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

[ColdplayPenguin]

*Unnamed for now*

 

Here is a little piece I have had lying around, I don't know what you will think, so reviews are NECCESSARY hehe!:wink3: I need to know if you guys would like to see more or...

And let me know all your critiques!

 

 

 

 

As my eyes fluttered open, I was greeted by that oh-so-familar feeling.

 

I slipped the heavy covers away from my body and laid them against the empty side of the bed.

 

I yawned and stretched, opening the small journal beside my bed and taking a pen between my fingers and I stared hard down at the empty page.

 

It was always empty.

 

Every morning. Empty pages.

 

The same old repeat cycle every day of my life.

 

I sighed deeply, considering giving up on the thing that was supposed to be returning my sanity.

 

I slammed the book shut, angry at myself for even trying.

 

Why should I try? It's not as if I'll ever remember.

 

I was greeted by the same level of frustration and irritation as ever before.

 

I sighed and slid my feet onto the chilly wooden floorboards.

 

Everyday this happened. Everyday I was filled by the awful twinging feeling that was constantly at the back of my mind, gnawing away at my small amount of sanity and devouring my conscious thoughts.

 

Each day I was closer to figuring it out, and with each day I was slowly growing more insane.

 

It was slowly but surely- killing me.

 

I stalked into the kitchen of the small flat I lived in alone, it wasn't very large but it was just the right amount of space to house myself and the few things I needed.

 

I opened up the cupboard and took out the box of cereal, staring hard at it as though it would help me remember.

 

I placed the box on the counter with the jar of milk I retrieved from the fridge, and took out a bowl before adding the food to the bowl and taking a seat at the table.

 

 

It all started from as long as I can remember.

 

These dreams.

 

Or dream as I should say.

 

A reoccurring dream to be precise.

 

Everyday from as long as I can remember I've been having the same reoccurring dream, never quite being able to recollect what happened.

 

Inside the dream, everything is blurry, nothing is particularly clear or focused leaving me even more confused, but each day from birth, the dream is slowly becoming more clearer and each time it does- I grow more mentally unstable.

 

I keep a dream journal.

 

It was something the psychologist recommended.

 

One of the many things the psychologist suggested. One of the many things that failed.

 

I still open it every morning- half expecting to be filled will knowledge from the dream that has took over my life.

 

It is driving me mad.

 

I can't escape it, it's always there. Watching my every move, waiting for me to be happy so it can jump in and snatch it away.

 

It is a part of me I can't shift.

 

Nobody understands how I feel about it.

 

No doctor, no scientist would ever properly understand how I feel.

 

To wake up everyday with the constant frustration of being trapped within your own mind is one of the worst feelings ever.

 

I am trapped.

 

Trapped with this hell of a dream, gnawing away at me like a wild animal, driving away the people I love.

 

Although it had already succeeded at that.

 

Maybe all this built up anger is what is driving me insane- maybe it is what has driven me to all the counselling and therapy.

 

Staring at my now- soggy cereal, I began to shift my mind from the blantant fact that I was mentally unwell, and onto the goings on of the day.

 

I suppose I haven't really introduced myself properly yet, have I?

 

Well, I'm Jonny.

Actually Jonathan to be precise but nobody calls me Jonathan except my mother, but she doesn't really want anything to do with me. 

 

Although that's a different matter completely.

 

Anyway, I should start by saying I suffer from depression, anxiety and the occasional panic attack.

 

Attractive, isn't it?

 

I'm horrible at first impressions anyway, they're overrated.

 

Who can define someone's whole personality and judge them upon first impression?

 

It baffles me.

 

Although a lot of things baffle me- particularly myself.

 

My cereal was well and truly soggy by now, staring up at me with its' sad expression.

 

The clock read 10:30am. I was meeting Guy at 12pm, so I should probably get dressed.

 

We were meeting in the small café not too far down the road, before heading off for work.

 

I first met Guy in college when we were both studying mathematics in the same class back those few short years ago.

 

At first, I thought he was just a feisty, short, devilishly handsome Scottish kid.

 

Which is absolutely correct.

 

He was feisty, determined, relatively stubborn and confident but beneath his tough exterior was a deeply kind and genuinely nice person.

 

I was right about the devilishly handsome part also.

 

The man could attract any living object he fancied.

 

 

Now we both work in a small corner shop down the road, sharing shifts with our boss.

 

We're trying to earn some money to put into funds for college courses to get a degree.

 

Work was one of the only consistent things in my life.

 

It was a place I could distract myself from my own thoughts and help other people, as well as making some money -which is nice.

 

Guy works there with me also so it's nice to have a bit of company occasionally and someone to talk to.

 

Other than work, the only other real passion in my life was music.

 

Guitar to be precise.

 

I loved it. It made me tingle from every inch of my body when my fingertips brushed over the smooth strings of the guitar I loved most.

 

I wouldn't classify myself as any sort of musical genius but I enjoyed making up riffs but I lacked literal knowledge and talent in the lyrics end of things.

 

Guy played bass guitar so we occasionally jammed, but nothing beats sitting in the quiet serenity of silence with nothing but the sounds produced by your own instrument.

 

It gave me a warm satisfaction. Something I rarely felt anymore.

 

I wasn't particularly myself anymore.

 

Sometimes I worried about what would happen if I did remember. Each time I get closer I get more and more frustrated and unwell, so maybe remembering my life-long reoccurring dream would be enough to send my mind into meltdown.

 

Expect to see me in the near future, mental institutions.

 

I sighed, giving up on the sloppy mess of what used to be cereal, chucking the bowl down the sink and telling myself I'd eat later at the café.

 

I sloped off into my bedroom, taking out my pale-blue shirt and jacket.

 

Something about the colour of the shirt allured me.

 

Something vague and faintly recognised yet unexplainably familiar...

 

I couldn't explain what it was but something at the back of my mind ticked.

 

I immediately grabbed my journal, flicking through the empty pages until I found the correct date.

 

'Something about the colour of the blue shirt'

 

I sprawled down in my messy handwriting.

 

It sounded well and truly insane, but I couldn't help but have a gut feeling about it.

 

If I wasn't admitted to the mental institution by the end of the year, there's something seriously wrong with healthcare in this country.

 

But I closed the book shut and continued changing until I felt I looked decent enough to go out.

 

Morning routines took me a lot longer than the average person.

 

My mind is always so cluttered and frustrated that it's hard to concentrate on basically anything.

 

But after tying the laces on my trainers, grabbing my keys, throwing a sheet of paper into my pocket along with a pen, (Doctor's orders.) I was ready to go.

 

It didn't take me too long to walk down the bustling streets of the bleary city to the small café where Guy and I met almost every day.

 

I slid open the familiar doors, greeted with the scent of home.

 

It was a real old-style café, cakes in little tins along the counter, wooden tables with red and white checkered table clothes on each one accompanied with matching wooden chairs with red padded cushions.

 

There were a few booths but Guy and I usually chose the back table in the corner, to the left of the counter.

 

They had those really old-fashioned swinging doors from the kitchen, with the small circular windows in the top accompanied with the constant fear of being whacked in the face.

 

It's actually happened to me once or twice.

 

Guy of course found this hysterical until the same thing happened to him two days later.

 

I slid myself into my regular seat, staring blankly at the words on the menu, boredly waiting for my friend to arrive.

 

Now that I think of it, Guy is basically my only friend.

 

Without him I don't know where I'd be.

 

 

Right on cue the man of the hour swings through the door, a bright grin on his gorgeous face.

 

For some reason I really can't explain, Guy is always partially affectionate over me within the café.

 

I have a strange feeling he's trying to trick the owner into thinking we're gay together.

 

"Jonny!" Guy sang, his bright chocolate-brown eyes lit up like the whole of vegas, "How is my sexy little kitten!?" he laughed loudly.

 

"Hello," I smiled quietly, rolling my eyes at his showy entrance, as he took as seat in his usual chair in front of me.

 

"How're you?" he asked quite genuinely.

 

I stared at him suspiciously.

 

I usually got the 'how's that depression thing coming along?' before he slopes off to buy muffins.

 

He was too perky for my liking.

 

"Fine, what's up with you?"

 

"Nothing, why nothing at all." he grinned.

 

I eyed him from above my menu, carefully analysing his strange persona.

 

He grinned wildly, his eyes lit up miraculously and freakishly, impossibly bright.

 

"Guy, you haven't been taking anything have you?" my tone surprisingly like an un-amused mother.

 

"Good God, no! Why the fuck would you think that!?" 

 

I raised my eyebrows expectantly.

 

"God you're a loony," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

I grunted my response and continued scanning my eyes over the lists of food.

 

Guy leant across and snatched the menu from my hands, flinging it to the side.

 

"I'll buy today," he smiled, before standing up and leaving to the counter.

 

Now I was certain he was plotting something.

 

Guy. Never. Pays. 

 

I carefully stared at him in confusion as he chatted happily to the waitress.

 

This wasn't like the moody little firecracker I was used to.

 

He returned with two plates of food which he gracefully placed on the table along with milkshakes and coffee.

 

I picked up a fork but immediately placed it down on the table with a clang.

 

"Tell me what's going on." I said firmly, trying to find some evidence in his face.

 

He laughed, "You're so damn paranoid!"

 

"What did you get up to last night..?" I narrowed my eyes.

 

He almost choked on his bacon, "What!?" he spluttered, laughing.

 

"You're acting very strange today."

 

"Perhaps I am just happy?"

 

"Oh Guy, There's always a reason with you."

 

"What's that supposed to mean Buckland?" he feigned irritation, reaching across the table and poking me in the side, his eyes glowing in good humour.

 

I wasn't sure which I preferred.

 

Moody, mysterious Guy, or creepy, over-excited Guy.

 

At least I felt a little safer with moody Guy- but with extremely happy Guy- he seemed to resemble a spine-chilling seriel killer I'd read about in a book, one that tricks you into his web of good spirit before slashing your throat-

 

"Jonny!"

 

I glanced up quickly.

 

"You're switching off again," he rolled his eyes at my frequent tendency to daydream.

 

I couldn't help it, it had grown into a habit of mine that I couldn't shift.

 

"So...talk to me," he grinned, sipping on his coffee.

 

"Ease up on the caffeine, you're crazy enough."

 

"Pffft, you're one to talk!"

 

"Hey! Enough mocking the crazy person." I laughed.

 

"You are not crazy." he said firmly, his eyes glowing with determination, his tone serious as his facial expression changed.

 

I swallowed hard.

 

I didn't know whether to just agree with him or speak my thoughts.

 

Of course I was crazy!

 

I had the medical statements/psychologist to prove it.

 

But instead I shrugged, continuing to eat, the only sound at our table was of the clanging of forks.

 

I could feel his intense gaze creeping over me making me feel awfully awkward.

 

He'd probably decided he had made me feel uncomfortable enough, so I managed

to escape his gaze as he returned to his coffee.

 

He slowly placed his coffee down on the table, staring up to meet my eyes.

 

"You're very good at perceptions," he spoke with a slight smile, I stared at him to continue and he did, "There is something I need to tell you."

 

I crossed arms and leant in closer, "What is it?"

 

"I think you'll like it." he smiled as he reached into his satchel and pulled out a leaflet.

 

I stared at him apprehensively as he slid the leaflet into my hand.

 

I glanced down at it, staring hard at the words until it clicked in my mind what it was.

 

Acting on instinct I slammed it hard against the table causing Guy to jump slightly.

 

"No, fucking, way." I growled in a low tone.

 

He looked up at me with big, confused eyes, "Jay, you haven't even read it!"

 

I stared at him, anger building within me.

 

Who the fuck does he think he is!?

 

"Don't you think I waste enough of my life at those stupid fucking counselling classes!? I thought you of all people would understand that!" I spat.

 

"I do! But they aren't helping- Jonny you're getting worse!"

 

"So a minute ago you were saying I wasn't crazy- now you're referring me to these stupid fucking classes!? Yeah, thanks you back-stabbing bastard."

 

"Jonny!" his eyes pleading with me, his tone desperate, "I don't think you're crazy but this could really help! I've been researching it...maybe if you give it a shot.."

 

"-Give it a shot!?" I screamed incredulously, "Why don't you give it a fucking shot, see how you like stupid, condescending, pretentious bastards patronising you for hours and making you feel two inches tall,  -how about you give that a shot!"

 

"Jonny it's not like that...no one is trying to patronise you, they want to help!"

 

"You sound just like one of them." I spat, "I actually thought you understood." the overwhelming feeling of betrayal swept over me and I couldn't have felt any more like an idiot.

 

Trusting someone.

 

-How could I have done such a stupid thing!?

 

"I do understand! Just hear me out-" he began desperately as I stood up rapidly, my chair scraping against the floor.

 

"No, no Jonny- wait!" he started, but I couldn't stand to look at him no longer, the feeling of shame and claustrophobic panic

setting in.

 

I made my way around the table, angry tears pricked in my eyes as I was ready to storm out of the café and back to the confines of my empty flat.

 

But my plans were not succeeded as the room suddenly began to spin.

 

Chairs, tables, counters, the ceiling, went rapidly spinning around me as I felt the walls close in.

 

Everything began to contract, feeling it pull closer to me and I felt myself almost shrink beneath it all.

 

Everything began to grow taller and stand metres above my head as the room swirled and I stumbled back against the counter.

 

Voices all around me could be heard but nothing could prepare me for the panic that filled my blood as everyone appeared to be giants.

 

Standing metres above me, was someone I didn't know- frantic expressions on their face.

 

I slid to the floor, staring wide-eyed up at the giant towering above me, feeling myself sink into the counter as I slid down against it curling myself into a ball.

 

People were cluttering around me, everyone look as scary as the next, here

I was- lost, alone, surrounded by giants with not one familiar face, until-

 

Someone I recognised pushed their way through the giants above me, Guy.

 

Suddenly Guy shrunk down to my level so he wasn't a giant anymore, he placed a hand on my back causing me to flinch.

 

I cried out to him, to stop the walls closing in and to stop the room from spinning.

 

The next think I knew, his strong arms were around my back and below legs, scooping me up off the floor and into his hold, carrying me away from the towering giants and into the safe feeling of his chest.

 

"Are the giants away...?" I mumbled into his shirt, my voice muffled and distant.

 

"Yes Jonny, they're away." I couldn't understand why, but his voice trembled as he spoke.

 

I felt his arms remove themselves from around me as I dropped onto what felt like a couch.

 

Someone else was in the room, I couldn't make out the owner of the strangely familiar voice but I didn't care, feeling an overwhelming tiredness creep over me as I sank into the couch cushions.

 

Guy could be heard but my mind couldn't process what he was saying until I felt a thick layer of warmth spread across my body as someone laid a blanket over my shaking figure.

 

He ran a hand through the hair that had peaked out from under my hat, "Shhh....get some sleep," he soothed, "Will you stay here?" I croaked, my voice sounding strangely vulnerable.

 

"Of course I will," his voice cracked, "I'll always be here," he whispered as I felt myself slowly drift in unconsciousness.

 

Not completely sure of what happened, I felt Guy's lean back against my tummy as he stroked my wet forehead until I fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was too long so I have to use two posts. :lol:

[ColdplayPenguin]

*Unnamed for now*

 

(critiques are wicked)

(I love knowing how much I suck :omgomg: )

 

 

 

 

Guy

 

 

I watched as his anxious expression quickly softened as he fell fast asleep, finally getting the peace of mind and comfort he deserved.

 

My heart was still racing at the frightening sight.

 

One minute we were arguing and the next he was having a psychotic breakdown.

 

This dream was well and truly tearing his mind apart.

 

I'd only suggested the classes because I thought it would help, I thought he'd bite my arm off for it and thank me.

 

Clearly I'd been very naive.

 

I'd spent hours researching, read reviews and even visited the class to talk to one of the mentors.

 

I was certain this would help but he didn't  see it like that.

 

He had started to scream, something about the walls closing in and everyone getting taller, it chills me to core to think of the things that are torturing the poor man's mind.

 

He didn't deserve this and I knew the longer it stayed like this, the worse he'd become.

 

He hadn't always been like this.

 

When we first met he wasn't as distant or jumpy, he was decently sociable and full of life.

 

The glow to his cheeks had slowly faded over the years, as had the twinkle to his pale-green eyes.

 

Now he seemed often in a daze or trance, rarely paying attention and his panic attacks were more frequent.

 

But this was the first time I'd had the pleasure of witnessing a full-blown breakdown.

 

It was probably the most terrifying thing I'd ever witnessed

 

I knew at the back of my mind that this could only get worse and if it did- he wouldn't be able to cope anymore, I knew I'd be the one he would have to lean on because I was the only one he had left.

 

His family had abandoned him, they gave up on him because it was sometimes emotionally straining.

 

I would have to care for him if this got out of hand and it killed me to think that this could only get worse.

 

Someday he'll remember; and it would either cure him or kill him.

 

The kindly café owner whose name was Theo- opened up the back room of the flat he lived in above the café.

 

He asked me to leave Jonny to rest for a while on the sofa while I had a cup of tea with him.

 

I stroked Jonny's wild curls, silently resenting the horrible, reoccurring dream that was haunting my best friend's life.

 

He whimpered in his sleep so I tried to soothe him, rubbing his back and whispering into his ear.

 

I heard the door creak as I was met by Theo leaning against the doorframe.

 

"Coming for that cup of tea?" he smiled softly.

 

I glanced back at Jonny who was sleeping softly, and nodded as I stood up, gently rearranging the blankets to suit his curled

up figure.

 

I took a seat at his small dining table as he bustled about the kitchen making tea.

 

"So, what's up with him?" he asked rather bluntly.

 

"It's erm....hard to explain."

 

"Mental problems, eh?" he asked nonchalantly, his back to me as he rummaging in a cupboard for tea bags.

 

"Yeah, I suppose so."

 

"Must be tough," he sighed.

 

"He's never....usually like that, it was just because we were arguing and..-" I felt a twinge of guilt.

 

"Ah," he sighed, "Let him sleep it off, he'll be right as rain tomorrow,"

 

"But he won't be, that's the thing. It can only get worse," I muttered, staring into the distance.

 

"So you two are together, I take it?" he asked, despite the situation I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

 

"No, no," I shook my head with a grin, my cheeks warming a little, "We aren't, although I'm pretty sure we have the commitments of a relationship," he laughed heartily.

 

After his laughter he sighed happily, "That's quite sweet actually,"

 

I rolled my eyes, sipping on the tea I'd now been served.

 

"Is it schizophrenia?" he asked as he sat at the other side of the table.

 

"No, it's not," I pondered for a moment, wondering if Jonny would mind me talking to someone about this- Although, Theo might know something that could help, "It's...about this dream he's having," I explained, staring at him apprehensively.

 

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted  together in confusion.

 

I sighed deeply, "It's a reoccurring dream he's been having-" I expected Theo to stare at me as though I was insane but he listening intently, "-It's been happening long before I met him, from as long as he can remember I suppose..."

 

He nodded for me to continue, "Well...he can't remember it and the longer it happens- the more depressed he feels," I stared down at my cup.

 

"I've never heard of that happening to anyone before,"

 

"He's one of a kind," I smiled bitterly, "I just wish everything would be normal,"

 

"Normalcy isn't often what one intends it to be," 

 

There was a strange air of wisdom about this man, but I couldn't tell what exactly it was.

 

"What if it gets worse?" I whispered, allowing my inner thoughts to be vocalised.

 

"Well," he thought for a moment before looking me in the eye, "If it happens it happens, life goes on, but all you can do is let him know that you're there, that you'll always be there, there are some things you can't control in life but you can do everything in your power to make it easier,"

 

"If he'd just join these classes...It would help! It's just he's so damn stubborn!"

 

He laughed, "It's pride,"

 

I looked up at him, my eyes full of vulnerability, "Will he be okay?"

 

"Of course he will, just talk to him okay?"

 

"Easier said than done," I mumbled but feeling more relieved than before.

 

Theo was definitely someone I felt I could come to for advice, -for help.

 

I smiled, "I suppose I'd better remove the lazy lump from your couch,"

 

He laughed cheerfully, his smile reaching his eyes, "If you must,"

 

I was about to walk out when Theo caught me by the shoulder, "You can talk to me anytime you know, both of you- I'm sure this can't be easy."

 

I smiled at him intently for a moment, "Thank you," I spoke genuinely.

 

I stalked across the room to awaken my curled up Jonny, I knew it would be hard but I swallowed my fear and painted the best brave face I could onto my otherwise terrified expression- I would have to be strong for him.

 

I shook his shoulder lightly, he stirred in his sleep and shifted his position on the couch,  I sat down beside his chest, shaking him gently.

 

"Jonny..." I whispered softly, "Jonny we have to go now,"

 

He blinked his eyes open slowly and stared around confused, "W..where-" he began, his voice croaky with exhaustion.

 

"Come on, time to get up," I prodded him lightly using the best fake smile I owned.

 

"W..where to?" he whispered, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

 

"To my place,"

 

"B..but what about work?" he croaked.

 

Typical Jonny.

The first thing on his mind after a mental breakdown was work.

 

"Forget work, I'll phone the store later and tell them we're ill,"

 

"T..they'll never believe that we are both sick," 

 

"The amount of time we spend together- I'm sure they'll believe it," I smirked.

 

"W..why? What happened..?" he stared up at me, vulnerability pouring out of him.

 

"Nothing that you need to be concerned about," I smiled, brushing back a few curls from his face, "All you need to worry about is how much you're going to get completely wasted with me later,"

 

"N..no, no Guy, I don't..I don't go to-"

 

"Shhhh," I hushed, "I don't take no for an answer, now come on," I helped him up off the couch and onto his wobbly feet, carefully holding his upwards so he wouldn't fall back.

