to be so snappy with me, but the seriousness in his tone assured me this was not something to be taken lightly.

 

"Keep well away from him," Pablo said with a thick air of finality, his dark eyes even darker than usual.

 

"Okay," I muttered stubbornly, it was bad enough that this dickhead had gotten one over on me, but now Pablo was silencing me.

 

While spending the reminder of the day grumbling silent curses towards a certain Mr Champion, while finishing off the rest of the widows, I was glad to see the end of the day, chucking the ladder into the van with a air of aggression, as though the ladder represented what I wanted to do to this man.

 

As I climbed the stairs to the building of Chris and I, as I didn't need to get any groceries this evening, I knew I would be home earlier than Chris.

 

I met who I assumed was Mrs Branson, on the corridor, the elderly lady who doesn't talk to anybody in Chris' words, I gave her a polite smile and a "Hello,"

 

She glared at me, clutching her walking stick tighter, shuffling down the corridor while staring back at me as though I was some sort of thug.

 

The way my day has went so far, I wouldn't be surprised if she turned around and walloped me with it.

 

But luckily I didn't receive any sort of assault from the lady, apart from her metaphorical assaulting stares, I continued down the corridor surpisingly unharmed.

 

When I came to our flat, I noticed two girls lying horizontally across the hallway.

 

"Hello..." I said slowly, slightly confused, until their faces flicked up to me, revealing the faces of Sofia and Kristine, they had taken to studying for their exams on the corridor.

 

"Nice place to study," I remarked with a laugh.

 

Sofia threw a pen lid at me jokingly, Kristine laughed and explained that they couldn't switch off their electric fan and it was too noisy to study.

So they relocated to the hallway.

 

I rolled my eyes, "Have fun then," I said with a hint of a laugh, slipping into the flat at last, greeted excitedly by a wagging-tailed mongrel, Biscuit.

 

"Oh hello sweetie," I found myself growing an attachment to the cute little dog as well, I knelt down and ruffled his ears, "I have had such a terrible day, but I suppose you don't want to hear about that, do you?" I made little cooing noises. Surprising myself.

 

I topped up Biscuit's water dish before pouring myself a cup of tea, waiting for Chris' footsteps down the hallway.

 

After a few minutes, Chris opened the door, kicking off his sneakers.

 

I silently handed him the cup of tea I had already made for him as he looked up at me with such wide and helpless eyes, it made me want to kick the shit out of his boss.

 

After a minute he decided to speak, "J-Jonny..." he took a deep breath, "Thank you...for what you said to Mr Champion..." his lip trembled slightly, I was afraid he was going to end up crying, and I knew I couldn't take watching him cry, "..I-I am very grateful," he whispered, staring down at the carpet.

 

"Don't be, but he's a bastard Chris, surely you didn't mean it when you agreed with what he is doing,"

 

"N-No, I don't, I-I can't just...tell him," 

 

I took a deep breath, "I understand, but he just angers me so much, you deserve so much better,"

 

Chris stared at the carpet, his unshed tears waiting at the rims of his eyelids, "Nobody has ever stuck up for me before," he said in a croaky voice.

 

I walked over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "You only deserve the utmost respect, in hindsight he should be bowing at your feet and throwing rose petals wherever you walk," Chris laughed shakily, his voice thick with the threatening emotions, "You wont have to put up with him for too long," I said reassuringly as he laid his head on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me, "No?" he mumbled into my shoulder, "Of course not," I whispered into his curly head, "Soon you'll be rich and famous, silly, and then that Mr Champion will have wished he had have treated you with respect,"

 

It seemed to have comforted him for now, we stayed embraced in the kitchen for a few more minutes, before Biscuit ran in and clawed his padded paws at Chris' trouser leg, until Chris giggled and released me, bending down to greet his furry friend.

 

"How are you today, how is my little baby, muffin, cutie-pie," he kissed Biscuit's face several times, before hopping to his feet, kissing mine, and announcing that we are going out for dinner.

 

I agreed, and grabbed my wallet, on the intention of paying for us, Chris shook his head, also grabbing his wallet.

 

But I internally decided I would threaten him with cutlery if need be, but I was paying whether his curly little head agreed or not.

 

Once Chris had changed out of his half-wet shirt, we set off.

 

Chris chose a decently nice restaurant nearby, unfortunately pets were not allowed, so Biscuit remained on his little leash outside, tied to the railing, feasting on a little bag of doggy treats as Chris and I chose a seat inside.

 

It was fairly fancy if I may say so myself, the tables were a dark polished wood and cute little red and green checkered table cloths decorated each table, candles lit along the windowsills, coating the -not exactly crowded, but not exactly empty- room, with a sleepy yellow light.