 

"Leaving, eh?" Theo quipped as he leant against the doorframe.

 

"Yeah Theo, We'd better get going," I stopped, "Thank you for this,"

 

He waved it off, "Forget it,"

 

"Bye," I smiled, helping Jonny to stand properly while watching the clear confusion on his face.

 

His tired and quite innocent state made him a lot more blunt when talking, "Since when were you two on first name bases?"

 

Theo chuckled heartily, "Since ever," he laughed.

 

I rolled my eyes, grinning as I helped Jonny to the door.

 

"Alright, see ya."

 

When we were out in the pavement Jonny turned to me in confusion, "What was that about?"

 

"Oh nothing, forget that, let's get going." I shrugged it off.

 

We made it to my nearby flat and I helped Jonny in as I fumbled with my keys.

 

I was always getting them mixed up and misplaced.

 

When we got inside I ordered Jonny to the couch to get some sleep before we were heading out.

 

I tore off the duvet from my bed, gave him the two pillows I owned and tucked him up on the couch.

 

"Why am I here?" he asked slowly.

 

"Because you are." I replied flatly.

 

"Nothing makes any sense," he whispered, shaking his head.

 

"It's because you're tired, get some sleep," I spoke softly.

 

"Can you turn the TV on...I like the sound of it in the background while I sleep,"

 

"Sure," I smiled slightly, reaching over and flicking the TV onto a boring show with a very dull and deep yet soothing voiceover. 

 

I watched as Jonny slowly fell asleep on the couch, clearly worn out from his episode today.

 

I sighed as he was finally given some peace at mind, although I knew sleep was practically the cause of this.

 

I would have to talk him into going to these classes.

 

If it helped him in any way shape or form I would happily pay with every dime I owned to cure him.

 

He started to breathe softly, falling into a deeper sleep so I decided it were best if I done something productive.

 

Once I'd washed the dishes and taken a shower, Jonny had woken and was sitting up on the couch.

 

I watched him silently from the doorframe as he stared into the distance, clearly trying to remember the dream.

 

He rubbed his temples frustratedly and sighed deeply.

 

He looked as though he could burst into tears at any moment and that wasn't something I felt I could deal with right now so I stepped in, making myself known.

 

"You're awake I see," I smiled.

 

He took a moment to process my presence, "Y..yeah,"

 

"-What happened?"

 

I thought for a moment then realised it was best if I was straight with him.

 

It might be the wake-up call he needs to seek help and take these damn classes!

 

"Well, you kinda had a breakdown in the café," I said nochalanctly as to not alert him.

 

It didn't make much difference though, "What!?" his eyes wide and full of alarm.

 

"We were having a row over those classes and you sort of...." I didn't know how to explain it! "-Erm...had a breakdown.." I muttered quietly.

 

"What did I do!?"

 

"Nothing really, don't worry about it,"

 

"How can I not worry when you just told me that!?"

 

"It's nothing to panic about, you just needed to sleep it off, okay? I took you out back and then back here, it's no big deal," 

 

I wasn't sure if he bought it but he said no more, although the sheer fear in expression said otherwise.

 

I shook off the stack of problems that were building frequently, "Right, get your ass off that couch and get ready,"

 

"Ready for what?"

 

"You have the memory of a goldfish!" I laughed, trying to remove some of the stress I was feeling, "We are going to some bars tonight Jonny my dear friend," I grinned.

 

"No."

 

"What do you mean- no?!"

 

"I'm not going, I won't go, you can't make me."

 

"We'll see about that," I challenged, "Oh come on Jay you deserve it! It will be fun! Just like the good old days!"

 

He glared at me.

 

"Drinks are on me," I added with a cheeky smirk.

 

He took a deep breath, "All right then Berryman, you win this round-" he waved his finger in feign threat, "-But next time you shan't be as lucky,"

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes, chuckling, I was starting to feel happier by the second, "Now get up off your lazy ass and get ready!"

 

"Oi! Shouldn't you be being super nice to me now?" he raised his eyebrows comically.

 

"Oh Jonny, you may not be crazy- but you are deluded! I could never do that to you,"

 

He laughed, much to my relief he seemed to be feeling better.

 

Eventually Jonny finally removed himself from my couch and got ready- which mainly consisted him of changing his jacket.

 

I usually had a few bits of Jonny's clothes lying around my flat as he spent a lot of time there so naturally our things ended up blending.

 

"Guy! Are you nearly done in there?" Jonny's voice could be heard through the bathroom wall as I brushed my teeth,

 

 

"Mmmhm.." I mumbled indecipherably, my mouth full of toothpaste suds. 

 

I swung the door open to be greeted by ready-to-leave Jonny.

 

"You weren't so keen earlier!" I teased.

 

"Well I'm not but as you aren't going to take no for an answer I may as well get it over with," he quipped.

 

"Fair point," I nodded.

 

So Jonny and I headed off for a night of drinking.

 

Well I presumed it would likely be only me drinking, but I needed to help relieve some of his stress.

 

Drinking probably wasn't the answer but it was the only thing I could think of so that is what we did.

 

I found a decent enough looking bar close to the centre of the city so we went to that.

 

It wasn't very flashy or modern, but decent and a had friendly atmosphere.

 

And a pool table.

 

And a darts board.

 

So that was pretty cool also.

 

Jonny and I slid into a booth in the corner, as the bartender handed us two bottles of beer.

 

"To the first of many!" I held my bottle up to Jonny who rolled his eyes and reluctantly tapped his bottle against mine.

 

After another few bottles we were starting to laugh awfully loud and I could almost feel the tension of the day slide away, he was starting relax a bit better, almost like the old Jonny again- his eyes twinkling in the dark pub.

 

A dark haired man with dark stubble around his mouth whom I'd been watching play pool from across the bar- and maybe shouted some drunken remarks at- I couldn't really remember, walked across the room and took a seat beside us.

 

I was on perhaps my sixth bottle, so I was a little tipsy on it- Jonny only on his third, although the man can't stand his liquor like I can.

 

I honestly can't remember what we were talking about but it ended with us all laughing hysterically and quite loudly.

 

But I almost felt Jonny tense up at his presence.

 

Strangers as I knew, made him uncomfortable.

 

He still wasn't used to any company other than my own, so I unconsciously decided to subtly suggest this man to leave as I couldn't have Jonny shrink back into his isolating shell.

 

"C..can you....f..fuck off.." I slurred to him, ever so discreetly! 

 

He looked at me and laughed.

 

I don't remember the rest for I was drunk but I do remember he left somehow leaving Jonny and I alone.

 

Jonny smiled at me gratefully and downed the rest of his bottle.

 

"M..more?" I managed to mumble.

 

He put a hand to his mouth, looking as though he could puke then shook his head,

"N..naw....naw, Guy....naw.." he slurred.

 

"Suit yourself," I mumbled.

 

"-Was what the lazy tailor said," Jonny chipped in, before erupting in fits of laugher causing me to burst out laughing at the sheer sound of his laughter which eventually led to me sliding out of the booth and onto the floor, giggling hysterically as Jonny was in tears of laughter, looking down at me on the floor of the pub.

 

I couldn't breathe for laughing so hard, almost forgetting what the initial joke was.

 

"H..here get up on the seat," Jonny laughed, extending a wobbly hand to me which I accepted and gladly pulled him down also causing us to laugh harder.

 

"Right I think you've have enough," the bartender muttered as he flounced over to where we were lying.

 

"Fine by me!" Jonny flicked his hand in a diva-like manner causing me to snort with laughter.

 

Jonny grinned wildly at me, "This e..e..establishment is unacceptable to my refined taste anyway," he continued, his chin high in the air.

 

Well not exactly 'high' saying as we were still on the floor.

 

Jonny turned to me, "See this man right here..." he drunkenly began, addressing me to the irritated bartender, "This guy...right here....is...really...awesome.." he slurred, waving his arms towards me.

 

"Y..you shouldn't be dissing his crazy ass," Jonny continued in a now gangster-like accent.

 

His behavior surprised me.

A moment ago he was too shy to even speak around a stranger, now he was lying on the floor of a bar talking like a gangster.

 

Perhaps it was the relieve in tension from all the laughing that made him feel more out-going.

 

Although the bartender didn't look too amused as he glared at us coldly.

 

"He's...the best at counting change...you'll ever see..." Jonny pointed at me, referring to the swift way I can count change in the store, causing me to erupt into more laughter.

 

He was always talking about my change-counting abilities!

 

"He's won...medals for it..." Jonny wagged a finger at the fierce looking bartender.

 

"RIGHT, THAT'S IT! OUT! NOW!" he roared, pointing towards the door.

 

Jonny snickered and stumbled to his feet, clinging onto the booth for help, before pulling me to my feet.

 

"We have human rights!" Jonny shouted, throwing a fist into the air.

 

I don't know how but we ended up in the cold, harsh air of the outside world.

 

"Tha...that was....fun," Jonny giggled, wobbling helplessly on the pavement.

 

"Let's go somewhere else! I suggested,

 

"That park!" Jonny pointed to a dark looking park across the street, surrounded slightly by trees but had a tyre swing and a couple of rusty, graffiti-sprayed toys.

 

My mind wasn't being so rational so I agreed and we skipped across to the park.

 

The moon was peaking out from beneath the dark clouds leaving a dull glow on the ground around us.

 

Jonny sat in the middle of the tyre swing so I laid back against the wet grass, close enough so we could talk without having to shout.

 

"Jonny.." I began, my drunken mind ferociously ticking, "Will you try them classes..."

 

He looked over at me, frowning.

 

"Look, I don't want to row with you, I really don't, but please...please just try one class."

 

"-If you don't like it...you don't have to go back!"

 

I watched his eyes study me, "-I'll even come! So if any of the mentors are being patronising like you assume they will be- I'll hit them really hard with apples."

 

"Apples?"

 

"Yes, I'll bring a bag of apples just for you- to throw at anyone who is mean,"

 

"I...that's...."

 

"Please Jay..."

 

I wondered if it were his drunken state or if he was really being acceptive of my offer but he apprehensively agreed, "O..okay then...but....you have to promise to come with me,"

 

"Of course!" I beamed, relief filling my emotions.

 

"I'm only trying one class Guy, for your benefit."

 

"That's fine!"

 

"Well....I suppose one class couldn't hurt.."

 

I was so overwhelmed at that moment that I sprung to my feet and hugged tightly, engaging him in a bone-crushing embrace.

 

"Oh get off me you sappy bastard," he laughed heartily,

 

"This is gonna be the start of something Jay, I can feel it,"

 

I looked him dead in the eye, "You're gonna get better, you know that right? You're a fighter."

 

"Am I," he mumbled disbelievingly.

 

"Yes, you Jonathan Buckland are a fighter and if I have to tramp to the ends of the earth for this- so be it, because I- Guy Berryman, -will fix you,"

 

He smiled at me thoughtfully for a moment, the smile reaching his eyes and making them shine, "That was the most sweetest load of shit that's ever came out of your mouth," 

 

"I know Jonny, I know,"

 

"You need to stop reading love stories Guy, it's turning you into one emotional bastard," he laughed.

 

"Cheeky bastard!" I kicked him playfully from my lying down position near the swing, "I'll have you know I don't read love stories," I said matter-of-factly.

 

"That's a lie! I've seen the books under your bed,"

 

"You are one liar," I weakly defended.

 

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered, winking.

 

I rolled my eyes, happy to change the subject- "So I shall sign you up tomorrow?" I grinned.

 

"Alright,"

 

So two naps, one psychotic breakdown, and many, many drinks later, I'd finally persuaded Jonny to fight for his sanity.

 

We were in for a hell of a ride but I knew that there was hope left in us both, and as long as we stuck together- I was certain we could do this.

 

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[RowanMarie]

edited

[coldplayer#16]

Super Smash Br- . . . Band?

 

NOTE: I am well aware that the new Smash Bros. game isn't out until next year, and I could have very easily used stuff from Brawl, but the new one has added a very important point in this short story. Speaking of, let's move on, shall we?

 

 

A normal day at the Bakery, Jonny strumming on the guitar, Will sitting down with a book and tea, Guy on the internet, and Chris . . . well, he wasn't there just yet, he'd run out to buy the latest video game. He admittedly wasn't much for Nintendo stuff, preferring EA's version of FIFA, but there was a new WiiU waiting to be played and a new Smash Bros. out to help settle some scores. Also to have fun playing, but you know, arguments do come up, and Smash Bros. is a faster way to settle a disagreement than an entire FIFA match.

 

Chris barreled down the street with his odd and yet familiar energeticness and nearly skid off the pavement trying to make a sharp turn and runnig up to the Bakery's door. He shook the door handle and realized he needed his key, but the door opened and Phil was smiling at him.

 

"Forget something?" he asked, holding up Chris's keys.

 

"Yeah, kinda," Chris laughed, "I swear I had those when I left!"

 

"They fell out of your pocket and onto the front step."

 

Chris looked at his friend with a blank stare, then reached into his pocket, only to discover the huge hole that his keys must have fallen out of. He blushed and shrugged, pulling out the fabric of his jean's pocket and showing the massive rip. Phil rolled his eyes and let the singer in, smiling and then shaking his head.

 

"WHO'S READY TO TAKE ME ON IN BRAWL?!" Chris cried, holding up the new game and presenting it to his band mates.

 

Will's eyes glanced up from his book and then his brow furrowed, "Really? You want us to play a game filled with mindless cartoon violence made for children?"

 

Chris shrugged, "Faster than a FIFA match."

 

"But you're still gonna lose!" Guy said.

 

"Is that a challenge, Berryman?"

 

"Okay, okay, cool your jets," Jonny said, "you all know that none of you stand a chance against me!"

 

"Wanna bet?!" Will said, shutting up his book and setting it on the coffee table in front of him, "I can take all of you with my eyes closed!"

 

Phil just stood in the door way with a smirk on his face, "How about you lot quit bickering like a bunch of old ladies and actually play the game?!"

 

"But it's a four player game, Phil," Chris said, examining the back of the game's box, "at least it used to be- yep, yeah it is."

 

"I'll play winners," he said, "Besides, I doubt any of you could face me!"

 

"Bring it on!"

 

Chris ripped off the plastic and started up the new system,  and once the menu screen opened up, he quickly found the game and started it up.

 

"I seriously don't know why you bought this," Will said, "but I'm actually kinda excited and almost glad you did . . . almost."

 

"You just don't know how to have fun, do you?" Chris asked, "FREE FOR ALL!"

 

Now, this is where the story begins to become crazy and unrealistic (oh my god, a fan fic is breaking the fourth wall!), but the beautiful and oddly non-raining sky grew gloomy and cracked with the loud sound of thunder, followed by a bright bolt of lightening. Follow a few more loud cracks of the sky's anger, a bolt struck down and, instead of cutting the power, super charged a line and that line, you guessed it, led straight into the bakery.

 

The light intensity grew and the TV screen became blindingly bright, and that's when the bulbs blew. Light after light exploded and bits of glass flew everywhere, and the TV light grew and enveloped the entire room. Phil could manage to see his friends' outlines, but he only saw three. Where did one of them go?

 

Soon enough, the number dwindled to two, and before whatever was stealing the band got Chris, Phil grabbed onto him and the two felt a shock of energy and were quickly taken off their feet to . . . somewhere else (this plot is real original, isn't it?).

 

The energy flamed down, but the rain kept pouring. Anchorman, Roadie #42, and the Oracle ran up to the room where the band were, flashlights in hand, trying to see if the boys were okay. The trio found themselves avoiding broken glass from the popped bulbs and their eyes caught sight of the now not-so-blindingly-bright television screen.

 

What they saw they could not believe.

 

Mean time, the band of 5 found themselves teleported into a new, strange world. They all fell out of the air, a bright light guiding them down, and Chris awkwardly falling over with Phil on his back.

 

"Oooooh" Will moaned, sitting himself upright and taking in the new environment. His eyes grew wide as he looked at his band mates' bizarre new attire.

 

Jonny wore an odd, red vest and black t-shirt mix, light jeans, and new, red cap, and a tan backpack. His beard was missing.

 

He looked over at Chris and Phil, jaw dropping when he saw the sudden height difference between the two. Phil was now much shorter, a bit pudgier, wearing blue shorts and a red and yellow stripped shirt. His blond hair was styled into an exaggerated, gravity defying version of his usual blond spike.

 

Chris, however, wore a new, long, green, sock-like hat, his curls popping out underneath, a sword in its sheath around his back, and a shield on his arm. The shield was decorated with a bunch of symbols, a bright yellow triangle at the top and a large, red symbol underneath, both which popped off the blue of the shield's background. His outfit was by far the most out of place thing Chris wore, the tan trousers under the green tunic, and big, brown boots covering his feet.

 

Will finally took a look down at himself, discovering a pair of overalls and red, long sleeved shirt underneath. He found white gloves covering his hands, and feeling the top of his head, he felt a hat. He covered his mouth in disbelief, his hand feeling a familiar, but not his, moustache.

 

He stood up and looked around . . . where was Guy? 

 

The land suddenly grew a red and started flashing with a sign of warning. A disembodied voice came blaring with the strange light, "NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHING!"

 

The group turned their heads as the light dimmed, and the silhouette of a familiar face stood a top a not too far off hill. The hair and head were covered by a helmet, and the blue shooter came jumping down, buster charged and ready to shoot. 

 

Guy had taken on the form of one of the world's most iconic and famous robot's in all of gaming, the blue armor and robotic abilities pulsing through his new form, and he was the only one to keep his facial hair.

 

"READY?!" came another disembodied voice, "SET!"

 

The group looked around at each other and then up at the strange new sky, filling with text and a voice crying out, "FIGHT!"

 

[coldplayer#16]

Coldplay in Wonderland

 

Part 38:

 

 

 

Tori could not believe what she was looking at, she dropped the sword and covered her mouth. The smell was putrid and the sight certainly didn't help. She ran to the hallway, pushing open and window and vomitted.

 

"I keep forgetting your still as delicate as a flower," Chris said, his voice cold and condesending.

 

"What is wrong with you?!" Tori screamed, turning to him and storming into the room."

 

"You heard me, and I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm fine, I can stomach stuff like this. Unlike you, some 'heroine' you've turned out to be!"

 

The girl looked him in the eye and saw they weren't the same, kind, soft blue they were before. The iris was stained with red and what little blue there was had been so glazed over it looked clear.

 

The girl smacked the rabbit across the face, "Snap out of it!!"

 

Chris shook his head and then looked at her. His body registered the pain and he shivered, "Ow!" The rabbit covered his cheek and looked at the girl, "What'd you do that for?!"

 

"You didn't snap out of it yourself." 

 

Chris's eyes widened and then he understood, "I said something dumb, didn't I?"

 

"Hurtful, dumb, terrifying, all the things you promised you wouldn't be toward me." The rabbit looked absolutely motified and the expression on his face was nothing but apologetic, "What should have I expected, cliché or not, promises are just made to be broken."

 

"Tori, whatever I did, you know that's not me!"

 

"No, it's not."

 

The girl walked out of the room and down the hall, leaving Chris to just sink, he felt his heart falling to the floor and a massive knot in his throat. Chris looked at his hands, covered in blood to the mid-forearm on, and his chest was splattered with big crimson stains.

 

"I'm a monster," he whispered to himself, falling to his knees and hiding his face, trying to maintain a shred of manliness. He failed, and the sting of salty tears began to add a new stain on the rabbit's face. The tears fell and mixed in with the blood on the floor, a reminder of what kind of mad the rabbit was:

 

violent and uncontrollable, a danger to everyone around him and to himself.

 

--

 

Tori had gone off and found herself at the entrance of the castle, where she and the three mad men had first arrived. She stood at the center and looked at the empty thrown, letting all the recent events and suddenly bitter words wash over her. She bit her lip and felt the burn of tears in her eyes, a sign of weakness and one that finally brought her to her knees, covering her face with her hand and she began to violently sob.

 

"Why do you cry, my child?"

 

Tori looked up and saw a familiar face. The king, a long, pale purple robe covering him, barely revealing the white pajamas. He wore a pair of simple sandals as slippers, quite the sharp contrast from the royal attire.

 

"I- we- he-" Tori  stammered, and the king noticed something odd about her.

 

"Is that blood?"

 

Tori nodded, bursting into tears again.

 

"Where is Chris?"

 

She shrugged.

 

"You don't know?"

 

The girl shook her head.

 

"Did he snap?"

 

She nodded, choking back on tears.

 

"Did he say something to hurt you?"

 

Tori let out a violent sob, her mouth beginning to run at a million miles a hour as she explained what had happened. Her words were slurred by tears and sobs, which were met by a sigh and a pat on the back from th king.

 

"Child, you speak far to fast, I'm afraid I don't understand you. I don't even think the mad man would follow. You and I both know Chris doesn't mean what he says when he becomes that monster, he slips back to the abusive and harsh nature he was met with and grew up knowing. You and I both know he knows better, and I'm sure whatever it is he said-"

 

"He already gave me that crap," the girl managed to say, "I know he didn't mean it, but it still hurts! I'm not the hero you were looking for! I'm just some weak little girl, a failure and- and- . . . I wanna go home!!"

 

The last part is what got the king's attention, "Don't you say that!" His arms wrapped around the girl in a comforting manner and one that was meant as support, "We need you! I know I sound like some selfish fool of a king, but I exhausted every other option I had. I never wanted to bring you here, I needed to find a solution, before my country, my whole world, went up in flames! You have no idea what we're up against, yet you seem to have faced it so well! You are a human, and frankly, you're one of the most amazing creatures I've ever seen!"

 

"You're being creepy, stop," the girl said, her tone flat.

 

"Sorry," Will said, his hair now matching the white of his pajamas and his wings ripping through the back of his clothing, "but come, I need to investigate whatever it is that happened to you and the rabbit."

 

The king stood up, not letting the girl go, and he leaned forward and jumped. The wings expanded, and for looking so delicate and light, they produced quite the thrust. The king navigated his way through the halls and to the rabbit's room.

 

Chris hadn't moved, he was still a mess, but the Hatter was there, doing his best to comfort his lover. Phil had his eyes on the mess which was created, trying to pick up the blood stained sword.

 

"Jesus, Tori, how the hell do you hold this thing?!" the cat asked, trying his best to grip the vorpal excalibur.

 

"See?" the king said, "Very few are allowed to wield that sword, and it's picky. You and I are one of the few."

 

"What the fuck happened?!" the Hatter demanded, showing concern and also failing to hold back his anger for not having straight answers.

 

[coldplayer#16]

SUPER SMASH BR- . . . Band?

 

Part 2

 

 

 

The trio of bloggers looked on at the hopefully epic fight, but they looked just as confused as the boys on screen. It was a four player game, yet five of them were on screen, and they were supposed to fight each other. 

 

'What now?' Chris attempted to say, but it was impossible. His character, if you know the hero of time, cannot speak. He knows basic grunts and such, but that was it. None of them could really speak, the only ones who could were Phil and Will, even though Will's new false Italian accent was only capable of fragmented English.

 

Guy took no time to waste and shot a charge shot into the air from his buster, pointing at Will, then himself with the buster, then at Chris to Jonny with his free hand. He looked at Phil, his tiny body shaking, and just shrugged at him.

 

Chris took the hint and took out the sword on his back, examining the magnificent shine on the weapon. Jonny looked around and felt around in his pockets. He had nothing to protect himself with, it seemed. He turned to Will and a speech bubble appeared over his head, "What's my weapon?"

 

Will shrugged, but Phil was quick on all this and jumped on the guitarist's back. He was rummaging about in the backpack, and it didn't take him long to find what he needed. He pulled out the red and white balls and handed them to the trainer, hopping off the character and scurrying away.

 

Jonny chose one and looked at Phil, who mocked throwing the tiny ball. He turned to Guy, who seemed to have figured out his move set, and threw it at him. Phil smacked his forehead, picking up the ball and telling Guy to hold fire. He picked up the tiny orb, gave it back to Jonny, and pressed the button on the middle of the ball.

 

The ball grew to the size of Jonny's hand, and he threw it out, and out came a large, orange dragon, roaring and sending off a huge blast of fire from it's mouth. The trainer's eyes widened and he beamed.

 

Will was well aware of what his moves were, but how to do anything but the iconic jumping was still beyond him. Guy was using his friend's cluelessness to his advantage, aiming the buster at Will. Will looked at the bassist, eyes wide when he realized what was about to happen, and the sick smirk on his friend's face was more than enough to tell him Guy wasn't about to hold back.

 

Guy's smirk washed off his face as he swung the buster around, firing off the full buster shot directly at Chris. The singer was completely distracted and took the blow full force. The hero fell over backward, feeling the burn and jolt of the electric scortch beam, but appearing totally fine on the surface.

 

Chris jumped up to his feet and his blue eyes shone with anger and rage, running full force at the blue robot and hacking and slashing away at the armor, and Guy began taking hit after hit. His head ducked down sadly and the final blow ran directly across from one cheek, over the nose, and onto the other end of the helmet.

 

The rip did not bleed, it exposed the robotic skeleton the bassist now had, magically being sealed by a small wave of blue pixels. Guy looked genuinely angry now. 

 

The boys began to fight, like the game intended for them to, and Will saw these odd, changing stats at the bottom of the screen. The damage meter. The percentages for Chris and Guy rose and rose with each sword slash, hack, stab, and every buster shot, leaf wheel, or thrown spiked disk of death.

 

Will felt the anger growing in him, and he felt his clenched fists becoming hotter and hotter. He looked down and noticed flames around his gloved weapons, and he knew just what to do. With a loud, classic, "YA-HOO!", Will jumped into the fight and shot fireball after fireball at his opponents/band mates.

 

Jonny had figured out what his firey dragon friend could do, and he pointed at the super-powered squabble his friends were in the midst of. The dragon smirked and let out a huge burst of flame from its mouth, burning all three of the "enemies" on screen.

 

Phil could not believe what he was seeing. He saw the platforms above him and jumped, seeing some sort of bright, rounded object. He climbed up and grabbed the ledge of the highest platform, finally getting a good look at this object. It was indeed bright, colored an odd gray/silver, and an out of proportion, upside-down cross.

 

He picked up the orb and felt it creep into his system, immense power coursing through his veins and he had no control over himself. He felt the energy flow through him in incredible amounts and finally let out an iconically annoying and also satisfying cry:

 

"PK THUNDER!!"

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm home," Chris' sing-song voice filled the flat as he unlocked the door, dumping some carrier bags on the counter.

 

"I bought a couple of bits and pieces at the shop," he called over to me as he rummaged about the kitchen.

 

Receiving little of a reply, he made his way to the sofa, sitting down on the edge of it, "Jonny?" he asked me quietly.

 

"Hey," I mumbled, my voice barely decipherable through the sofa.

 

"What's up?" he moved closer down the sofa, eventually kneeling on the carpet facing my face-down position.

 

I mumbled something, only half-aware of what I was saying, my voice muffled so it wouldn't really matter what I said. He wouldn't have understood it anyway.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked me tenderly, leaning close to my ear so that his breath tickled the side of my face.

 

I rolled over onto my side, staring helplessly up at his wide, concerned eyes.

 

"Are you home early or something?" he glanced around the flat.

 

"Yes," I managed to croak out, "-And I will be for quite some time,"

 

"How did you worm your way into getting less hours?" Chris laughed with a sly grin.

 

"...I got sacked," 

 

Chris' smile dropped instantly, his eyes tracing mine, deep concern filling every little ounce of his large irises.

 

Without speaking, he slid his slender form up beside me on the sofa.

 

"Why?" his voice was more of a slight whisper.

 

I thought for a moment, "...Mr Champion arranged it all of course," I said with more than a trace of bitterness.

 

Chris' jaw dropped slightly, his eyebrows attempting to hop of his forehead.

 

"What?"

 

"He reported me, apparently I was aggressive, I said, my tone full of a deep resentment for the man.

 

"B-But he...he can't do that!" Chris cried incredulously, "Y-You didn't do anything wrong!"

 

I smiled slightly up at him, his eyes suddenly filled with regret, and tears.

"I should never have fucked up that damn coffee," he dropped his head to his hands.

 

"Chris it won't be Mr Champion pouring coffee over you in a minute, don't you dare pin this on yourself, it was all his fault,"

 

Before Chris could open his mouth to speak, I interrupted him, "That is just how this world works, the bullies will always get what they want, but not this time, I am not letting this guy win," I muttered furiously, glaring up at the ceiling.

 

After a moments silence, I spoke, "...I'm never going to get another job Chris," I whispered in despair, my tone pained as chewed at my lip.

 

Chris pulled me up to sitting position, sitting beside me as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest as I leant my head against him.

 

"Sure you will," he told me quietly, "This isn't the end of the world, I still have my job, we can manage,"

 

"-I don't want to manage!" I croaked against his chest, "-I want to help out with all these bills and shit, -I want to be useful for once,"

 

He ran a hand through my hair, "You are, you always will be, no fancy-ass suit man can tell you no different, nor any piece of paper of qualifications, you are a valuable person, you need to realise that," I closed my eyes as I listened to Chris' comforting voice, "Am I though?" I mumbled shakily as he held me tighter.

 

"Of course you are," he defended passionately, half holding me in his arms.

 

No one had ever treated me like that before, no one had ever comforted me when I was sad. It felt strange, but good. I was used to keeping my problems to myself, keeping them buried in my thoughts seemed to be working for most of my life.

 

But now, here was someone I barely knew, taking me into his home, taking me into his life, consoling me, washing away my worries and fears, and making me feel, well, kind of useful.

 

I wanted to cry, I wanted to release some of the dreaded emotions clawing at my throat, but I had trained myself not to, instead, burying my face closer into Chris' lavender smelling t-shirt, as he rocked me back and forth, running a hand up and down my back, speaking comforting words and consoling statements.

 

Telling me all these things no one had ever told me before.

 

"I promise you it's going to be alright, you will always have me and Biscuit, I'm not going anywhere,"

 

I managed to look up at Chris for the first time, looking into his massive, kind eyes. Behind them, lay some sort of strength and hope, immediately making me feel a tiny bit better.

 

Chris smiled reassuringly, kissing my cheek, before resting his chin on top of my head, wrapping his long arms around me.

 

We stayed like that for another ten minutes or so, eventually Biscuit scampered into the room, sensing Chris' presence, jumping up on the sofa.

 

"Oh are you looking join in too?" Chris cooed as he pulled the dog up into his lap as well, cuddling Biscuit as well as me, in our kind of group-hug.

 

"Thanks," I managed to voice my thoughts after a couple of minutes, Chris turned to me, "What for? Isn't this what best friends do, eh?" he nudged me with a grin.

 

Swapping Biscuit from his lap to mine, Chris stood from the sofa, giving my already messy hair a ruffle as he passed towards the kitchen.

 

"I'll bring your tea over," he said as he saw me about to follow, I gave him an appreciative half-smile in return, planting myself back on the sofa.

 

When Chris returned to my side, he was accompanied with two cups of tea and a large tub of ice-cream with two spoons.

 

I couldn't help but smile sadly at him, and within minutes, we were wrapped in the duvet, eating ice-cream straight from the tub.

 

"Look at it this way," Chris said through a mouthful of frozen dessert, or dinner in our case, "At least you get to lie in tomorrow," I laughed weakly at his attempt to look on the bright side, "That is a bonus I suppose," I agreed.

 

"I'll make sure to spit in Mr Champion's coffee tomorrow," he said with a wink. I laughed, although I knew there was no way in hell Chris would ever do that, he was trying to cheer me up.

 

I glanced at the time, usually Chris and I would go for a walk at around this time, but I really wasn't up for it.

 

"Biscuit can do without his walk today," Chris said, reading my mind as he nudged me slyly, licking his spoon thoroughly.

 

"Thanks," I said with a slight smile, "I'll take him tomorrow," after a moments thought, I added, "-It's not as though I have anything to do tomorrow anyway,"

 

"You'll find another job," Chris assured me, digging his spoon into the ice-cream, "-You could try the notices on the shop windows, or the newspaper,"

 

"I won't be able to read them," I replied miserably, licking my spoon clean.

 

"Well then, I'll try the notices and the newspapers Jonny,"

 

I looked up at him and his large blue eyes, instead of replying with a 'Thank you' I smiled at him softly, the sincerity would be enough to assure him I was grateful.

 

We laid about for the rest of the evening, chatting quietly, eating whatever junk food there was left in the house, and trying to remain positive as we curled within the red and white floral covers before it was finally time to hit the haystack.

 

I gladly welcomed sleep with open arms, desperate to forget the day with a couple of hours of dreamless unconsciousness.

 

When I half-awoke the next morning, it was not to my usual routine of getting up, getting dressed, and getting out the door before nine-o'clock, instead, I was awoken by a pair of soft lips on my forehead and the instructions to "Have a good day," I mumbled sleepily and requested another five minutes.

 

"You lucky little beggar," Chris said with a giggle as he slipped on his trainers, I peaked out at him with one eye, I decided to playfully taunt him while I could, rubbing my arms up and down the mattress, "Oh it's so warm in here, ugh, so cozy," I gushed, closing my eyes in feigned ecstasy.

 

Chris slapped me playfully over the head with the jacket he was folding.

 

"Any plans for today?" he asked me chirpily, I wriggled around under the covers as Biscuit crawled about below them, as though he was in a tunnel-like burrow. 

 

"If you call complaining about how I have no job, no prospects in life, and no hope, -something, then hell, my diary is jam-packed," I quipped sarcastically, half asleep.

 

"Enough with that attitude," he sat down on my side of the bed as he fixed his shoes, "No moping around, alright?" he raised his eyebrows expectantly as he toyed with the blankets around my neck.

 

"I'll try," I mumbled, although I knew it wasn't sincere.

 

"Make the most of your free time," he told me with a smile, "You should be basking in it, because it won't be long before I've got you a new job to complain about," he added with a laugh.

 

He touched the tip of each of his fingers in turn as he appeared to be reciting some sort of mental checklist, "Now, I need you to get the groceries in," 

 

"-Feed Biscuit,"

 

"-And try not to set the flat on fire," he added mischievously.

 

I raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that your area?"

 

"Hey!" he shoved me playfully with a laugh, "I'm not that bad at cooking," I grunted, rolling my eyes as I remembered the time a few days ago when Chris attempted to make dinner from scratch.

 

I caught a glance at the clock. It was going on ten-to-nine, which couldn't be good as Chris starts work at nine.

But I didn't particularly want him to leave, as possibly selfish as that sounds. That bastard Mr Champion could wait.

 

"Why don't you do some drawing or something while you're here?" Chris suggested, "Perhaps you are a budding Leonardo Da Vinci in disguise," he added with a wink.

 

"Wasn't Leonardo Da Vinci a painter?"

 

"Well, I don't have any paint, so you'll have to stick to drawing for now, Leonardo," I laughed, part of me wanted to drag Chris down beside me and refuse to let him leave, I didn't want to be left alone, especially not when I knew Chris was going off to work for a man like Mr Champion.

 

"Goodness, look at the time," Chris gasped, "I'm going to be late,"

 

I internally whined, and mentally grabbed onto his arm, tugging him back down to sit with me. But in reality I simply pouted slightly.

 

He bent down to kiss my cheek, "Be good," he cooed teasingly, I wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him a quick hug before he called goodbye to both Biscuit and I, and headed out the door.

Seconds later I heard the door to the flat slam shut, sighing huffily as I stared around the bedroom.

 

Underneath the covers didn't seem as cozy and tempting when you were actually under them.

 

If this had have been yesterday, I would have envied my present position, as being stuck up a ladder isn't all that pleasant, but right now, I missed my yellow bucket and sponge.

 

My eyes lingered over the hands of the clock. Ten past nine.

Chris was surely going to be late, which I couldn't help but feeling a tiny bit nervous about, after all, this guy was an obvious lunatic.

 

Biscuit padded casually into the room, hopping onto the bed as he proceeded to tug at my shirt- or Chris' shirt to be precise- with his teeth, an indication he wanted fed.

 

"Two more minutes," I grumbled.

 

But Biscuit was impatient and used to Chris' constant mollycoddling.

 

"Alright, alright," I moaned as I pulled the thick duvet from my body, walking into the kitchen as Biscuit followed closely behind, perhaps a devious grin on his furry face.

 

"There you go," I said with a defeated sigh as I scraped his meaty breakfast into the little dish, turning away from the sloppily lapping dog, and flicking on the kettle.

 

My day passed quite slowly, with nothing to do, and no one to talk to besides my furry companion, I was confined to the TV which decided, today of all days, to show absolutely nothing interesting or worth watching.

So I gave up, almost half-considering Chris' suggestion of drawing.

 

Before remembering I had the grocery shopping to do.

 

I attached Biscuit's leash, taking the money Chris had left on the counter, along with glancing at his little sticky note displaying a wide, creepily grinning smiley face, drawn quickly in Chris' messy handwriting.

 

As I slipped out the door of our flat, revelling in the feeling of the slick key lock, I noticed some pretty strange antics down the corridor.

 

Kristine and Sofia had taken to hauling their quite large electric fan out of their flat, apparently after beating it to death, due to its dismantled appearance, and left it alone in the corridor to die, closing the door.

 

I shook my head, smiling slightly.

They must have finally got sick of the poor fan.

 

Biscuit tugged on the leash, looking up at me, possibly glaring at me past those dark liquid eyes, "Fine, okay," I mumbled slightly, walking onwards and down the stairs, exiting the main door.

 

After walking a couple of blocks, Biscuit padding happily in tow, or in retrospect, I was in tow with Biscuit, we reached the little shop nearby.

 

"You wait here, 'kay?" I tied Biscuit to the railing as I entered, returning several minutes with the necessities packed away in carrier bags.

 

After untying Biscuit and walking slowly through the streets, the sun was not yet at its peak, so the air was cool, yellow and red leaves blew past us, some occasionally landing between Biscuit's ears. We arrived back at the flat, I unpacked the groceries, managing to track down the packet of marshmellows that Biscuit had gone to the trouble of hiding inside the closet, before lying down on the sofa with a cup of tea.

 

I couldn't help but mope a little bit.

 

I felt so useless.

 

Chris was off working for some despicable man while I lay on the sofa.

Unemployed because of the same said despicable man.

 

I tossed and turned about the sofa, my mind began to fill itself with questions.

 

Like, 'How can you get a job with no qualifications?'

 

And, 'How the fuck are you going to pay a share to Chris?'

 

And my personal favourite, 'Where in God's name did Biscuit take the marshmellows this time,'

 

After locating said marshmellows, I returned apathetically to the sofa, practically wallowing and bathing in my own self-pity.

 

Coating my taste buds in the sugary little balls of whatever-the-hell-else-are-in-marshmallows, I heard the key turn.

 

My excitement practically exploding from every part of my body as I could finally have some human company, but instead of doing the mental cartwheels my head was complying, I lifted my head slightly, and said "Hey,"

 

Chris glanced up at me as he kicked off his trainers, "Oh hello Jonny, how was your day?" Chris smiled at me calmly as he strolled towards the sofa, lowering himself to sit by my legs.

 

He took one glance at the bag of marshmallows in my hands, "Not good, eh?"

 

I shrugged, "Have you been moping all day?" he cooed, pinching my cheek slightly.

 

"No, I haven't," I defended quite weakly, "I took Biscuit out for a walk and all,"

 

"That's good," he smiled genuinely, leaning back to rest against me as his bright blue orbs glowed.

 

I flicked a little golden curl behind Chris' ear that had been irritating me with its unruliness, "So how was your day then? Probably a lot more interesting than mine,"

 

"No," Chris said with a bit of an uneasiness, "It was fine," he mumbled slightly, "Do you want tea?" he asked quickly as he got up and walked towards the kitchen.

 

I followed suspiciously, leaning against the cabinets as I watched him make tea with irregular pace.

 

"Was Mr Champion around today?" I asked him, watching his swift movements, sprinkling tiny grains of sugar around the counter top with each spoonful.

 

"Yes, he works there," Chris shrugged off my question.

 

He reached up to one of the overhead cabinets for the teabags, his shirt sleeve slipped down a little bit, catching my eye as I spotted something that appeared unusual.

 

My immediate response was to grab his arm, to ask him about it, but then he turned around to me, a bright smile on his face as he told about the strange dream he had last night, his wide eyes sparkling with enthusiasm so I shrugged off my immediate worries, ignoring my gut instinct as I told myself there was no way that there could be anything wrong with someone this perky.

 

But I kicked myself for not listening to my gut instincts, because later that night, I realised there was more to meet the eye.

 

"What's up?" I questioned Chris as he flopped into bed beside me, a long-sleeved, grey hoody on his lean body, instead of his regular, half-naked attire.

 

"Nothing," he responded with a smile, pulling Biscuit from the floorboards to his arms.

 

I crossed my own arms across my t-shirted chest, "What's with the hoody?"

 

"It's chilly," 

 

I raised an eyebrow, "Not any more than usual,"

 

"I just feel a bit chilly tonight, okay?" he said dismissively.

 

As he reached for the switch of the lamp, I caught his arm.

 

"Jonny, what's wrong?" his eyes widened in terror.

 

"Why don't you answer that question yourself Chris," I said determinedly, fixing my eyes against his, my hand still firmly but gently holding his arm, "I'm sorry, I can't answer that question, I don't know what's wrong with you,"

 

"Don't play dumb with me Chris, what's going on?"

 

"It's nothing, alright!?"

 

I took it upon myself to peel back his gray sleeves for proof, stunning myself by revealing two red marks across Chris' forearm, close to the back of his wrist.

 

My eyes immediately flew open, staring at the marks as though they would completely disenegrate from my mind, as though I had imagined them, although I deeply wished I had, I wished more than anything I had imagined them.

 

Chris pulled back his arm, pulling the sleeves down past his fingertips, which I didn't think was possible, but clearly it was.

 

"Chris-" I stuttered, my eyes wide, my mouth hanging open slightly as I stared at him.

 

Chris shrank into the pillows, shying away from my wide eyes as I tried to comprehend words in my mouth.

 

"I-It's nothing-" he began, although I knew, and to some extent, he knew, that I wasn't going to let this drop, and no shitty excuse was going to cover it.

 

"What happened to your arm?" I managed to croak, Chris looked at me with pained eyes, "Nothing, you know how clumsy I am, just drop it okay Jonny?" 

 

"What happened?" I demanded tenderly, but firmly.

 

"I-I just spilt some hot water, it's not a big deal, just go to sleep okay?"

 

I took his arm back within my hands, pulling back the sleeves much to his protest, and sure enough, they were burn marks.

 

"You have two seconds to tell me who did this before I jump to my own conclusion,"

 

"Nobody did anything! It was just an accident," Chris cried shakily, clearly on the edge of an emotional cliff.

 

Suddenly my heart sunk in realisation, my blood began to course with anger, as I slowly uttered the words, "Was this Mr Champion's doing..."

 

Chris' eyes opened wide in fear, slowly lowering his gaze to his lap, I knew I had hit the nail on the head.

 

I repeated the question again, slowly, but shakily, Chris fidgeting around in his heavy clothing, as I stared at him intently, prepared to wait all year for his answer.