 

The fancy-ass, bow-tied waiter gave us our menus, I slipped mine discreetly to Chris, giving him a sheepish smile.

 

"I'll have what you're having," I said, staring at the strange symbols on the menu, I couldn't understand how people could actually understand what was written. But I didn't let it faze me, Chris, after checking with me three times, ordered us pizza, which I happily agreed, because, well let's face it, pizza is amazing.

 

After tucking into the rather scrumptious, flat, circle-shaped meal, the waiter returned to accept pavement.

 

Chris immediately pulled out his wallet, I reached across and grabbed his wallet, plucked it from his grasp, and took out my own, paying the rather confused waiter, and returning Chris' wallet with a smug smile.

 

"If that wasn't very kind, I would be furious right now," Chris said, his eyes narrowed and glowing.

 

I laughed, "I did tell you I was paying,"

 

"Well, thank you," he grinned, taking a sip of his drink.

 

It was nice to just relax and enjoy life after a stressful day, it might not have been a five-star restaurant or anything of the sorts, but if I'm honest, I would have been just as happy, eating fried rats with Chris in the pouring rain, while people threw tiny stones at us, because Chris had that effect on me, he brought out the best in everything. And he was mighty fun to talk to.

 

"So shall we head home?" Chris said, extending an arm to me, I took it with a laugh, untying Biscuit from his restraining confines, I decided I would hold his leash back while Chris linked his arm into mine as we walked back through the darkening street.

 

"I'm exhausted," Chris sighed as he flopped onto the couch when we'd arrived.

 

"Why don't you head on to bed while I clear up this mess," I indicated towards the small pile of dishes accumulated by the sink.

 

"You are an absolute star," he said, walking around the sofa to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek, I rolled my eyes, wiping my cheek from his DNA as he called, "Good night dear," in a high pitched voice, forcing me to laugh at his antics as I made my way to the sink.

 

When I had finished the dishes, Chris had already fallen asleep, Biscuit curled up under his chin, I fixed the blanket to cover his body fully, wriggling under the covers myself and switching off the light.

 

As I sighed happily in the darkness, I knew this was where I belonged. In my little dysfunctional family with Chris and Biscuit.

 

At work the next day, I followed Pablo's advice and kept well away from Mr Champion, although I kept a protective eye over Chris from my window, just in case.

 

Chris was still fond of pulling funny faces, I usually returned them with a laugh as I lathered his view of my face with suds.

 

Mr Champion showed his face not once upon my time by the window that day, much to my delight and surprise.

 

But as I finished up work for the day, tidying away my bucket and sponge, I didn't know that it would be the last time I would wash these windows ever again.

 

 

"Hello Pablo," I smiled the next day as I waved goodbye to the skipping Chris as he dashed merrily into the building.

I turned to the ashen-faced Pablo as he had already accumulated quite a large pile of cigarettes for so early in the morning.

 

"Feeling alright?" I raised an eyebrow, opening the van as Pablo nervously played with the sponge in his hand, puffing tentatively at his cigarette.

 

Pablo placed a hand on my arm, stopping me from taking out the bucket.

 

"Can I help you?" I mumbled, shrugging  off his hand as though it were a fly.

 

Pablo crushed his cigarette to the ground, his dark eyes full of sadness as he looked up at me, "Jay, I am so sorry,"

 

I was taken aback, "W-What? What's gotten into you," I frowned at him.

 

"You can't work at this job," he said slowly, I stared at him, waiting for the punch line in one of his famously hysterical jokes.

But it never came.

 

"What are you talking about?" I said, processing each word carefully.

 

"That Champion man, he complained to the owner, -said you were acting aggressively towards him, I've been told to keep you off this job Jay, I have no choice, fuck man, I am so sorry, I don't want to do this,"

 

I felt my jaw slowly drop, as the blood immediately rushed from my face, "What?" I croaked, desperately trying to comprehend what I'd just been told and keep myself together.

 

"I am so sorry," he squeezed my shoulder, "We are mates, this kills me you to do this, but I need this job,"

 

I nodded slowly, my heart pumping rapidly as everything began to rush around me.

 

"So...I'm sacked??" I said hoarsely, "...I don't have a job?" I ran a hand over my furrowed brow, my eyes wide as I tried to make sense of the situation.

 

"Jay-"

 

I cut him off, "How am I going to get another job??" I asked him, my eyes helpless and hurt.

 

"You'll find something, Jay I promise you,"

 

"With my résumé?? It's a wonder I even got this job!!" I cried incredulously, "No one is going to hire me Pablo!! I'm a lost cause," I lowered myself dizzily to sit on the floor of the van, my legs dangling over the side as I stared out onto the road.