 

He slowly spoke, "I can't help being so damn clumsy..." his tone was quiet and bitter, "It angered him,"

 

The rest of my organs followed my heart's lead and sunk to the bottom of my body.

 

I desperately wanted to be wrong, I desperately wanted to believe it had been an accident, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to smash this man's face to pieces.

 

My anger was evident as I felt my heart quickly pick up the pace, tightening my jaw as I gritted my teeth, part of me contemplated grabbing the keys and going off in a late night hunt for this suited man, but Chris' afraid and vulnerable eyes steered me from doing so.

 

"This is wrong," I managed to say, "What he did here, it was wrong, you see that don't you?"

 

His eyes showed obvious uncertainty, but mostly fear, "Yes," he whispered.

 

I decided to organise my priorities, from wanting to cause physical harm to this man, to wanting to make sure Chris was okay.

 

"Are you okay?" I asked him, "Does your arm hurt?"

 

"No, it's fine, it doesn't hurt a bit," he assured me, "...A little bit at the time, but not anymore,"

 

"Is that everything he has done?" I asked in a whisper, Chris nodded vigorously, I couldn't completely get my head around the fact that his boss had literally burned him.

 

I mean, it's illegal for a start, and secondly it's down right immoral.

 

What gave him the right to go around bullying people!?

 

I wanted to physically hit him in the face with a chair, but I knew I would have to swallow my anger until the morning, for Chris' afraid and vulnerable self's sake.

 

I opened my arms, beckoning him towards me, just as he had done to me the mere twenty-four hours ago, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him against my chest.

 

"You should have told me straight away," I said into his mass of curly hair, "-Promise to tell me these things from now on,"

 

"Okay," he mumbled quietly as he buried his face against me, climbing into my lap as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

 

"I'm going to sort this tomorrow, okay?" I told him as I leant my chin on his shoulder.

 

"No, Jonny you can't, you can't stir up a fuss, just drop it, please!"

 

"I'm not going to drop this, this is serious, he can't get away with shit like this!" 

 

Instead of arguing, Chris was exhausted, and simply snuggled into me as Biscuit snored lightly on Chris' empty pillow.

 

I turned off the lamp as I quietly comforted Chris in the darkness, the only light in the room was that of the moonlight between the curtains.

 

"I'm gonna fix this," I whispered quietly, as Chris' breathing grew slower and deeper, I figured he had drifted off to sleep at last. Before I joined him in unconsciousness, I wriggled my arms around a bit until they were comfortable around Chris, feeling my eyelids close as I fell asleep.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

  Chapter 8    

 

 

 

 

 

I woke up the next morning at half eight, to two dead arms and a dead leg. Chris was sleeping soundly, his back to me as he lay on my left leg, his curly head on my shoulder, my sleeping arms around him.

 

He stirred a little in his sleep, before rolling onto his other side to face me, his eyelids slowly opened as his glassy and vibrant blue eyes emerged.

 

"Good morning," I said with a tired smile, Chris looked around for a moment, before returning an equally tired smile.

 

Upon glancing at the clock, Chris quickly hopped out of bed, shrugging away the duvet as he stood, gently throwing the covers back onto me.

 

Thankfully the blood returned to my arms and leg.

 

I raised an eyebrow at Chris as he pulled off his grey hoody.

 

"And just what do you think you're doing?" I said with a quizzical expression.

 

"I'm getting ready for work, of course," Chris answered as though it were obvious, pulling off his t-shirt as he searched through the drawer.

 

"You are hardly going back there," I said in disbelief.

 

"It is in the past, Jonny we need the money,"

 

"No, you aren't going back to that place," I stated firmly, "-At least not until I have a word with this Mr Champion,"

 

"No- No! Jonny you can't do that, you really can't! Go back to bed, I'll see you later," Chris attempted to shrug off my concerns as he struggled into a pair of jeans.

 

"You can't be serious! What if he does something like this again!?"

 

"I'll be more careful this time," Chris told me, his wide eyes wider and brimming with desperation.

 

I wasn't going to let this drop so easy.

 

I threw back the covers, pulling on my high-tops. My attire not exactly suited for going outside as it were simply the sweatpants and t-shirt I slept in but I was determined to follow Chris if need be.

 

"Jonny, what are you doing? You can't come!" Chris cried, running a nervous hand through his curls.

 

"I'm walking you to work," I said flatly, not taking no for an answer.

 

"Jonny, please!" he begged, I pulled my hat on, a target firmly etched in my mind.

 

I followed Chris into the bathroom as he washed his face, I leant against the tiled wall, before joining him at the tiny sink as I brushed my teeth.

 

After serving Biscuit his breakfast, I followed Chris out of the flat, locking it behind me as I trailed after him down the corridor.

 

Side by side, we walked down the street, it was nearing winter so the air had a bit of a sharp nip to it.

 

"Chilly today," I said casually as Chris turned and met me with pleading eyes.

 

"-You can't say anything to him Jonny,"

 

"I don't plan on saying much," I said with a simple shrug.

 

"Jonny!" Chris droned.

 

I turned to him, "I'm not going to let him walk all over you like this,"

 

When we arrived at the building, I was greeted by Pablo who had been setting up outside.

 

"Jay!" Pablo said with his signature lop-sided grin, "How are you mate,"

 

I absentmindedly smiled at him, as I managed to keep my arm on Chris', "Not too bad Pablo,"

 

"What brings you about here?" he said with the raise of one eyebrow.

 

I shared a quick glance with Chris, "Just something I need to sort," I said dismissively.

 

"Ah, alright," he nodded understandingly, although I knew he had no clue.

 

"-Is this that little friend of yours," he nodded towards Chris, a sly smile on his face, "Why hello there,"

 

"Hi," Chris said timidly, but before Pablo could go into the ins and outs of Chris and I, I stopped him before he could dissect it, "I better go, I'll talk to you soon Pablo," I said and with that, I swiftly trailed Chris towards the building.

 

Knocking on Mr Champion's large office, Chris tugged at my arm, attempting to convince me otherwise.

 

"Come in," A clipped accent with a sharp tone to it sounded from the other side of the wooden door.

 

"Jonny!" Chris whispered urgently as I barged into the room, flinging the door open as it slammed with a crash against the wall.

 

"Excuse me!?" Mr Champion snapped, barely looking up from his papers as he scribbled ferociously.

 

I strolled toward his desk, grabbed the pen from his hand, and flung it towards the wall.

 

That caught his attention.

 

His head immediately shot up, his eyes penetrating my soul as his mouth formed into tight, straight line.

 

"May I help you?" he suddenly smiled broadly, and fakely, that furiously aggravatingly patronising tone to his voice.

 

"Do you treat all your employees like this?!" I demanded, clearing his desk free of papers as I wiped my arm over it, sending the papers flying left, right, and sideways around the room.

 

The walls were window from top to bottom, the bright light shining through them through the overcast, enough to show the glistening fire in Mr Champion's eyes.

 

Now I'm not a naturally aggresive or violent person, but this man really made me out to be one.

The thought that such a person could treat Chris like the way he had, made me physically want to cause harm.

 

Chris was the one of the main priorities in my life and if smashing this man's face to pieces was what it would take for him to leave Chris alone, I would happily do just that.

 

"Just who do you think you fucking are!?" I yelled at him, dangerously close to him at the other side of the desk.

 

"I have no idea what you are screeching about and I'd rather like it if you left and shut the door behind you," he said slowly and deliberately, each one of his pearly teeth showing as the condescending smile lay plastered on his face.

 

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I snapped.

 

Chris lingered by the doorway, rubbing his wrists anxiously and possibly hyperventilating.

 

"-And just what might that be?" he grinned.

 

"All those marks up Chris' arm!" I growled, "It was you," I shoved my hand against his chest, hard.

 

But he remained unaffected, "I have no clue what you are talking about," he said with a dismissive shrug.

 

"You think you can go around burning people!?"

 

Mr Champion finally stood up, pushing in his chair as he folded his arms across his suited chest.

 

"If Chris has any problems he knows what he can do, no one is forcing him to stay,"

 

With a sly grin he added, "Or perhaps he could talk to me instead of getting the window cleaner to defend him," he cooed.

 

But after looking me up and down, he said, "Oh wait- I forgot, ex-window cleaner," a low chuckle sounded from his vocal chords.

 

I made my way around the desk, grabbing him by the collar and shoved him up against the wall, my heart racing with anger and adrenaline.

 

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I growled into his ear through gritted teeth.

 

"What is this? The playground?" he chuckled, seemingly unfazed by his dangerous predicament.

 

"I swear, I'll report you, what you're doing is fucking illegal!!" I shouted into his ear as I shoved him against the wall again.

 

"Oh and who would believe you?" he droned, "I am highly respected, and the best worker of this building. Like anyone would actually believe the coffee maker's so called guardian,"

 

I pushed him harder against the wall, my tightly clenched fingers wound into his collar, I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face.

 

Preferably with my fists.

 

"You know I could report you for this," he said with a low chuckle.

 

"Says the person who abuses their employees," I snarled viciously, my jaw clenched as I gritted my teeth.

 

"If Chris has any problems, he can leave," Mr Champion said, smiling widely, "-Because it isn't as though you two need the money," he added with a sinister snicker.

 

I shoved him harder against the wall, "I swear-" I pushed my face so close to his I was pretty sure he could feel every single breath I exhaled on his skin, my tone was dangerously low, and if looks could kill, I was sure he would have been dead long ago, "-If you even so much as think of laying one finger on Chris, if you look sideways at him, or even breathe on him again," I shoved him hard, my hands still clasped around his shirt collar, "-I promise I'll kick the absolute shit out of you," and with that I shoved him one last time and released him aggressively.

 

But not even that was enough to wipe the smirk of his face.

 

"Haven't you got anything better to do?" he said with a snicker, folding his arms across his chest and smoothing down his shirt, "-Surely with your unemployment you'd have higher priorities to maintain,"

 

I felt my blood pressure practically hit sky-high as I clenched my jaw in anger.

 

With one last glance back at the trembling Chris, I turned to the suited man, tightened my clenched fist, and punched him point-blank in the face.

He stumbled backwards with the force of the blow, clutching at his injured face with one hand, managing to keep standing upwards by holding onto the wall with the other hand.

 

I felt a slow smile slip onto my face, "So we understand each other, yes?" I said in a softly pleasant tone.

 

I didn't hang around for an answer.

 

"Chris is having the rest of the day off...due to former injuries," I said swiftly, and with that, I grabbed Chris' arm gently and led him out the door, closing it tightly behind us.

 

"J-Jonny..." Chris stuttered, his eyes wide and his lip trembling as I swiftly dragged him down the corridor.

 

"Let's just keep walking," I said in a soft, hushed voice as I risked a glance back at the office door, hurrying Chris to the elevator and eventually out through the main doors and into the street.

 

I managed to dodge Pablo as I kept walking down the concreted pavements, my hand on Chris' arm, his hands clutching my sleeves tightly.

 

Chris appeared to be in some sort of wide-eyed, shocked trance, so I steered him in and out of the crowds of people.

 

"Y-You hit him..." Chris squeaked, tightening his hold on my sleeves so much so that I saw his knuckles turn white.

 

"How about we talk when we get back to the flat," I said gently, Chris nodded dazedly, "That's a good idea," he whispered, his voice a couple of octaves higher.

 

When we actually did arrive back at the flat, I placed the quite stupefied Chris onto the sofa, pleased to discover that Biscuit had nodded off in the sink-     (which I wasn't in the mood to question) -so he wouldn't be in the way of our converstaion.

 

I wrung my hands as I sat down beside Chris as he stared out in front of himself, perhaps at some sort of mystical creature by the TV that I was unable to see.

 

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but suddenly I felt Chris' arms around my waist as he buried his face into my neck.

 

Blinking rapidly to overcomemy shock, I hugged him, rubbing my hand up and down his back as he clung to my shirt.

 

"You...hit him...for me," Chris whispered, as though he was trying to process the supposedly strange concept, "You...stuck up for...me,"

 

"Of course I did," I replied, stroking the top of his curly head.

 

"B-But...I-"

 

"He was in the wrong, I didn't like what he was doing to you, it was unacceptable Chris,"

 

"W-What if he..." his voice trailed away and his face was masked by an expression of anxiousness.

 

I followed his train of thought, "-He can do whatever he wants, I don't care, as long as he stays the fuck away from you,"

 

Chris looked up from his little makeshift nest on my neck and stared into my eyes. I could tell he was completely and utterly genuine when he smiled at me, his watery eyes glistening as he said, "Thank you..."

 

I smiled softly at him, before continuing.

 

"-And if he does or says anything again, you need to tell me, okay?"

 

He nodded solemnly in agreement, before returning his goldenly curled head to my shoulder.

 

"-I swear, he'll rue the day he ever laid a hand on you when I am finished with him," I grumbled bitterly as I leant my chin on his head.

 

"I'm scared Jonny," Chris suddenly told me shakily, his voice barely audible making me re-think whether I'd even heard him at all, but as I felt his arms tighten around me slightly, I was confirmed of my thoughts.

 

"You have no need to be, silly," I said softly, running my hands lightly over his curls, "I'm going to look out for you from now on,"

 

"Really?" he squeaked innocently, I couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he sounded.

 

"Of course you goofball, -I promise," I said it as sincerely as I felt. Which was 100% sincere.

 

"I will look out for you too," Chris assured me, moving his glance from my lap to my eyes, "-I promise that too,"

 

I smiled at him slowly, my emotions displaying themselves openly against my eyes as he smiled back, before cuddling into me quietly, the only sounds in the flat was of our breathing.

 

And Biscuit's slight snoring from the sink.

 

"How about I make us some tea and open up those cookies," I smiled slyly after a few minutes of our warm, embraced, serene state.

 

"That sounds excellent," Chris said with a shaky laugh, slowly releasing me from his clutches and sitting back in the colourful cushions as I eased across to the kitchen, popping on the kettle as Biscuit awoke, grumpy and groggy, and completely confused as to why he was sitting inside the sink.

 

His dark eyes glared at me as though he suspected me of something, as if he thought I had placed him inside the sink or something.

 

Which of course, I didn't.

 

But he shook off his suspicions and groggily climbed out of the sink, jumping down from the worktop, and causally padding across the room to greet Chris.

 

"What have you been up to baby," Chris cooed as he pulled the doggy into his lap, ruffling his long ears and smothering him in love.

 

"Napping in the sink apparently," I noted as I poured boiling water into the two cups.

 

"The sink??"

 

"Apparently,"

 

"So this is what our baby gets up to when we aren't around," Chris giggled as he kissed Biscuit's nose.

 

Our?

 

I couldn't help but inwardly smile as Chris referred to his dog, as our dog.

It made me feel more accepted.

 

In the short time we had known each other, he had welcomed me into his life, and home, and family, with open arms, sharing with me everything he had in return for nothing.

 

But I was determined that in return, I would look after him, and Biscuit for that matter.

 

I planted the cup of tea into Chris' eager hands as I took a seat beside him, smiling fondly as I laid down a small bowl of milk for Biscuit.

 

"No tea for Biscuit, eh?" Chris quipped, I laughed at his reference to the dog's name and the drink we were consuming.

 

It felt good to laugh after the stressful day, and even though I was certain it wouldn't be the last of this particular problem, I felt relieved. Like a weight had been lifted.

 

I fell back onto the sofa beside him with a laugh, "Unforunately not,"

 

We sipped our tea, watching reality TV shows as Chris gave a running commentary.

Which didn't bother me as I wasn't particularly interested in the TV show.

 

That night I noticed Chris slept closer beside me than usual, his knees touching mine under the red and white floral printed duvet. I wasn't complaining as he was hell of a lot warmer than me, but I felt my heart ache in sympathy as I realised he was probably still afraid.

 

So I stayed awake until I was certain Chris was fast asleep, curling up under the blankets as Biscuit nuzzled into my neck, occasionally licking me.

 

As I laid awake in the darkness, I reflected on the day.

 

I thought back to the confrontation with Chris' boss.

 

I know violence is wrong, and I was brought up to know that violence is wrong from my mother.

But in all honesty, I would do it again.

 

Only I would do worse next time.

 

But with the startled expression on Mr Champion's face -after I hit him, firmly etched in my mind's eye, I felt my eyelids shut with a slight smile playing on my lips. Slowly sinking into a dreamless slumber.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

  Chapter 9    

 

 

 

 

 

When I woke up it was 8:03am which was a hell of a lot earlier than when I usually wake up.

 

I glanced over at Chris' peaceful, sleeping stature beside me, his nose almost an inch away from my own, as I subconsciously decided I would make him breakfast this morning.

 

Slipping out from under the covers as silently as I could, I managed to pad out of the room in my bare feet without waking either Chris or our furry companion.

 

I pulled on a pair of fluffy socks that were lying haphazardly on the carpet, and made my way to the kitchen area, taking a gander inside the fridge for something to cook with.

 

Now I wasn't no Gordon Ramsey or Marco Pierre White, but I did know my way around a spatula and some scrambled eggs. Unlike my curly-haired friend.

 

I cracked a couple of eggs into a pan and slowly stirred in some milk, leaving the eggs to do their business as I put on the kettle.

 

I felt like it was the least I could do for Chris after what had happened to him.

 

And if he was going off to work with that wretched man today, it would be a nice start to the day with some scrambled eggs.

 

Biscuit joined me in the kitchen, tugging at my socks with his teeth as he smelt the food.

 

"Hang on buddy," I called in a sing-song voice over the sound of sizzling eggs.

 

Biscuit padded off dejectedly towards the bedroom. Likely to find Chris and complain. Or else to the bathroom to eat the soap.

 

He had a strange habit of eating soap.

 

Chris didn't seem to mind this, so I assumed it was a normal occurrence.

 

I stirred the eggs thoroughly so they wouldn't stick to the bottom of the pan, eventually dishing up the steaming yellowish scrambled eggs onto two plates and a little bit on a small dish for Biscuit, filling the pan up with cold water to steep as I finished the two cups of coffee just in time as a slightly groggy but ecstatic Chris walked in, rubbing his eyes with Biscuit walking closely behind.

 

"Jonny? You did all this?" Chris asked sounding surprised, a wide grin stretching over his face.

 

"Yup," I replied nochalantly as I stirred the two cups, I was more focused on finishing the task as I didn't notice Chris creep up behind me and wrap his arms around my chest, squeezing me tightly as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

 

I gasped a little in surprise.

 

I had always been easy to startle.

 

"You are just amazing," Chris cooed, "That looks fantastic, awk, thank you Jonny," 

 

"It's nothing," I rolled my eyes, smiling, he didn't release me from his clutches that easily.

 

"You are just perfect, you know that right?" Chris told me adoringly, kissing my cheek several times.

 

"You won't be saying that when you taste them," I quipped. 

 

Chris reached across the counter, one hand still firmly around my waist, the other one grabbing a fork from the surface in front, stabbing a piece of egg and eating it, resuming the other arm to my waist, "Mmmm..." he closed his eyes dramatically, "That tastes like heaven,"

 

I laughed, "I bet you're just saying that you charmer," I slapped him playfully on the thigh with the wooden spoon I was holding.

 

Chris giggled, "Why would I lie?" he eventually freed me after kissing both my cheeks.

 

"Hmmm," I raised an eyebrow expectantly, handing Chris a plate and cup as we sat down to eat, Biscuit happily eating his scrambled egg- mixed with dog food.

 

"I'll walk you to work today," I told Chris after swallowing my spoonful of eggs.

 

"It's okay," Chris assured me.

 

"I'm taking Biscuit for a walk through the park anyway, may as well drop you off on my way," I smiled, although I was being honest, I did have ulterior motives behind what I had vocally stated.

 

"That's grand," Chris nodded with his mouth full.

 

I took a sip of my coffee, "You will promise to tell me everything Mr Champion does and says later, okay?"

 

"Yes,"

 

"-And make sure you tell him that I'm on to him,"

 

Chris nibbled his lip a little bit, "Okay,"

 

"Are you scared?" I asked him quietly, carefully tracing my eyes over his persona over the rim of my mug.

 

"No- No, of course not, I'm fine, -this was lovely Jonny," Chris rambled as he set his fork down on his plate, "-I switched the immersion heater on last night so the water should be warm-" I could tell by Chris' overactive conversation (well, more than usual) that he was feeling nervous.

 

I watched as he skipped across the kitchen, rapidly putting away plates and forks, which also confirmed my ponders.

 

"I should probably get dressed," Chris called to me as he scooted into the bedroom.

 

"He's a goofball, in' he," I mused to Biscuit as I ruffled his ears as he lay to the side of my chair.

 

After Chris had washed and dressed, I lazily threw on a hoody and my high-tops, and leashed Biscuit up before following him out.

 

It was nice to leave the flat at the usual time I would have been leaving if I still had a job.

 

I was certain that if I spent another day lying around that I'd probably end up going on a psychotic, homicidal rampage.

 

Especially if they were playing an all-day reruns of that one reality show I absoultely despise.

 

"Could you have a look at those notices on the shop window on your way past?" I asked Chris as we strolled along the streets.

 

"Okay dokey," he said with a grin.

 

"Now you have a good day," he told me as we reached the building, tapping the tip of my nose with his index finger before hugging me tightly, "See you later alligator," 

 

I laughed, "Bye Chris,"

 

He gave me a frantic wave as he skipped through the glass doors.

 

When I was certain he was out of sight, I shot around towards the blue trademarked van I had been so used to staring at for three years, and strolled towards it with purpose.

 

Pablo who had been leaning against it, having a cigarette, glanced up at me.

"Oh hey Jay, what you doing 'round here?" and then on second thought he added, with a sly grin, "-You walking that 'friend'  of yours to work?" he winked at me conspicuously, chuckling.

 

I ignored his shit, "Pablo I need you to do something for me,"

 

Pablo shrugged off his jokings, looking interested as he stubbed out his cigarette onto the pavement, "What can I do for you mate?"

 

I played idly with my sleeve, "Well, erm...you see..."

 

"Out with it kid,"

 

"-I need you to keep an eye on Chris," I blurted out, "That Mr Champion guy...I need you to watch him,"

 

"-Jay,"

 

"-Pablo that guy is capable of more than just yelling, I just need you to do this for me, no questions, just tell me if he does anything,"

 

"Alright, alright," Pablo nodded, giving into my request of no further questions, but instead he took the conversation in a different direction, "Who is this little scruffball?" Pablo gave Biscuit's head a light pat.

 

"Chris' dog," I explained.

 

Pablo smiled slyly, his eyes narrowing mischieviously as if he wanted to say more than he was letting on.

 

I stared at him suspiciously, before remembering I had Biscuit to walk, "Well I'll see you later then Pablo,"

 

"Adios kid," Pablo called through his newly lit cigarette as we headed down the pavement.

 

After walking Biscuit a few times around the park, I returned to the flat, deciding to busy myself with attempting to do the washing.

 

Chris was usually the one who did the washing and I realise now that there is probably a reason for that, dumping all the dirty clothes of his and mine into the sink, and gingerly swirling them around the water and soap, I realised I had no clue what I was doing nor how I was going to get them out, so I gave up and left them in the sink, retreating to the sofa to watch TV.

 

When I heard the door to the flat creak open, I tried to act natural and as though I hasn't been anxiously waiting for Chris to return, looking over my shoulder I called, "Hey," before beckoning him to sit beside me.

 

He smiled and curled up beside me, leaning his chin against my shoulder, "How was your day?" he asked me sweetly.

 

"Forget me, how was yours? Did Mr Champion say anything?" I took his arm in my hand and pulled back his sleeves to check both arms.

 

They were fine apart from the burns from the day before.

 

Chris nibbled on the edge of his lip, dropping his eyes to my lap, "He wasn't there today,"

 

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows.

 

"Yes, he wasn't there,"

 

"Well," I paused for a moment, "That's a good sign, isn't it?"

 

Chris laughed nervously, "I really hope so Jonny,"

 

"Maybe I've finally put him in his place,"

 

Chris crinkled his nose in thought, his gaze leaving my eyes and onto the wall behind me.

 

He was silent for a few minutes, thinking, before he stared deep into my eyes and smiled softly, I carefully watched his glistening eyes, wary of his unusual peaceful silence, but instead he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug, "Thank you for protecting me," he murmured gently into my shoulder.

 

"Don't worry about it,"

 

He tightened his hold around my chest, "I won't ever forget that, you know," he looked up at me with such emotion in his blue eyes it was touching, "It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,"

 

I smiled sincerely at him, widening my eyes slightly to enforce my words, "You deserve only the best, and more,"

 

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling as he responded silently, simply hugging me tighter.

 

I ruffled the top of his curly mop as he giggled, Biscuit chewing on one of the coloured cushions as he stared at us, wide-eyed and probably hungry.

 

"Are you hungry baby?" Chris cooed, leaning his hand across to stroke Biscuit's ear.

 

"Yes, a little bit actually," I quipped with a mischievous grin.

 

Chris laughed, "Well that just won't do," before kissing the the top of my head as he skipped towards the kitchen.

 

I rolled my eyes at Biscuit's dopey features, exchanging a silent converstaion with the dog, questioning Chris' sanity.

 

Minutes later, we were all feasting on microwavable onion rings and pizza. Well, Biscuit was eating dog food, so two out of the three of us were eating onion rings and pizza, and we were all watching 'Supermarket Sweep'  which I am not going to deny, is a brilliant show.

 

"Grab the inflatable pineapple!!" Chris yelled at the TV through his mouthful of onion rings, "-The other way, damn it!"

 

I shook my head, chuckling.

 

"Did you manage to check the notices on your way home?" I asked Chris, swallowing my bite of pizza.

 

"I did Jonny, not a thing, diddly-squat, jobs come rare around this city," 

 

"-But I will keep looking," he added with hopeful eyes, I nodded silently, taking a slice of pizza and nibbling on the edge.

 

"Hey," he slapped my thigh absentmindedly, "-You'll find something,"

 

I smiled at him gratefully, although I knew with my qualifications- or lack of them- hope for a new job was scarce.

 

Even thinking about it made me want to hit Mr Champion again.

This was his fault.

 

Although, in retrospect it was mine.

 

But I don't regret it.

 

I would do it again.

 

But Chris kept looking, each evening he would check the shop notices along the whole block, the newspapers, 

-everything!

 

But nothing that would be deemed possible for me to obtain was available, but Chris remained hopeful and high-spirited, encouraging me of my self worth each day, coaxing me into his web of thinking that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't completely useless.

 

Maybe I was worth something.

 

Also adding to my delight, Mr Champion had not shown up in a little over a week.

 

I had even asked Pablo just to be certain.

 

And for that I was over the moon, Chris had certainly perked up.

Although he was usually very perky anyway.

 

I was glad to see him back to his usual self, the burn marks slowly fading.

 

But being unemployed was difficult for me, I couldn't read, and there was only so much daytime TV one person can actually watch, so I was lacking in activities and practically counting down the minutes until Chris' arrival.

 

I actually tried drawing a little bit, but I find it quite difficult to get the shading correct, and I was too shy to show my drawings of random household objects to Chris, not quite wanting to know just how shit I was, but it did help to pass some time, and Chris bought me pencils and sharpeners and rubbers and the whole lot!

 

Chris bought a couple of picture books of animals and landscapes for me to copy, which I thought was very sweet of him, and that was quite enjoyable to attempt.

 

Chris had been a godsend to me.

 

It was complete and utter bliss.

 

Every single second with Chris was just  perfect, I had lived a life of rarely talking to anyone, and now I had been blessed with the curly-haired, bouncy, blue-eyed goofball whom I cared for dearly.

 

Every single second minus the time he walked in on me bathing.

Unfortunately Chris does not own a shower curtain, or a shower for that matter, so as Chris skipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, I mentally cursed not locking the door.

 

Thankfully I had earlier decided on putting lots of suds in the water, but that did not submerge my embarrassment and I was pretty sure my face itself could have turned the water to boiling point.

 

Despite me groaning, "Chris!" he remained unfazed, calling jovially that, "I will only be a second Jonny!" and persisting to brush his teeth, humming a little tune and physically dancing on the spot while I slowly died of embarrassment in the bathtub.

 

Three minutes later, Chris had rinsed his mouth and popped his toothbrush back into the glass, skipping out of the room as he cheerfully called goodbye and left -the door half open!- to make tea.

 

Which was probably the most embarrassing three minutes of my life to date.

 

But aside from that, life was fantastic.

 

One evening after eating dinner, almost a two weeks since the incident with Mr Champion, Chris suggested we went on a walk through the city, although it was already dark as it was now Winter, the light showers of the beginning of Winter coming delicately in small evening doses, I agreed, happy to escape from doing the dishes, grabbing Biscuit's leash and the fluffy green and red scarf Chris had bought for me, wrapping it around my neck and pulling on my usual jacket and high-tops, pushing my hat down further on my head as I opened the flat door, grinning at Chris as he passed, his own blue and yellow scarf flapping wildly as curls danced around on his head.

 

We buckled Biscuit to his leash and made our way down the corridor, passing Mrs Branson and her usual dirty looks and assaulting gaze before heading out the main doors, feeling my face suddenly blasted by the chilly air.

 

"Woah," Chris laughed, gasping as the nip hit him as well, "That is a cold evening," 

 

The streets looked as though they had been lightly dusted in flour from a dredger, the dark sky illuminated by street lamps and shop signs, the beautiful snowflakes falling gracefully down onto the streets, cars, and pedestrians.

 

Each snowflake drifting along with the wind, holding in itself its own beautifully unique, individual, sixfold symmetric pattern.

 

Chris stared up at the floating precipitation with awe, his eyes glowing.

 

Although the snow was a beautifully rare, unexpectedly fantastic slice of ice-based pleasure, to Chris and I, it was not as welcomed with open arms to most of the other people in New York.

Loud taxi horns beeping, wipers waving frantically to clear dashboards, shoppers hurrying as though the snow itself contained a vicious acid known to burn the skin upon first touch, scarfs and coats flapping as Chris, Biscuit and I stood silently, drinking in the beautiful occurance, basking in the chill of the snow hitting our faces, goosebumps prickling my body as an amazed chill ran down my spine.

 

After a moment, Chris and I subconsciously decided to keep walking, Chris linking his lean arm into mine, my ungloved hands nestled into my jacket pocket.

 

We chatted quietly, about simple things, but we didn't particularly need to voice our own deep happiness at the wonderful moment.

 

I closed my eyes for a moment, carefully relying on Chris to insure I didn't crash into any other pedestrians as I felt the snowflakes tickle on the surface of my eyelids, making me giggle a bit.

 

Chris laughed heartily as I opened my dazy eyes, he threw his curly head back and stuck out his tongue, catching snowflakes in his mouth, I laughed at his expression, he shuddered slightly at the chill of the snow dancing on his tongue, grinning wildly, as Biscuit hopped around, barking happily, his tail wagging frantically as he attempting to catch the falling ice.

 

We laughed hard, the air cold but our hearts well and truly warm.

 

It was perfectly and utterly divine.

 

It was one of those moments in life where you don't plan them to happen, you don't need any materialistic objects, you don't need absoultely anything, but the stars align and I caught a glimpse of complete and utter happiness.

 

I wanted to clasp it with both hands and hold for dear life, I wanted to hold it in my clutches and never let go.

 

But neither of us knew that soon the tables were going to turn, and our lives were going to be tipped upside down.

 

 

 

Three days later, I was laid on the sofa, boredly staring at the TV, watching the third rerun of the same episode of CSI that day.

 

I don't even watch CSI!

 

But I wasn't particularly inspired to draw at that moment, and Biscuit was napping on the cushion directly beside me.

 

Absentmindedly, I glanced at the clock.

 

I did a double take.

 

6:47pm.

 

Chris should be back by now.

 

It was already getting dark, plus I was pretty sure it was snowing outside.

 

I wasn't sure if it was reality or the three episodes of CSI I had just watched, enforcing my suspicions, but after five more minutes of jittery waiting, I stood up and grabbed my scarf and keys, leaving Biscuit to quietly nap on the sofa as I carefully shut the door, pattering down the stairs with a quick pace, carefully dodging Kristine and Sofia as they were engaged in a full blown marshmallow-filled-watergun-war, and managing to slip out the main doors, making my way down the streets, the cold snow hitting me as I dashed through the passerbys, a subconscious target in my mind.

 

I quickly found the familiar zebra crossing, a irritant taxi driver stopping for me as I crossed the road, the building in my sight, Pablo's van already left for the evening.

 

I stopped outside the building, glancing around, my heart had started to quicken.

 

Lots of negative outcomes and dreadful possibilities flooded my mind.

 

But Chris' safety was more important than my hesitance to enter the building, and this was the first place I should look.

 

So I pushed open the glass doors and strolled into the brightly lit building.

 

I knew if any of the employees spotted me, I probably wouldn't be allowed next or near the building, but I slipped into the nearest elevator, jabbing my finger into the bright button, the lift stopping at the correct floor and I ran down the corridor, stopping as I reached the appropriate door.

 

I hesitated entering, my mind telling me to go home, to ignore my gut instincts.

 

'He is probably shopping, you idiot!'  I told myself desperately,  'Go home!'

 

But pulling me from my mental debate, my hand on the doorknob, I heard a plead.

 

Immediately shoving the door open so hard, I was certain it would break a hole through the brick wall at the other side.

 

My heart beating loudly through my chest, I spotted Mr Champion at his desk, sitting on the large chair, a huge purplish bruise on his right cheekbone, making its way across his eye and eyebrow, Chris leaning against the desk by his elbows, his head ducked, his eyebrows knitted together in despair.

 

Adrenaline was coursing though my veins so fast I felt faint, but now wasn't a time to be concerned about my own wellbeing, stepping into the room, my eyes wide and confused, and afraid, and angry, and every feeling under the sun.

 

"Chris-" I gaped, but his suited boss stopped me, raising his hand in authority to interrupt me, "-Oh, right on cue!" he droned sarcastically.

 

I opened my mouth to snap at him, my eyes filled with fury, "-Before you start I haven't touched him," he rolled his eyes patronisingly, I shot my eyes from him to Chris, visibly softening my expression, he raised his head ever so slightly to meet my gaze, his face strained as he nodded slightly.

 

"What the fuck have you done?!" I growled at Mr Champion, my fists tightly clenched as I slowly, and unconsciously, made my way closer to his desk.

 

"Go on Chris, you tell him," Mr Champion smiled widely in a fakely encouraging tone.

 

Chris looked up at me, his weight leaning against the desk to support himself, his brow furrowed in despair.

 

He croaked indecipherably, Mr Champion laughed.

 

"Oh I'll do the honours then, if you insist," he chuckled, the sound making me want to smash something.

 

"Here," he threw a sheet of paper towards me, I caught it and stared dumbly at the symbols on the sheet.

 

I stared up at him in a frustratedly confused fury, he laughed, his dark eyes glistening in the light of the office, the wall of windows dark and the snow sticking against the glass.

 

"This hereby declares the dismissal of Chris from our employment," he said with a sly smile playing against his lips, "-And I have written a rather enjoyable performance review," 

 

"-Christopher Martin," he began with a thick air of arrogance and dry humour in his fakely genial tone, "-Was the definition of a terrible employee,"

 

I saw Chris wince, closing his eyes tightly as he grimaced, I literally felt my heart ache for him, and every other muscle and inch of my body fill with anger.

 

"-Despite the refusal to work, the late arrivals, utter clumsiness and defiance in the workplace, Christopher has caused multiple series of serious events and has been nothing but a hassle in regards of every aspect of the simple job. Nothing could have prepared me to take on such employee and if I was his next employer I would certainly think again, and never again would I employ him to these establishments. Rude, incompetent, forgetful, and down-right lazy, were the highlights of qualities shown, if Christopher is incapable of managing the coffee station in a small office, I highly doubt his skills in any other form of job. Therefor, I would not recommend employing him, and would avoid it at all costs," Mr Champion finished with a flourish.

 

My eyes boggling out of my head, Chris had sunk to his knees, his head pulled into his chest, his arms covering his face, his hands running through his golden curls.

 

My feet felt glued to the spot, but I managed to trigger the nerves of my vocal chords, "-You can't do that! Those are all lies!" I cried.

 

Mr Champion grinned like a Cheshire cat, "Oh but I can, as you know, I am entitled and encouraged to write down my personal opinion, and this was my personal opinion and there is nothing you can do to change it," his eyes sparkled with mischief.

 

"Have fun job-hunting now Chris, let's hope you have some savings because you should have thought twice before you crossed me," he smiled darkly.

 

"You bastard!" I yelled, gripping the edge of the desk leaning closer towards him, "You fucking bastard, I'll smash the shit out of-"

 

Chris let out a small whimper, and I realised there was nothing I could do, hurting the smug suited man was not going to help, it would certainly ease my bubbling anger, but the bottom line was that it wasn't going to help.

 

I gritted my teeth.

 

"Wait to you see," I jabbed a finger into Mr Champion's chest, "-One day you will regret crossing us, I swear, you will be on your knees begging to be forgiven, but you won't get away with this," I spat each word with venom.

 

He laughed heartily.

 

But at the end of the day, I knew. Deep down, I knew that this was life. We were at the bottom of the human food chain, and the powerful people, despite how irrational it was, could get away with just about anything, because they were in authority, and there was nothing we could do, but all I wanted to do right now was console Chris, whom was crouched on the ground, and leave and never return to the horrid place.

 

I picked Chris up off the ground, gently slipping my hands under his arms and helping him stand.

 

He leant against me, my eyes still burning a hole through Mr Champion's.

 

"He is ten times the man you'll ever be," I growled, "At the end of the day, you are going to regret this,"

 

"Oh really?" he said with a hint of incredulous laughter, "Yes," I confirmed with such intensity, I was surprised he wasn't a smoking pile of ash, "You have no fucking idea," I growled, before breaking away from our stare, slipping an around around Chris' waist, leading him out of the room that made me physically want to throw up, I slammed the door shut, leading Chris to the lift.

 

When we arrived outside, the snow coming down in high quantities, the sky darkened, the loud chatter of passing New Yorkers, Chris turned to me as we stood in the middle of the pavement, unfazed my the heavily blowing snow.

 

"Jonny-" he croaked as he looked up at me with a gut-wrenching despair, his big blue eyes looked lost and helpless, before I saw something I had never seen before.

 

Chris broke down, and burst into tears, wrapping his arms automatically around my waist as cried hard.

 

My heart suddenly lurched and sunk into my chest, pulling him close to my as I tried to soothe him, my whole body trembling in shock, "It's okay," I whispered, "It will be okay,"

 

As he sobbed against my chest, his arms tightly around me, my arms tightly around him, embracing in the middle of a New York sidewalk, in the depth of a snowstorm, for the first time in my difficult life, I felt a pain I had never felt before.

 

A pain so intense I wasn't sure if I could stand, but I wouldn't have let go for the world.

 

A pain I had not even experienced when I had discovered my brother and father had disappeared.

 

A pain that I wasn't sure existed, but it took my internal organs and twisted them, dragging them down to the depth of my body, stabbing my heart with deep swords of emotion.

 

But my pain was only obtained by the pain of another, and right now, that person needed me.

 

And I needed him.

 

As he clung to me, I wasn't sure if the snow was going to let up before Chris was finished, but with each new sob, or cry, or whimper, I felt new swords attack my chest.

But I would have stayed there, even if I had obtained hypothermia, if that was what I thought was needed.

 

A million questions and worries whizzing though my head, I pushed them away, as Chris looked up at me, his lip trembling as his eyes spilled out the tears, refilling themselves and repeating as he croaked, "Are we going to be okay?" his voice squeaky and vulnerable.

 

But instead I pushed passed the barriers of my own emotions, stomped through the shields of doubt, raided the 

ever-existent fear, and whispered, "Of course we will," in the strongest voice I could muster.

 

And he simply nodded, collapsing against me as he buried his head into my chest, the wind blowing through his hair as for a few minutes, he believed me.

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 10    

 

 

 

 

 

I was awoken from my daytime nap by the loud sound of trainers being kicked off furiously, landing on the floor with two loud thuds.

 

"Nothing?" I mumbled sleepily, sitting up and rubbing my exhausted eyes.

 

Chris looked up, and shook his head sadly.

 

It had been one week since Chris had been fired, one week since Chris had broke down in my arms while it snowed cats and dogs around us.

 

We hadn't mentioned much of it since.

We took it on the chin and pushed on, moping around and feeling sorry for ourselves wasn't going to help.

 

It wasn't going to solve our problems.

 

So we kept going, each day Chris would go around small businesses and shops, attempting to find jobs for the both of us.

To no avail.

 

Nobody wanted an employee with Chris' so-called 'track record' and nobody wanted me as an employee with my 'obvious lack of skills' so finding a job was as easy as trying to baptise a cat.

 

I stretched and stumbled over to put on the kettle, yawning, almost tripping over Biscuit who had parked himself on the carpet, directly below the sofa.

 

I silently handed Chris a cup of tea.

It was my way of reassuring him that everything was going to be alright, without actually having to speak the words, he smiled slightly and took the mug, his eyes locked with mine in an unvoiced thank-you.

 

"So what does that make our total for the week?" Chris said cheerfully, setting his cup down with a clink on the counter as he reached into his pockets and emptied the contents onto the granite surface in front.

 

I took out the small notepad from the drawer and flicked back the front cover until my eyes were laid on the appropriate page.

 

I will take now as a good time to state that I can indeed read numbers, something as to which I am quite proud of.

 

Mainly because my maternal grandmother bought me a small number book when I was four years old.

 

On each page it showed a big number in different colours for each page, and random objects with the quantity of the number.

 

I remember clearly that the first page was a big red number one, with a bright red apple beside it.

And the second page was a blue number two, with two little balloons floating beside it and so on.

 

So mostly thanks to that particular book, I could count.

And eventually I learned how to add and subtract.

 

So Chris had me draw up some sums, as he had to read threw the stacks of newspapers and ads, it was the least I could do.

 

It still took me a couple of minutes to do the simple sums, but I was still decently proud of my skill.

 

My eyes traced over the familiar squiggles of my own handwriting, mumbling under my breath, I eventually glanced up at Chris, "One hundred and seventy-seven dollars, ninety-nine cents, and that is after taking away Biscuit's dog food and the jar of milk,"

 

Chris' smile faltered, "Rent is due on Friday...that isn't enough to pay for it,"

 

"I know," I mumbled, chewing on my lip anxiously.

 

But Chris' smile quickly found its way back to his features, not quite reaching his beautiful blue orbs, he clapped his hands enthusiastically, "Well, we will have to find a way then,"

 

I nodded, "Of course we will,"

 

The next day, Tuesday, Chris was a man on a mission, slamming his hand down on the bleating alarm clock, at six o'clock in the freaking morning.

 

Blearily I managed to open my eyes that had barely just closed, glaring at the flashing red numbers that alerted me of the time.

 

The room was coated in the early morning Winter darkness, Chris sprung out of bed with such enthusiasm, it made me want to slap him.

 

Not hard of course.

 

But damn, it was six in the fucking morning. 