 

"Of course someone will hire you! They would be stupid not to,"

 

"I can't even read Pablo," I said bitterly, "Some chance of me getting any sort of job,"

 

Pablo lowered himself to sit beside me, "I am really sorry Jay,"

 

I met his sympathetic gaze, "It isn't your fault," I muttered quietly, "It's that bastard Champion's. I swear, this isn't the last he will see of me," I clenched my jaw furiously.

 

"I better get started," Pablo sighed, his heart felt torn as he stared at me helplessly.

 

I removed myself from the van, standing onto the pavement, "I will see you around soon Jay, we are still mates you know? I'm taking you out soon, drinks on me," Pablo assured me.

 

I smiled wryly, "Yeah okay," I couldn't help but feel an intense crushing feel on my chest, weighing me down with each step I took.

 

I got to our flat, it was far earlier than I when usually arrived.

I unlocked the door, slipping into the flat and kicking off my high-tops before flopping face down on the sofa, feeling four padded feet trek across my back, nibbling idly at my hat.

 

"Hello Biscuit," I mumbled my face muffled by the sofa.

 

Biscuit seemed to sense I was down, nuzzling into my neck as he tentatively licked my neck and shoulders.

 

I wanted to cry, but more importantly, I wanted Chris to come home.

I wanted him to reassure me, and comfort me, and tell me everything was going to be okay.

When I was almost certain that it wasn't.

 

So I buried my face into the sofa cushions, Biscuit by my side, as I waited for my curly-haired ball of sunshine to return.

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[RowanMarie]

edited

[Romy_MX]

This is just a Prologue, nothing yet to explain whats happening here... but its my first fanfic. I have the whole story planned out. but this is just a tester to see if you guys like my writing style

 

I have not even named the story yet. Oh well :P

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

 

Sometimes, certain events can happen to people. They happen to ordinary people. They happen to those who are small and those who are large, those who are rich and those who are poor. Whoever it may be, whatever it may be, an event, as such this one, can change a person. But it will not change the people around them. And believing in them is difficult.

 

That is why Chris Martin was sat at a table. And why, across the glossy oak surface, sat another man. He was an interviewer, an older man, no younger than Chris himself, but with as much enthusiasm as a child. His hand was poised over a wooden clipboard that he clutched close, ready to write down every word Chris would care to utter. Chris wondered if he looked tired to the interviewer. He wondered if he could even hazard a guess to as how many sleepless nights he had endured. Of course not. No one could.

 

Chris stretched his long fingers before running them through the blond curls upon his head, which he had neglected to cut recently, and so had become rather volumous. ‘What’s your name again?’ Chris asked, jaded.

‘As I’ve said already Chris, It’s Gordon Jacobson, that’s not what matters Chris please ’. The interviewer was intolerant, working hard and getting no answers; soon becoming impatient. ‘Sorry’, murmured Chris. ‘I’m just a little…’ He trailed off as his gaze fell to the table. The interviewer’s irritation in his expression was obvious. However at that point, it suddenly became masked over with a faux, comforting smile. He leaned towards Chris, and lowered his voice ‘Look, just answer this one question. Its not much and it’ll be over soon. We just wanna know. I’ll make you look good, I promise.’ Chris reluctantly raised his head until his ocean blue eyes met the stormy grey of Gordon’s. They scanned Chris’ face for signs of weakness, sadness, or any kind of emotion. However, Chris remained impassive, blank.

 

‘What was the question again?’ he asked, bemused.

‘Come on Chris, its not hard! How did you come to be here, at the top of stardom? Here of all places? Just tell me what happened. Just tell me .’

There was a pause. ‘ On the contrary, Gordon. That, in fact, is an extremely difficult question to answer.’

‘Are you going to answer?’

‘Maybe. ‘

 

Gordon made an angry noise and forcibly placed his clipboard on the table, bending the edge, so as it flicked back and made a sharp snapping sound as it connected with the oak. He crossed his arms and huffed like a spoilt kid.

If that was an attempt to make Chris laugh, it didn’t work. He just stayed silent, and only the ticking grandfather clock behind him would talk.

 

The amber lamps emitted a warm glow that illuminated Chris’ face, casting shadows over his jaw line, his cheekbones, his eyes. The orange smoulder clashed with the solemn grey light that leaked through the window on the right, showing the dismal, rainy day outside. The clouds fell like bullets, and the raindrops danced and shattered off the window pain, creating a million tiny reflections of the street below. They looked like teardrops. Teardrops that created miniature waterfalls as they slid down the glassy surface. Chris watched them, unseeingly. He was miles and miles away.