 

Suddenly my retinas stung with the luminescence from the bedside lamp, setting Chris' bright beaming face, aglow.

 

I frowned at him, my barely open eyes, narrowed.

 

"Grab your coat, my dear," he pulled back the covers from around my warm body, the cold air hit my skin, goosebumps already having a party as I shivered, "-Because you and I, are going job-hunting," 

 

I regretted not putting on a longer top, instead of a t-shirt, and sweatpants, instead of shorts, as with no heating on in a Winter's day in the flat, it was probably the equivalent of swimming completely naked in the Antarctic ocean.

 

Or with clothes for that matter.

 

Because it would probably still be freezing.

 

Chris skipped across the room in his underwear, oblivious to the teeth-chattering cold it seemed.

 

It surprised me.

 

Sometimes I wondered if he was actually glowing from the inside or something.

 

It wasn't humanly possible to be this perky at six o'clock in the morning.

 

But nonetheless, Chris flung the wardrobe open, pulling out an armful of clothes and throwing it into a messy pile onto the bed.

 

"Okay, should I go smart or casual, or smart-casual, or chic-sophisticated, or-"

 

"-Chris!" I interrupted, groaning.

 

"Okay, okay!" he droned perkily, his bright eyes twinkling, "How about this?" 

 

He pulled up a pair of black skinny jeans, I twisted my mouth up in thought.

 

"Try them on," I told him, he quickly hopped his legs into the jeans and pulled them up his lean legs and onto his hips as he hopped up and down a little bit.

 

"What do you think?" he said, examining himself carefully, I nodded, "I think they look good,"

 

That was enough for the mind-racing Chris, suddenly pulling on a light blue t-shirt over his chest to accompany his black skinny jeans, calling from under his t-shirt as he struggled into it, "Get out of that bed and get dressed, mister,"

 

I folded my arms and point-blank refused.

 

There was no way in hell I was getting up at six o'clock in the bloody morning.

 

But Chris had other plans, grabbing my hand and trailing me off the bed, landing on the carpet with a thud, I stared up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes.

 

Chris snickered, but as he turned to walk towards the wardrobe, I quickly caught his ankle and he toppled forwards onto his face with a thud.

 

I spluttered with laughter as he rolled over to face me, "That was uncalled for," he muttered, throwing a loose sock lying on the carpet beside him, at my face.

 

"You started this war, bitch, deal with it," I grinned slyly as I climbed to my feet, holding out my hand to help him up, he took it and joined me in standing position, I couldn't help but laugh at his mussed curls as they lay haphazardly at all angles on his head.

 

"That was a different cattle of fish, and you know it," 

 

I laughed as Chris straightened his curls, narrowing his glowing eyes, before skipping merrily towards the wardrobe and pulling out a long, grey trench coat.

 

I raised an eyebrow as Chris stared at it thoroughly as he balanced its wire hanger on the edge of his index finger.

 

"What? What's wrong with it?" he pressed, "This is a very good article of clothing Jonny, I can assure you-"

 

I cut him off before he rambled further, "-Nothing is wrong with it,"

 

He stared at me suspiciously before pulling the long coat over his skinny arms as it hung loosely over his body, the hem dropping roughly above his knees as he fastened it around his shoulders, self consciously fiddling with the sleeves.

 

I couldn't help but smile goofily at the sight, I had to admit that the coat wasn't the most ordinary piece of clothing he owned, but I thought it looked quite nice on him.

 

I rolled my eyes and strolled across the room, reaching out and fixing his collar for him as he grinned at me.

 

"So what's the plan for today, Sherlock?" I quipped with a chuckle as I straightened the soft grey fabric clinging to his shoulders.

 

Chris almost pouted slightly, eyeing me warily, "Sherlock?"

 

"-The coat," I clarified.

 

Chris stared at me for another paranoid second longer, but quickly the suspicion faded and his face brightened as he grinned widely.

 

"Well Jonny, my dear, we are hitting the big city,"

 

"Come again?" 

 

"We need to show these employers that we have initiative, that we have drive! We will go out and seek our own jobs, go directly to the source-"

 

"What exactly are you rambling about?"

 

Chris rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, "Jonny, -you and I will knock on the doors of the shops, storm down the barricades of unemployment, and by the end of today, you and I will be employed members of the New York public," he said with a wide grin.

 

"Oh you say that as if it is easy," I tutted.

 

"It will be easy Jonny! Because we are not giving up without a fight,"

 

"You are determined," I said with a smile, "-I'll give you that,"

 

Chris' eyes lit up for a moment, "I should write that down on my job application,"

 

 

After a breakfast of tea and toast, Biscuit had been fed and planted in front of the TV to watch 'Supermarket Sweep'  I had eventually dressed, Chris had eventually cleared up the pile of clothes on the bed, we both set off for the day.

 

Opening the main door for me, leading out into the the blizzard that had swallowed the New York morning, Chris turned to me with a smile, "There are tons of stores and offices out there Jonny, -Someone is bound to hire us!" I smiled softly as he flung his arms over my shoulders, and we headed off to find a job.

 

 

But both of us soon learned that that was definitely easier said than done.

And very soon our naive spirits had been well and truly trampled on.

 

Standing outside the door on the fourteenth store on this block, Chris and I stood on the porch of an old florists, both scarfed with our colourful scarves, Chris with his rather sinister trench coat and ankle-high snow boots, me with my usual attire, jacket and high-tops. I was beginning to figure why  no one was keen to hire the rather insane looking, tall blonde man with dazzling blue eyes and the rather bored looking, tall, brunette man, leaning against the wall, as Chris chatted animatedly, talking about his wild interest for flowers and his degree in the arrangement of plants.

 

By this stage, snowflakes clinging to his curly eyelashes, his curls dripping thoroughly as the the snow landed in his golden afro before melting and dripping down his back, Chris was well and truly bullshitting to an extreme level.

 

I had given up by the third door-slam, leaning against the wall as Chris told the uninterested lady about my 'major in the science of the plant.'

 

The door slammed right in his perky little face.

 

He snuffed in contempt, before huffily stomping towards me, wrapping his arms around his abdomen, "Well, she was a bastard anyway,"

 

"She was," I said soothingly, exhaling deeply, my breath clearly visibly in the cold air.

 

"But we aren't giving up Jonny," Chris said, grabbing my arm and trailing off to seek our next victims.

 

The little old man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his emerald eyes examining the stack of papers Chris had thrust at him, placing them against the glass counter as Chris and I both stood dripping in a jewelry shop as the man on the other side of the counter examined what I assumed were résumés.

 

"Okay," he said with a pleasant tone, "It says here, Christopher, that you worked as a manager for a jewellers' factory for a while, a couple of years ago,"

 

Chris nodded frantically, his eyes a fraction wider than usual.

Meanwhile I tried to swallow my flabbergasted laugh.

 

The man clasped his hands on the clear surface, the jewellery below lit brightly from the bulbs along the inside of the counter, "I can't seem to find any record of this in your files, Mr Martin,"

 

"Oh-" Chris tugged at the collar of his coat, I resisted the urge to clap him on the shoulder, tell him the charade was over and to give it up, and steer him out of the shop before further lies were told, "Well, the factory burned down," he blurted out.

 

The little man widened his eyes, and judging by his expression, he believed not one word.

 

But he gave Chris the benefit of the doubt.

 

"-So you wouldn't mind if I typed "The Chocolate Jewellers," into the computer out back then," he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

 

"Oh- erm, I-" Chris stuttered, "-Well, the internet records burned down too..."

 

But it was obvious the prospect of Chris and I becoming employees in this particular line of work was not possible for the foreseeable future.

 

The little man shook his head slowly, handing Chris the stacks of paperwork and pointing toward the door.

 

Chris ducked his head in embarrassment and shuffled dejectedly towards the door as I trailed behind.

 

"Close the door on your way out," he called, barely looking up from what he was writing.

 

"The Chocolate Jewellers?" I said, suppressing a laugh unsuccessfully as I closed the door tightly.

 

Chris turned to me, his arms folded sulkily, his cheeks red with embarrassment, "I jotted it down on the way in," he admitted.

 

"It's his loss," I said comfortingly, "He is missing out on the wonderful little bullshitter that is Chris Martin," I cooed, poking him jokingly in the tummy.

 

He rolled his eyes, unable to keep a smile from slipping onto his face, "You have to tell a few white lies to get what you want Jonny,"

 

"That is true," I laughed.

 

"Okay, next on the agenda," Chris murmured as he brushed the snow off his coat, "-The culinary business," he confirmed as he rubbed his gloved hands together.

 

"What?" I spluttered, "You can't cook!" I said with an incredulous laugh.

 

"Well they don't know that," he hissed as he dragged me into a café.

 

Moments later, the manager reluctantly agreed to speak to the two snow-covered young men.

 

Chris and I planted ourselves on the chairs in front of his desk, "Hello sir," Chris grinned politely, I could tell his mind was already working up endless lists of bullshit.

 

"I can see from your sign out front that you are in need of staff, and we-" Chris indicated between me and him, "-We are the answer to your prayers,"

 

The man stared at him with a bored expression, his sunken features displaying his disapproval as his navy eyes narrowed.

 

"Can I just see your qualifications, please," he droned.

 

"Of course- of course," Chris nodded, thrusting the armfull of paperwork to him.

 

"So you have worked in a michelin starred restaurant before, is that so Jonathan?" my head suddenly shot up from my lap in surprise as the man stared at me with an interest.

 

I could have choked Chris on the spot.

 

"Well, erm, I-"

 

"-Of course he did!" Chris chirped in, 

"-All those fancy French dishes, Jonny could do them, couldn't you Jonny?"

 

I felt my cheeks burn under the managers scrutiny, "Yes," I lied.

 

He set his jaw and glared at both of us in turn, "I am a very busy man, I would appreciate it if the likes of you wouldn't waste my time," he spat, before thrusting the papers into Chris' hands.

Which wouldn't have been the first time that had happened today.

 

"Never mind," Chris shrugged it off with a smile as we sloped off into the blizzard, he pinched my already burning cheek teasingly, I shoved his hand away embarrassedly before following him as he skipped away.

 

"What are you doing?" I asked him as he shuffled through the papers when we stopped outside a row of buildings.

 

"I have made flyers!" he squeaked excitedly, "With our home number on it,"

 

"What do these flyers say?" I asked him suspiciously.

 

He thrust one into my hand, I stared at him with a blank expression.

 

His eyes flashed with realisation after a moment, before taking the flyer back and clearing his throat dramatically, 

"-Two hardworking employees, in need of job, can do housekeeping, babysitting, -you name it,"

 

I ran an exasperated hand down my exasperated face.

 

"Well, it's worth a shot at least," Chris scoffed.

 

"I suppose," I admitted, grabbing a handful of flyers and trudging off.

 

Half an hour later, freezing and sniffling with the cold, I had stuck approximately forty leaflets up.

 

And now I was on the borderline of receiving hypothermia.

 

Chris flung his carrier bag of leaflets over his shoulder, sniffing as he strolled up to me.

 

He placed his warm palm against my cheek, "You're freezing," he tutted, "Come on inside," I nodded through my chattering teeth and followed Chris into a small coffee shop.

 

I slid into a booth near the crackling fire.

 

The heat began to warm my freezing bones, Chris winked at me and strolled up to the counter.

 

I couldn't help but grin goofily at his antics.

 

I drew my eyes over to the row of windows beside each booth, the snow blowing wildly over the street, white piles building up all over the show, the freezing precipitation sticking to the glass windows and melting immediately leaving little watery trails. I couldn't help but feel in awe at the transformation New York had occurred.

 

The windows had begun to steam up with the heat of the warm room, the cozy red blinds pulled halfway down.

 

When I drew my eyes away from the window and back to the empty booth in front, I realised that it wasn't so empty anymore and was occupied by a grinning, curly-haired man, wearing a long, grey trench coat.

 

"Hello stranger," I said with a smirk, Chris planted two straws into the huge mug of hot chocolate he had purchased.

 

"Skimping at its finest," Chris said with a laugh as he leant forward and sipped from the warm drink on the table between us.

 

"Dibs on that marshmallow," I pointed with my straw to the lump of pink sugar bobbing in the liquid.

 

"Not if I get it first," Chris giggled mischievously, attempting to scoop the slippery marshmallow with his straw, to no avail -much to my delight.

 

Laughing giddily, we both had a straw duel for the marshmallow in question, neither of us quite succeeding, sloshing liquid over the sides of the cup and onto the table, giggling harder and recieving strange looks from the booth behind us.

 

"You are just impossible," I teased, blowing my empty straw at Chris, shooting tiny speckles of hot chocolate onto his unsuspecting face.

 

In return for my action, Chris wiped his face, and dunked his fingers straight into the cup, pulling out the marshmallow and eating it with an exaggerated flourish.

 

"Oh you are one little son of a bitch," I narrowed my eyes jokingly.

 

Chris laughed loudly, "-And don't you forget it,"

 

When we had finally finished our drink, well and truly warmed up, we mopped up what we had spilled and the topic turned to our current stage of unemployment.

 

"-I just don't see what is so unemployable about us," Chris ranted with flashing eyes, "You'd think with all these hundreds of stores, it wouldn't be this hard,"

 

"Hey, if nothing turns up," I began with a sly smile, "-I hear Pablo's cousin is always looking for more drug dealers to shift his loot,"

 

Chris couldn't help but crack a smile, "I don't even think that certain line of the pharmaceutical industry would take us,"

 

"At least we always have the opinion of becoming assassins to bounce back on," I joked with a shrug.

 

Chris spluttered with laugher, slapping my arm, "If anyone is eavesdropping into our conversation right now, they are going to think we're lunatics!"

 

I grinned, "-Hey Chris," I said a bit louder, "Can I borrow your shovel for tonight?" 

 

Chris laughed harder, "Jonny stop, oh my god," he wrapped his arms around his torso, his shoulders shaking in mirth.

 

"I can imagine it now," I grinned, "-The two British guys in the corner getting arrested for illegal drug smuggling and serial killings,"

 

Someone glanced around in our direction, Chris snorted with laughed and buried his face in his hands, "Can we leave before we get arrested or deported," he said through his laughter.

 

"Okay, okay," I chuckled, and we headed out to return to our quest for work.

 

One hour later, Chris and I had mutually agreed that we had both had enough humiliation and degrading door-slams for one day, heading back to our flat, jobless, cold, and quite hungry,

 

"Any missed calls?" Chris asked as he pulled off his trench coat and anke-high boots, putting on the kettle as I stalked over to the the house phone.

 

"Nope," I replied, staring dejectedly at the phone as though it was the reason for this. Rather than the pretentious bastard Mr Champion.

But I had promised my sanity I would stop thinking about him.

Because if I didn't I would go insane and possibly harm him.

 

So I shoved him out of my mind, and focused on Chris, Biscuit, and the upcoming rent.

 

 "We will need to go grocery shopping tomorrow," Chris mumbled as he searched though the cupboard.

 

"With what money?" I screwed up my mouth in thought.

 

"Looks like we'll have to scrape the bottom of the barrel," Chris said nonchalantly.

 

"Looks like it," I nodded.

 

Biscuit leapt off the sofa, having watched a day's worth of Dale Winton, he was starving.

 

"Oh how are you sweetie," Chris cooed, scooping the dog into his arms and kissing his mouth.

 

I rolled my eyes, Chris definitely mollycoddled the mongrel more than the average person would.

 

"Did you miss me baby," he rubbed his ears frantically, grinning widely and making faces, "Jonny open up a dog food can, would you?" 

 

I raised an expectant eyebrow, "I ain't your skivvy, mister," I sassed.

 

Chris raised a feisty eyebrow back at me, "I don't take that cheek 'round here, boy," he purred in a slickly fake American accent.

 

"Deal with it, buddy," I shot back with a wink, but as I did, I opened a can of the meaty substance and scraped it into Biscuit's dish, Chris released the dog and smiled smugly.

 

"That wasn't so hard, was it," Chris purred, folding his arms as Biscuit lapped happily at his meal.

 

I stuck my tongue out at him and flopped down on the sofa, picking up the remote and flicking through the channels.

 

"Just for that, you're making dinner," I quipped with a laugh.

 

 

The following day was a Wednesday, which was not unusual as the day before had been a Tuesday.

 

I awoke to Chris waking me up at half past seven for a day of job hunting.

 

But even in my half-awake state, I knew I wasn't going to be able to stick another day of being embarrassed and being looked down on by the stuck-up snobs in the posh enterprises.

 

"I'll stay here," I mumbled into the Winter morning darkness, pulling the duvet around my body tighter as I nuzzled into the pillow.

 

"Come on, up you get lazy bones," Chris sang chirpily as he tugged on my t-shirt sleeve.

 

An idea popped into my head, "Someone needs to stay here and mind the phone in case anyone calls," I said sleepily, and although this was entirely true, I just really didn't want to get up this early to have people tell me I wasn't good enough for anything.

"-So I'll do that, plus you're better at all that talking and shit,"

 

"Well, if you're sure," Chris nodded, leaning across and flicking on the beside lamp, I immediately shielded my stinging eyes from the bright glow, shoving the other half of my pillow over my face.

 

I could hear Chris chuckle as he skipped across the room.

 

Likely to locate that trench coat for another day of lying to people in authority.

 

Ten minutes later I could almost feel myself starting to drift off again, until Chris gently pulled back the other half of the pillow, shaking away the sweet layer of sleep that was ready to swallow me up, I could see he was dressed and ready, his wide smile plastered on his face as his eyes twinkled.

 

"Now make sure you don't sleep through the phone calls,"

 

"-Because I'm sure they will be coming in the thousands," I mumbled sarcastically.

 

"You never know," he tapped my nose with his finger, "Now you're hardly going to bid me farewell for the day without a kiss, eh?"

 

I rolled my eyes comically, "I would never do such a disgraceful thing," Chris laughed, before kissing my cheek and ruffling Biscuit's ears.

 

"Have a good day," I called, "-Fingers crossed they hire your crazy ass,"

 

"Us," Chris clarified, "-I am determined to find you a job as well,"

 

"-I hear the Wizard of Oz is out of town for the time being," I scoffed, Chris laughed, "Oh Jonny," he shook his head in disbelief.

 

"Alright, see you later," Chris sang in his bubbly tone.

 

I grunted my goodbye, already snuggling back into the warm covers as I wriggled over to Chris' side of the bed and turned off the light.

 

One hour later, I had taken up my position on the sofa beside the house phone, idly sketching a rough drawing of Biscuit staring at the screen beside me.

 

I was shaken into reality by the sudden bleating noise of the house phone ringing.

 

Could it be?

 

Could someone actually want to hire us!?

 

I didn't know.

Because I was too busy being shocked to pick up the phone.

 

Quickly I found my voice and grabbed the phone, my hands shaking fiercely, I attempted to steady my voice and sound professional, "H-Hello, can I help you?"

 

"-Are you in need of some good, reliable, and cheap car insurance-"

 

I sighed deeply and slammed the phone down on the holster, too deeply submerged in my disappointment to worry about my lack of manners.

 

Apart from that one phone call, no one else rang the house phone.

 

An hour later, the door to the flat creaked open, revealing a soaked to the core, Chris.

 

We both greeted one another with hopeful eyes, only to be shattered within seconds.

But I was first to speak, "-Anything?"

 

Chris shook his head solemnly, "-What about you?" I shook my head, "-Squat. Unless you are in need of some good, reliable, and cheap car insurance," I quipped sarcastically.

 

Chris laughed despite himself, "Unfortunately not,"

 

"-How did the job hunting go?" I asked him causally, carefully closing my notebook inconspicuously.

 

"Same old, same old," Chris mumbled as he took a bite of an apple, flinging his soaked body onto the top of my outstretched legs, "-Apparently I am nothing but a menace," he said with his mouth full.

 

"-And what did they say about me?" I quizzed, leaning my elbow against the back of the sofa and resting my chin on my palm.

 

"Oh, well I don't know why they wouldn't want to hire you Jonny, 

-probably because of me,"

 

"Don't be silly," I swatted his arm, "We both know why they wouldn't want me, hell, I wouldn't hire myself!"

 

"Now you stop right there," Chris threatened, wagging his finger as he tossed the half-eaten apple for me to finish, I caught it with one hand and nibbled on the sweet fruit.

 

"So what have you been drawing," Chris asked, poking my notebook with his finger, staring up at me with bright eyes.

 

"Oh- it's nothing," I mumbled, attempting to slide the book under my back and out of sight.

 

"Can I have a look?"

 

"No," 

 

"Why not?" Chris pouted huffily, I could have almost laughed at his sulky expression, but I didn't.

 

"-Because my drawing is shit,"

 

"Don't be ridiculous, let me have a look," he tugged at my sleeve.

 

I shook my head.

There was no way I could let him see.

He had such blind hope that I could actually be good at something, I didn't want to smash his hopes, and I didn't want to disappoint him or embarrass myself.

 

"Why are you so damn shy?" Chris rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the sofa as she stared up at me with twinkling eyes.

 

"I am not," I muttered stubbornly, blushing slightly.

 

"You are so," he teased, poking me in the shoulder, "-But that's what makes you Jonny," he grinned, slapping me on the head with my own hat as he skipped towards the kitchen.

 

I sheepishly fixed my hat on my head as I playfully glared at his back.

 

"Right, I'm off for a bath," Chris sang, before flouncing into the bathroom.

 

I rolled my eyes dramatically, shaking my head at Biscuit as he stared with wide, dark eyes at Dale Winton's grinning face on the TV.

 

Truth be told, I might not outwardly show it, but Chris' crazy antics were what got me through the day sane.

 

Because despite everything, despite the many problems of the world, Chris seemed in a bubbling state of positivity, and I have to stay, it has rubbed off on me slightly since I've met him.

 

He was an optimist in a world of pessimists.

 

And that automatically meant he was going to get tread over like the welcome mat at Waitrose.

 

But I had enough pessimism, or as I called it, -realism, for the both of us, so I wasn't going to let anyone or anything blow out his spark in life.

 

Even if that meant stepping on a few toes, I couldn't allow him to be shoved to the side of society anymore.

 

I wasn't going to stand for this again.

 

Subsiding my mental rant for a moment, I pulled out my notebook from its safe confines underneath me and flicked the pages to the last drawing I was working on.

 

The one of Biscuit.

 

I carefully outlined the small details around his nose more carefully, gently shading the darker parts with care.

Shading was the hardest part of drawing for me, it was a very difficult concept to achieve.

So most of my drawings were simple, no shading, just outlines.

Because they were what mattered.

 

Leonardo Da Vinci might not agree with that statement.

But that was my opinion.

 

I heard the door of the bathroom swing open a little while later, and a fresh-faced, sweet-smelling, curly-haired fellow joined me on the sofa.

 

"Have you not moved from this couch all day?" Chris teased chidingly.

 

"Hey!" I defended, "I have been watching this damn phone," I dramatically poked the phone on its holster beside me.

 

"Right then," Chris ceremoniously began, "-You can come with me to get the groceries now,"

 

I sighed deeply and flopped further into the sofa, "Do I haaave to?" I whined childishly making Chris giggle.

 

"Yes," Chris tried to keep the smirk off his face to little avail, his hands on his slim hips.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 11

 

 

 

 

 

I don't know how, but somehow I got lumbered into pushing the 'shopping cart' as Chris calls it, -which is a trolley.

 

Ah, Chris and his little American colloquials.

 

I still like to tease him about it sometimes.

 

But with Biscuit safely snug at home, doing whatever it is Biscuit does when we aren't there, which could be honestly anything, but our best guess would be eating soap and watching TV, Chris and I were at the supermarket, not that we had much money to buy a lot, Chris made me push the trolley while he strolled beside me, putting items into said trolley.

 

Dog food.

 

That was a necessity.

 

"$2.99, a bit expensive for dog food," Chris murmured, a can in his sleek hands, carefully reading the prices through narrowed eyes.

 

"Get the supermarket brand then, Biscuit won't care,"

 

"He will notice I'm sure, he has been eating this brand for four years,"

 

I rolled my eyes, I'm pretty sure Biscuit has a better quality of lifestyle than most people with Chris' babying.

 

But then again, Biscuit was practically Chris' baby.

 

"I'm sure anything will be a nice change from the Dove soap he has been eating,"

 

"-He is going to notice!"

 

"Well he will just have to deal with it, $2.99 is a rip-off and we can't afford it,"

 

"You are right Jonny," Chris sighed, "You are definitely right," he carefully chose a cheaper brand and we pushed the trolley to the next aisle.

 

Chris was less fussy when it came to skimping for us, so we carefully chose the necessities we needed, with the cheapest prices.

 

Rounding the corner towards the cereal isle, I felt a strange gaze on me.

 

I wasn't sure if I was being completely paranoid, or if someone was blatantly staring at me.

 

But I didn't take no chances, subconsciously leaning closer into Chris as he rambled animatedly about a particular old shopkeeper that had fobbed him off today, I was listening intently, but now I had a strange feeling we were being watched.

 

"Can you believe that!?" Chris exclaimed, his eyes wide and bright as he checked the prices on cornflakes.

 

"Erm..." I stuttered, only suddenly taking in what he was saying, too intent on worrying about my increasing paranoia.

 

But suddenly my heart lurched in my chest as I felt a rough tap on my shoulder.

 

I abruptly spun around, intent on confronting this potiential creeper.

 

But my startled expression soon faded and my heartbeat quickly calmed as I realised I recognised the familiar face in front of me.

 

Pablo smiled his signature lop-sided grin at me as he glanced between Chris and I, his dark eyes glowing.

 

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Pablo chuckled.

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

"-Tad jumpy on it, I see," 

 

"How is the multi-millionaire window washing franchise doing?" I quipped.

 

Pablo laughed heartily, "A lot fuckin' quieter without your ugly mug hanging around,"

 

I chuckled, although it hurt a little bit on the inside.

Despite the tediousness of the job, I missed it. I even missed my sailor-mouthed boss. After all, I had worked with him for three years.

 

"-And you know Chris," I idly waved my hand to Chris who was standing a little behind me.

 

"Hello," Chris waved a little bit, I could tell Pablo intimidated him slightly, which is understandable.

 

"I remember you," Pablo looked at Chris, his eyes narrowed and his mouth fixed in quite a creepy grin if I must say so.

 

"I see you both are out shopping," Pablo grinned slyly, for some reason I don't know.

 

"No, we are in the supermarket to absorb the splendid view and prey on the customers," I quipped.

 

"Oh I see that mouth of yours hasn't stopped," Pablo shook his baseball capped head fondly in disbelief, "-You are a good man for puttin' up with him," he grinned at Chris, "-It is about time someone did,"

 

Chris stared at him blankly in confusion, but having known Pablo three years, his strange ramblings weren't unusual.

 

Glancing down at the shopping basket in Pablo's tanned hand, I raised an eyebrow.

 

A couple of bottles of vodka and several packets of cigarettes were all that filled the bearded man's basket.

 

"You are one healthy little shit," I laughed.

 

Pablo narrowed his eyes, "Since when did you become a doctor,"

 

I rolled my eyes dramatically, "-Poor Chris has his work cut out for him keeping you in tact," Pablo scolded, spurting his usual nonsense.

 

Chris stared at him, blankly confused.

 

I laughed fondly at his expression, causing Pablo to grin wider.

 

"-Anyway, how is that job searching going, found any poor soul to put up with you yet?"

 

"Clearly that poor soul doesn't exist Pablo,"

 

"Well, you keep looking," Pablo told me, raising his eyebrows expectantly, "You aren't completely intolerable,"

 

I laughed heartily, "Gosh, thanks, be careful now incase you bring me to tears," even Chris chuckled at that, which gave me a feeling of smug satisfaction.

 

Pablo laughed in his low tone, but I assumed his nicotine craving was kicking in, "I better get going, so you two have fun now," he smirked slyly, "I'll be speaking to you soon,"

 

We bid him a casual goodbye and he headed on his way to the checkouts.

 

"He is a little crazy," Chris murmured when he away from earshot.

 

I laughed, resuming my trolley-pushing duties as Chris returned to strolling alongside me as we went back to our grocery shopping.

 

"He is that indeed," I agreed jovially, 

"-Why do you think he hired me?"

 

Chris scoffed, his blue orbs twinkling, "You always find a way to down yourself, don't you Jonny?"

 

"Someone has to do it," I laughed.

 

Chris shook his head, "You need to accept your brilliance,"

 

I couldn't help but laugh, "-And pigs are recently learning how to fly,"

 

"Oh stop it you," Chris slapped my arm playfully, "-Go and grab that packet of cookies on sale over there," he added, although I was supposed to be trolley-pusher, I happily moved aside to get the biscuits in question, allowing Chris to push the cart.

 

When we had checked out, two or three carrier bags in each our hands, we headed out into the blizzarding snow.

 

"I hear this is the worst snow storm in New York since 1979," Chris chirpily informed me.

 

"Is that true?"

 

"That's what the radio said,"

 

I nodded, carefully trying to focus on not sinking into the ten inch-tall, small mountain of snow gathered on the pavement while balancing the shopping in either hand.

 

Shoppers had treaded footsteps into the perfectly unflawed sheet of white along the streets, many different sizes of shoe prints stomped into the fluffy white snow.

 

I watched as the thick snowflakes blew in the direction of the wind, -straight towards us.

 

It felt like dragging two fifty ton sacks through the mountains of Antarctica while the blizzards surrounded us.

 

But in reality it was carrying two shopping bags,- the heaviest item being a jar of milk, which is pretty damn heavy if I just say so, -through a snowy day in New York.

 

When we returned to our home, I gladly shed my soaked and freezing clothes for something much warmer and dryer, and Chris did the same.

Before making us both tea from the newly bought, bargain-brand teabags, shoving some chicken dippers into the microwave, Chris and I settled down on the sofa to watch TV, our food on the table in front as Biscuit nuzzled into Chris' lap.

 

"Are you coming out with me tomorrow," Chris asked a couple of hours later when the food was finished, the TV shows were shit, and Biscuit was asleep.

 

"I will probably stay to watch the phone,"

 

Chris rolled his eyes, "-It would be better if you came too,"

 

I contemplated this, and as much as I didn't want to degrade myself like that.

I knew Chris and I were in need of the money, and we had less than two days to find it before rent was due.

 

Plus I wasn't sure I could stand another day of jumping whenever the phone rang, only to discover it was a telemarketer.

 

"Okay then," I gave in, much to Chris' delight.

 

He had roped me into his schemes yet again.

 

Thursday, the next day on the calendar, and our last day to find jobs for rent money.

 

Even though we weren't going to be paid instantly with money for rent if we managed to get a job, at least we had more of chance of promising the landlord with the prospect of an income.

 

But he wasn't going to be swayed by two unemployed young men, living in his flats, with no money and no way to find it.

 

So Chris and I headed out that morning at six am, much to my delight of course, as I was usually a bit of a bitch at any time before twelve. Chris trench-coated and scarfed, me high-topped and scarfed, we made a pact to practically raid the streets.

Each taking one block at a time.

 

You'd really think that in this day and age, the amount of bloody shops and establishments in New York, that it would be practically impossible for an unqualified man to get a job.

 

By 12pm, I was ready to give up, slumping down on the snowy bench as I waited for Chris.

 

We had arranged to meet at 12pm at this particular bench between the two blocks Chris and I had separated at.

 

As Chris slumped down beside me, his thighs touching my own, I could already sense that he hadn't been lucky either.

 

"I'm starting to seriously consider becoming a drug dealer," I mumbled into his ear, he laughed softly, which was certainly a breath of fresh air from the usual, "I'm sorry sir, but there is no way on earth I could hire you here," I had been so very used to hearing this morning.

 

"I'm starting to think the whole of New York is teaming up against us," Chris said with wide eyes.

 

"I wouldn't put it past them, perhaps Mr Champion has dashed around flashing our pictures and whispering words of disapproval into their ears,"

 

Chris snorted with laughter, "Oh Jonny, I seriously don't know what I'd do without you,"

 

I smiled gratefully, "That is a question I often ask myself about you,"

 

Chris grinned and leaned his head against my shoulder, "Despite everything, I still feel incredibly lucky to have you and Biscuit," I felt a warm smile slip onto my lips.

 

Chris certainly saw the best in everything.

 

And that made me admire him every bit more.

 

But I agreed with him.

We had everything we needed.

 

I nodded in agreement, before Chris suddenly whispered into my ear, "I'll meet you back here at six," before pecking my cheek and skipping off into the distance.

 

I shit you not, he literally skipped.

Not metaphorically.

He. Literally. Skipped.

 

I laughed as I watched him disappear down the block, I, probably appearing to be utterly insane, sitting on a wet bench in the middle of a blizzard, laughing creepily to myself.

 

I was almost certain I got a strange look from a lady in a green track suit.

 

But then again, I am probably too paranoid for my own good.

 

Before returning to the wolves that consisted of the business owners of New York City.

 

I even tried bullshitting a little bit, just a little.

 

Not exactly 'Chris-style' but I may have told a few white lies.

 

But even that didn't help of course.

 

I was unemployable.

 

I am even pretty sure someone said that to me today.

 

But it was inability to read thing that really got people, I mean, who doesn't know how to read!?

 

I was useless in the eyes of society.

And in the eyes of myself.

 

But as I spoke in the many interviews, -the interviews I managed to get, as some people immediately turned me away on first glance, I just imagined I was speaking to Chris.

Which helped just a tiny bit.

 

I still felt my face burn bright red and their eyes stripping me raw of my confidence.

 

By 6pm I had concluded that people were mean and scary and I wanted to live under a rock with Chris and Biscuit for the rest of my life and never come out because the world was a cruel and heartless place.

 

But Chris had bought hot chocolate despite our low funds, so I lightened up a little bit.

 

On our disheartened stroll home, Chris joked about this one guy who kept calling him 'Cubis Magtin' due to Chris' rather unique style of handwriting.

While I sulked about the world.

 

"I swear, I'm getting a job in the black market or something," I moaned.

 

Chris rolled his eyes, passing the polystyrene cup back to me after he took a sip.

 

When we returned home, Chris gathered up the little funds we had an proceeded to count it, taking out the notebook and jotting down little sums and other boring things while I watched 'Total Wipeout'.

 

"We don't have enough," Chris mumbled exasperatedly, a pen hanging out of his mouth, "-And I'm already late with last months, the landlord is going to flip the lid!"

 

I shook my head sadly, Biscuit's chin leaning on my lap as my eyes dwelled over the contestants attempting to get past the giant red balls on the screen.

 

Suddenly Chris gasped slightly in delight and as I spun my head around to glance at him, his eyes were lit up extremely bright, which couldn't be a good sign.

 

Before he suddenly dashed into the bedroom, I was too tired and emotionally drained to follow him, returning to the mind numbing pain of others on the TV.

 

When Chris returned ten minute later, in his arms was a cardboard box filled to the top with clothes and shoes.

 

"Desperate calls for desperate measures, eh?"

 

I frowned slightly, "Chris what are you doing with all that?"

 

"I am selling it of course, dear Jonny, if getting a job is clearly impossible, I am going to sell this shit,"

 

"What are you going to wear? Or are you planning to walk around naked for the next while," I quipped.

 

"Yes Jonny, it's called economising," he shot back with a sly grin, before shooting out the door of the flat and out into the darkening evening.

 

I shook my head in disbelief at his antics, before entering the bedroom to check the damage.

 

He had certainly raided the room, leaving very little of his clothes and shoes left.

 

Perhaps the bills were worse than I actually thought.

 

But despite the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I sank into the sofa to watch the rest of 'Total Wipeout'.

 

Somehow the soothing sounds of contestants screaming in pain, lulled me to sleep as I dragged my eyes open and two hours had passed.

 

A loud noise of a cardboard box being set down on a counter sounded from behind me and I realised I probably didn't wake on my own accord and Chris probably woke me as he entered the flat.

 

Suddenly three ten dollar bills were thrust and flapped in my face as Chris leaned over me, a huge smile on his exhausted little face.

 

"Holy cow," I breathed, "We are practically rich,"

 

Chris laughed, "It's going towards the bills, but even though it still isn't enough, it's a good start, eh?"

 

"It is!" I assured him, leaning my head back against the sofa to stare up at him, "That was clever of you,"

 

"Well we need a roof over our heads more than we need all those useless clothes anyway,"

 

"That's true," I nodded in agreement.

 

"Well, tomorrow I will start on the rest of things in this flat, but for now, I think I will go to bed before I pass out with sleep deprivation," Chris mumbled groggily, I felt sorry for the poor thing.

 

He was working his fingers off, for what?

 

Just because some stupid, pompous bastard had written him a horrible employee review.

 

But I did tell myself I wasn't going to think about that man.

 

So that I was going to do.

 

Switching off the TV, I followed Chris into the bedroom, only to discover he had fallen asleep, face-down on the pillows, still fully clothed.

 

I rolled my eyes, at least taking off his shoes and covering him with the blanket, I slipped under the covers and joined Biscuit and him, the noises of the different toned snores already helping me fall asleep.

 

The next day Chris certainly took into the house, carrying huge cardboard boxes of stuff out of the rooms, as this was 7am, I was in no mood to help, sipping grumpily at my tea as I leant against the counter, watching.

 

Chris understood I couldn't physically preform tasks early in the morning.

So he happily got on with it.

 

I wondered where exactly he was selling this shit to, but I answered my own question by realising he probably just sold it to the market stalls or someone desperate enough to rope desperate people into giving them sellable items for a cheap price and selling it on for twice as much.

 

But that was life.

 

I had perked up a little bit at 11pm, when the two cups of caffeine had started to kick in and the morning was on its road out, I fed Biscuit his brunch as Chris bounded into the room, flinging two empty cardboard boxes into the corner of the room before slamming $40 onto the counter, a twinkle in his eyes.

 

I smiled at him proudly, "You are on fire," 

 

"We are one step closer," Chris grinned, immediately checking his finance notepad, "-But not close enough," he shook his head.

 

"How much do you need to pay?" I asked.

 

Chris smiled softly and placed a hand on my cheek, "Now don't you worry about that, I am fixing this,"

 

From my experiences, that was never a good sign.

And especially not with Chris, being the open person he is, if he wasn't telling me how much, it was certain that I was underestimating how much debt we were actually in.

 

But I shrugged it off like I do with most problems, until Chris returned from his meeting with the landlord.

 

A nervous laugh and fear in his eyes, Chris came home with an ultimatum.

 

"We have one week or we're out of here apparently,"

 

 

 

The following week was a whirlwind of emotions and fast-paced chaos.

 

Chris and I had certainly resorted to desperation.

 

Somehow we had roped the litter patrol guy into giving us $10 to finish his shift while he went to get coffee.

It wasn't much, but at this stage Chris and I would do anything.

 

So armed with pointed sticks and black bags, we set off.

 

Chris with his usual bubbly, hyperactivity, tuck into the job with ethusuasim.

 

While I glared at the little pieces of wrapper on top of the soft snow and cursed the lazy bastard who had dropped it, while stabbing viciously at the empty cups and ranting inside of my head.

 

"Chris, how much do we actually need?" I sighed, this was getting ridiculous. I needed to know.

 

Chris took a deep breath, his eyes firmly set on a persistent little can that refused to take the bait of his stick, before biting his lip anxiously, "Two grand,"

 

"Two thousand dollars!?" I exclaimed, this was certainly not the price I had in mind. I was thinking along the lines of $500. Not $2000!!

 

Chris ducked his head sheepishly, "Things were pretty tight with Mr Champion,"

 

I sighed deeply, staring into his bright blue eyes, "I understand that, it's just a bit of a shock,"

 

"That's why I didn't want to tell you," he admitted.

 

"Chris we can't make that kind of money by the end of the week!" 

 

Chris nodded with a sigh, "It is unlikely," he stared down at the stick in his hand.

 

"Why don't I just ask Pablo to lend us some money?" I suggested.

 

"No!" Chris cried, his eyes widening, 

"-This is my mess, I will fix it,"

 

"This is Mr Champion's mess," I sniped.

 

Chris ran a ran a hand through his golden curls exasperatedly, "I know, I know it is his fault, but it is still my mess, and I'm not dragging Pablo into my problems,"

 

"It won't be a problem anymore if we just ask Pablo," I told him.

 

"No," Chris' eyes told me that he wasn't changing his mind, "I am not asking Pablo to bail me out,"

 

I silently grumbled in my head, but I nodded understandingly.

 

After all, I could see where he was coming from.

 

So I didn't bring it up again, and Chris and I finished our litter-picking-up duties.

 

Collecting our well deserved $10, Chris and I sloped home.

 

Chris having been up since 5am, and only falling asleep at 2am, the poor crater was exhausted.

I carefully walked beside him, making sure he didn't pass out in the deep snow in front of us.

 

I was scared he would get ill overworking himself, but I didn't alert him of my concerns, but when we did get home I made him a nice bowl of soup.

 

Which he thanked me for with a lovely smile, his eyes looked tired and paler blue than usual.

 

But maybe I was paranoid, taking my own bowl of soup and sitting beside him on the sofa.

 

Biscuit ate his cheap dog food, glaring bitchily at me. He knew I was the reason he was eating the cheap stuff.

I contemplated giving him soup instead, but he stared at me so deeply I didn't want to move from the sofa incase he shot me or something.

 

I practically forced Chris into bed after he had eaten, the crazy man had actually considering returning to work.

But as I told him, he would end up passing out if he continued.

And I didn't fancy going 'Unconscious-Chris-Hunting' at this time in the dark evening.

 

He fell asleep almost immediately after shedding his clothing and crawling under the covers, I whispered goodnight in the darkness and joined him in slumber.

 

 

The next couple of days were torturous.

 

People just seemed to take advantage of our situation and we ended up doing hard labour jobs for very little money.

 

Carrying heavy boxes up fifty flights of stairs when the elevator was done in, spending nights out in the freezing cold to repaint shop walls, just little jobs like that.

 

But we were nowhere near our target.

 

And that soon came back to haunt us as Chris gave the landlord whatever money we had scraped together through our hard work, and in return the landlord gave Chris a nice little letter.

 

Carefully laying the piece of paper down on the counter in front of us, Chris looked up at me with sad eyes.

 

"What?" I asked him quietly.

 

Something about the look in his beautiful blue eyes gave me a terrible, soul-crushing feeling.

I had seen this look before.

 

And I only prayed I would never have to see that look again.

 

But instead of pressing further, I placed a shaky hand on top of the piece of paper.

 

Bright red symbols displayed the top of the sheet, followed by tons of black symbols.

 

I didn't know what it said, so I waited for Chris to gather his confidence and explain.

 

The writing looked as indecipherable as the Mandarin on the doors of the Chinese restaurant Chris and I ate in a few weeks ago.

 

Which is another story all together.

 

But let's just say I will ask Chris which door is which in future.

 

But how was I to know the door with more symbols was the ladies bathroom?

 

All I know is that I certainly won't be showing my face near there again.

 

But with the look in Chris' eyes, I knew that my Chinese restaurant incident was probably the least of our concerns.

 

"What is it Chris?" I said gently, waiting for him to stop staring at the sheet in front of us.

 

He finally looked up at me, and as he did, I felt my heart sink as the pain in his eyes intensified.

 

"We've been evicted Jonny," Chris breathed almost silently.

 

I felt my heart lurch in my chest as my eyes opened so wide I was almost certain they would pop out of my head.

 

I had a feeling that this was what it said, but I told myself, 'Don't be ridiculous! You're being paranoid! It is the middle of Winter, -they couldn't possibly throw us out,'.

 

But I was wrong, for once my gnawing paranoia was right.

 

"We're homeless Jonny," Chris croaked as he leaned his head against my chest, as I attempted to find my voice within the depth of my vocal chords.

 

"We have until tonight to be out before the bailiffs come," Chris whispered.

 

And for a moment, I felt like I was eating my own words.

 

When Chris lost his job, I had promised him that we were going to be okay, but now I wasn't so sure.

 

I mean, how were we going to be okay?

 

For the second time in my life, I had been struck homeless.

 

But this time I didn't have Chris to turn to, as he was in the same, -quickly sinking- boat as I was.

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

edited

[ColdplayPenguin]

A short story for everyone's favourite drummer on his 35th birthday! :dazzled:

This is my first one-shot. It sucks. I'm sorry. :D

 

 

Happy Birthday Will!

 

 

 

 

"No, No, NO!" Chris screamed from the kitchen.

 

Jonny, sprawled across the sofa, and Guy curled on the armchair, shared a similar glance of dissatisfaction.

 

"What has he done now," Jonny murmured under his breath, he half considered ignoring the plights of the curly haired singer, but the clattering of dishes told him not to.

 

Guy, hangovered and hidden beneath his dark shades, slumped further into the armchair, his body language showing Jonny that he wasn't moving from his cosy little position.

 

"Please Guy," Jonny whined, "I did it yesterday,"

 

"Hey," Guy threw his arms up in the air, "When he writes a song about me, then I'll start cleaning up his mess, but until then, it's your call Green Eyes," he smirked devilishly.

 

Throwing a cushion at his smug little face, Jonny stood and glared at Guy as he walked to doorway, "Yes, is about you," he called in a sing-song voice, snickering at the look of horror that passed over the bassist's face as he slid the kitchen door open.

 

Unsurprisingly, colourful mixtures of liquids and icings were making puddles all over the floor like it had rained rainbows, dough and batter splashed across every surface, every single bowl and spoon in the cupboards were either broken or were tossed haphazardly, Chris, with his cute little chef hat and apron, was probably the cleanest thing in the room, splatters of rainbow food colour dotted his features, but aside from that, and his dough covered clothes, he was fine.

 

Jonny ran a hand down his face, exhaling deeply as he suppressed a yell.

 

If Will was here right now...

 

Jonny was certain there would be World War III.

 

But Will wasn't here.

 

He was at home, enjoying the day with his girlfriend, and he was planning to pop into the Bakery later for the presents that Guy had promised.

 

"I've been cooking," Chris smiled innocently.

 

"I can see that," Jonny said slowly.

 

"I'm not very good at cooking," Chris mumbled, biting his lip in thought as he glanced around the room.

 

"I can see that,"

 

"But look," Chris beamed, dragging Jonny's hand and pulling him down to eye level of the oven.

 

Inside was a small circular tin, filled with cake mix.

 

Jonny wasn't sure what the hell was inside of it, or whether it was edible, but he smiled proudly.

 

"That's pretty cool," he said with a slight grin, repressing his feelings of anger for the mess.

 

"Let's go shopping for presents and party decorations!" Chris cried, suddenly hopping to his feet and pulling Jonny past the mess and into the sitting room.

 

Guy, who had taken to puking in the corner, whether that was due to Jonny's

comment about Yes, or his hangover, was indeed, a mystery. He barely glanced up.

 

"Clean that mess up before Will gets here," Jonny called as he got dragged out the door.

 

Inside a large department store, Chris beamed as his eyes flickered over all of the shops, "Let's go in there!" he squealed before tugging Jonny into a toy store.

 

Ten, giant, stuffed teddy-bears later, the two exited with their arms full of bears.

 

"Why would Will need this many bears!?" Jonny asked, clearly only realising the purchase after walking out of the store.

 

Chris suddenly lowered his armful and his face was set in a deadly serious expression, "You can never have too many bears," before skipping off to buy balloons.

 

Many, useless purchases later, the two band members left the department store with enough presents to put Santa Clause out of business.

But after all, this was a very important day.

 

This was the day of Mr Will Champion's 35th Birthday.

 

This wasn't a regular ol' Wednesday.

 

Will deserved only the best, high-quantity of teddy bears.

 

So that was okay.

 

Skipping back to the Bakery, Chris and Jonny were in for an unpleasant surprise.

 

Reaching within seeing distance, they spotted bright red flames emerging from the building, thick smoke clouding the air, Chris' jaw dropped, Jonny's eyes widened, as the place the loved so, was alit with flames.

 

"GUY!" Chris screamed.

 

"Yeah?" Guy answered from behind him, Chris spun around and clutched his chest dramatically before catching his breath, throwing his arms around the bassist.

 

"Get off me, what the hell- HOLY SHIT!" Guy spluttered as his eyes laid on the burning Bakery.

 

"Where the fuck where you!?" Jonny exclaimed.

 

"I went to get cigarettes," he shrugged innocently.

 

Suddenly both heads spun to Chris as realisation flashed through their eyes, "Your bloody cake," Jonny gasped.

 

"Oh no!" Chris cried, "-My cake will be ruined," he dropped to his knees on the pavement, his head in his hands.

 

Just when things couldn't get any worse, footsteps approached and they were soon greeted by the lovely face of Will Champion.

 

"Hey guys, why are we out here?" he said with a nonchalant smile.

 

Fear shot through Chris' eyes like a knife through butter, "Uh-"

 

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!!" Will suddenly screamed as he glanced at the Bakery.

 

Guilty smiles passed over the faces of his three band members.

 

Thrusting the armful of teddy bears into Will's arms, "Happy Birthday Will!" Chris giggled nervously.

 

 

The End.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 12

 

 

 

 

 

Gathering what little things we had left into a bag, Chris looked up at me with weary eyes.

 

"Can't we stay here the night at least?" I said desperately, running a hand down my face in despair, "It's dark, and that blizzard isn't letting up anytime soon,"

 

Chris chewed on his lip and he rid the small cupboard of its contents, "No, Jonny we have to leave now," he croaked in a small voice.

 

"Where are we supposed to go?" I asked, I couldn't help but feel petrified.

 

Chris shrugged his lean shoulders, staring glassy-eyed down at the floor, "I don't know Jonny,"

 

There was nothing I could say to reassure either of us, but taking a deep breath, I tilted his chin to face me.

 

"-Hey," I said softly, my eyes submerged in his, "-We keep going,"

 

"Keep going how exactly," he whispered, "-Until we hit a brick wall?"

 

I laughed despite myself, "Yes, because that is simply what we do, and there is no brick wall on this earth that is completely indestructible,"

 

Chris smiled at me slowly, it wasn't his usual, bright, one hundred-watt, beam, but it was a start.

 

"Now, someone better alert the hobo community, because they have two new members," I said with a bit of a sad laugh.

 

 

Our belongings in two rucksacks, Chris, Biscuit and I, headed out of our flat for the last time, carefully locking it as Biscuit scratched innocently at Chris' trouser leg.

 

Confused, he looked up at Chris' watery eyes, he knew we didn't usually go for walks at this time of night.

 

I could tell Chris was finding it hard to keep it together, carefully slipping the key under the door like his landlord had demanded, he turned back to me, clutching Biscuit's leash with a death grip.

 

I could see it in his eyes, I could see the utter despair.

 

It was as clear as day.

 

But I simply slipped my arms around his shoulders.

 

Trudging out the main doors, the wind hit us with a violent gust, almost knocking us backwards through the doors again, I managed to keep my balance, Biscuit yelping frantically as the bitter snowflakes attacked his fur.

 

Squinting my eyes in the furious wind and snowfall, I shakily reached for Chris' hand behind his coat sleeve, silently he took it and squeezed it tightly. Despite the cold, Chris was still warm compared to me.

I'd always been quite thin-skinned when it came to the weather.

 

I wriggled my fingers around a little bit until they were intertwined with Chris', I ran my thumb along the soft skin, it seemed to soothe myself and him, and he ran his thumb along my the back of my hand as well.

 

Gently tugging at my hand, Chris pulled me towards the pavements, "Come on," he whispered over the howling wind and screeching cars, "Lets find somewhere to sleep before we catch our deaths,"

 

Following him down the snow-filled pavements, I allowed him to half-drag me into a New York backstreet, crouching down against the wall, in the shelter from the vicious precipitation, a huge skip sheltering us from the wind, I crouched down beside him on the wet ground, Biscuit barking in confusion.

 

I pulled Biscuit into my lap as Chris rummaged around in the rucksack for a blanket, I could see the pain in his eyes. A strange air of hopelessness, which scared me. As Chris was the most optimistic person I could ever imagine existing, if he couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, we were surely trapped.

 

Running my hand between Biscuit's ears, curling my legs up closer as I held him tightly, burying my side into Chris' as he finally pulled out thick blankets, wrapping them around us with a sniffle.

 

The sounds of drunk laughter filled the distant streets, car horns honking, chatting, laughter. Life.

 

How could everything seemingly go ahead as normal while our life crashed down around us.

 

Could nobody hear our silent screams?

 

Of course not.

 

Because we were the lowest of the low.

We were completely and utterly worthless, completely useless to society.

 

If anything, we were a hindrance.

 

I drew my knees to my chest as I pushed myself closer against Chris as he pulled me closer, Biscuit burying his body between our chests, the blankets pulled up as close as possible.

 

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to sleep.

 

It didn't feel right.

 

It wasn't a bed.

 

I sniffled as the cold finally reached my bones as the water seeped from my clothes onto my skin.

 

Chris leaned his head against the wall, attempting to get some rest, but his eyes remained open, blankly staring ahead into the darkness, glassy and filled with tears, I found it difficult to look at his beautiful blue eyes.

 

Slowly I wormed my arm around his back, pulling his warm body close to mine, I sighed deeply.

 

"I'm cold," he whispered shakily into my hat, I felt a small pang in my heart, but as I usually do with most things, I joked about the agony I was feeling, "I was starting to think that wasn't possible,".

 

"Oh I assure you, it is," he said breathily, almost with a hint of laughter.

 

I held him tighter, Biscuit had already dozed off, his head on Chris' lap and his body on my chest, "We should have went to the homeless shelter," Chris muttered from beneath his trench coat and scarf, burying his head into my shoulder.

 

"-And have them rip you to pieces? No thank you,"

 

Chris' eyes shot open, "-Jonny!" he scoffed in shock, "Not all homeless people are animals,"

 

"Pfffft," I shook my head, smiling, 

"-You're homeless, aren't you?"

 

"Is that a reference to my hair!?" Chris suddenly spluttered an accusation.

 

I laughed heartily, my breath coming out in wispy clouds in front of me, "-Of course it isn't you paranoid nutjob,"

 

Chris giggled, "It better not be, mister," he subconsciously smoothed his wild mop of curls down on his head.

 

I shook my head in faint disbelief of the situation.

 

Here we were, homeless, in the snow, freezing, and completely unaware of what we were going to do next, but yet we were still laughing. If only for a minute, we could still laugh.

 

As Chris' shaky breath evened out, I felt him bury his face into my shoulder, before wrapping the blankets over his shoulder and closing his eyes tightly.

 

An unidentifiable period of time later, I thought I felt a warm droplet on my neck, as it rolled down my cold body.

I immediately put it down to my ever-present paranoia, but all the same, I subconsciously stroked my hand through Chris' thick curls as I leant my head against the wall.

 

As a few more droplets trickled down my shoulders, I knew for certain, that my blue-eyed, bundle of joy, was indeed, crying.

 

But I knew, deep down, he was fully justified in his despair, and there was nothing I could say or do to make it better.

 

So I simply allowed him lay on my shoulder, appearing unaware, as I ran my hand through his hair, eventually closing my heavy eyelids and allowing them to pull my mind away from reality for just a moment.

 

When I awoke some time later, having no clock, I was completely unsure of what time it was, but I did know that it was daylight.

 

I felt my face frozen, as well as my neck, and any other body parts that had stayed uncovered from the blanket.

 

My head hurt badly, my neck was cramped, my back ached, my arm was dead, my throat was itchy and dry, I had a horrible sniffle, and I was fucking freezing.

 

But Biscuit and Chris had slept reasonably well, as Chris gently stirred, having fallen asleep on top of me, he had certainly got the better end of that stick as I was in agony.

 

"Good morning sunshine," Chris mumbled with a sleepy grin, clearly subsiding whatever despair he had been feeling the night before, and plastering on his usual beam.

 

"Sleep well?" I asked with a bitter laugh.

 

"Oh like a baby Jonny," he rolled his eyes, playing along, "-Five star accommodation is this, hell, beats the 'Premier Inn' any day,"

 

"We could give those fancy hotels a run for their money with this little setup," I laughed, and he returned the laugh, our laughter filling the early morning air along with the muffled sounds of the waking city.

 

"But I'm guessing we should up-sticks and find somewhere new," Chris said as he twisted his mouth, "I would do with at least a roof over our heads,"

 

I nodded in agreement as Chris rummaged through the rucksack, pulling out some various foods and throwing them at me, taking some for himself, and opening Biscuit's dog food, ripping the sharp top off and setting the can down beside the dog's nose.

He stretched and tentatively sniffed it, uncertain of what the hell Chris was playing at.

Biscuit simply does not eat out of the can.

 

Biscuit stared at the oblivious Chris for a good five minutes, before turning accusingly towards me, I ducked my head, nibbling on the muffin I was eating, avoiding his dark-eyed gaze as he sulkily ate his food.

 

I could tell this wasn't the only thing Biscuit was pissed about.

 

He was probably wondering where his large double bed was, and endless bars of soap, and Dale Winton on the TV. His cozy little life had been turned upside down as well.

 

Instead he was buried between Chris and I, eating his breakfast from a can, beside a skip, in a backstreet road, in the middle of Winter.

 

That morning, despite my protests, Chris set off in search of somewhere we could stay, nothing fancy or even mediocre, but somewhere with shelter.

As I had already dismissed the idea of a homeless shelter, not quite ready to completely abandon my ever-shrinking pride, and the idea of even asking Pablo to stay, made my face burn at the very thought.

 

No.

 

We had to get out of the best our own way.

 

Waiting for Chris to return, I pulled Biscuit closer towards me, and opened up my notebook.

It was strangely comforting that despite the changes going on in our lives, that drawing would always be constant.

 

So I flicked open a page, ripped out my pencil and rubber, and began to sketch a landscape that I didn't know existed.

 

A huge lake began to take form under my pencil, carefully lining the stretches of evergreen trees, small wispy clouds poking out from the tips of their branches, weeds and dandelions sprouting from around the water's edge, huge snow-tipped mountains in the distance-

 

And as I got more sucked into the drawing, outlining careful details, I felt a warm sense of serenity settle over me as Biscuit made quiet dog-noises in his sleep, I felt myself become completely and utterly unaware of the roaring noise of the distant city centre, and instead, I was in my own little world of peace.

 

Although that world would be a lot better if Chris was here, and as I now wondering where Chris had gotten off to, I closed my notebook and threw it and my pencil into the rucksack, zipping it up as I curled back up on the blanket, pulling the edges around my shivering body.

 

Some time later, Chris returned.

Red cheeked, bright eyed, and brimming with hope, as he came with a little slice of good news.

 

Well, when I say slice, I mean drop.

 

As Chris had apparently found us accommodation.

 

Of course, this wasn't going to be much, I knew it. But I'm sure it would beat the particular state of nothingness.

 

So I allowed Chris to wrap his snaky fingers around my wrist as he pulled me towards this area, the rucksacks and Biscuit in tow, we headed off.

 

I followed him down endless blocks, countless backstreets, a couple of alleyways, through a fence, before we reached a small, panelled up building.

 

"Chris," I said slowly, "What are you doing?"

 

Chris shook his head with a wide grin, pulling me around the side of the small building, slowly pushing away a thick piece of wood, he revealed a broken window, the room on the other side, completely dark from the lack of windows of light, and from what I could see, completely empty.

 

"Chris," I hissed, "Someone will see us!"

 

"Nobody owns this little room Jonny, nobody but us,"' he said with a smile, brushing away the layers of snow from the window pane, Chris began to carefully break away remaining glass from the broken window.

 

After a moment, I sighed and gave in, slowly pushing him to the side, "Move before you cut yourself," I thought I saw him crack a smile, but proceeded to break away the remaining glass with my sleeve, as dangerous as that is. I don't recommend it.

It is very dangerous.

 

Slowly I allowed Chris to help me into the window, stumbling forwards and landing on a dusty, wood-panelled floor, about 10ft x 10ft, with no stairway or means to get up further to the building, and I presumed there was a reason, perhaps the upstairs was owned by someone or something.

But that didn't bother me so much at this particular moment, carefully pulling Chris through the window and gently placing his feet on the ground, he looked around.

 

It was tiny.

But it was dry, and safe from the harsh Winter wind.

 

Despite not belonging to us, I felt like it would be alright to sleep here for now, slowly dropping the rucksacks onto the floor.

 

After lightly a candle he had stashed in his bag, Chris scanned the walls for a light switch. Finding none, he placed the candle in the middle of the small room, the orange flames alighting the room and flickering shadows onto his face.

 

I noticed not all of the wooden panels were safely hammered down, some of them poking out with dangerous nail-heads bent in the opposite angles, but apart from that and the peeling walls, the room seemed decently safe.

 

Unless the owners were planning to knock it down or something within the next while, then it wouldn't be so safe.

And Chris and I would be pretty much fucked.

 

Throwing down a thick blanket onto the uneven floorboards, Chris looked up at me with a smile, "Home sweet home, eh?" he laughed with a wink.

 

So for a week, Chris and I had a place to lay our heads, sleeping on the hard floor with a blanket between us.

 

Some nights were tougher than others, as we grew deeper into Winter I began to regret ever saying I enjoyed snow.

At this present moment, snow was evil.

And I despised it.

It was the reason I was curled up in fetal position, shivering so hard I think I would have chipped a tooth if my teeth didn't stop chattering.

 

But as the first week passed, that was when the realproblems began to occur.

As while we still had our food and supplies, that was fine and dandy.

 

But now the food was running low, and we were both desperate for a shower, we were only starting to fully realise how deep we were sinking.

 

Chris had taken to hauling a tin bath, one of those really old fashioned ones, from a skip from God-knows-where, into the corner of the room.

 

Hands on his hips, he stared at it proudly.

 

But that didn't solve our lack of running water problem.

 

"Snow is water, isn't it?" Chris mused, I stared at him from the blanket in the opposite corner, -like he had three heads.

 

Lugging the tin bath out the window again, Chris returned ten minutes later with a bath full of snow.

 

I couldn't help but snort at his attempt.

 

Perhaps I should have helped him, but I really felt a drawing itching away at my brain cells.

 

"So what? You're going to bath in snow," I said with a incredulous laugh, "-How do you know it's even clean?"

 

"It's fine," he waved his hand dismissively, grabbing the rucksack and pulling out candles and a lighter.

 

Lighting candle after candle, he arranged them around the bath in attempt to melt the snow.

 

"How very romantic," I teased.

 

"This is the height of romance," Chris laughed, and three hours later, we had a bath of water.

 

It wasn't warm, but it wasn't ice-cold either.

 

Chris bathed first, saying as he did go to the trouble of making it.

At first I suggested waiting outside, but Chris reminded me I didn't particularly want hypothermia, so I turned myself and faced the wall instead, sketching my drawing as Chris washed in the opposite corner.

 

I kind of dreaded my own turn, but I realised I would have to suck it up because I desperately needed a bath.

 

It was already dark out and the only light in the room was that of the candles around the bath.

 

But by this stage of the game, it had grown impossible to draw, so I resorted to simply staring at the wall in front of me, the muffled sounds of the city obscured by the quiet sounds of sloshing water from behind me.

 

Chris sang sweetly, so that made the situation easier, so I focused my mind on his voice.

 

I couldn't work out what song he was singing, so I overcome the non-existant border of privacy between him and I, and asked him, "What song's that, Chris?" 

 

Chris didn't mind that he was in the middle of washing and I had interrupted, "Oh I don't know Jonny, I heard it on the radio while I was hauling the bath," he replied nochlatantly.

 

"Ah," I replied, returning to my mind as Chris returned to his song.

 

When Chris had finished up a couple of minutes later, safely wrapped in a fluffy towel, he took over my position on the blanket and shooed me off to take a bath.

 

Awkwardly I stood beside the tub, staring into it as though it was the Pacific Ocean.

 

"So don't turn around," I told Chris apprehensively, and even from the sound of his voice I could tell he was rolling his eyes, "I won't, don't worry,"

 

It wasn't Chris I didn't trust, it was his hyperactivity.

 

No doubt he would get bored sitting with his legs crossed on a blanket, staring at a wall.

 

Hesitantly, I slowly shed my clothes onto the rickety floorboards and chewed on my lip nervously as I slowly slid into the cold water.

 

It seemed decently clean, but I couldn't really see due to the lack of light, making sure I didn't burn myself on the candles, I sunk into the water, staring at Chris' back in precaution.

 

Fishing around for the bar of soap, I located it and proceeded to wash myself.

 

The silence in the room was deafening and with each passing second, I felt my face grow hotter despite the cold.

 

"Chris," I murmured, my voice surprisingly unsteady.

 

"Yeah?" he replied.

 

"Can you go back to singing that song?" I mumbled sheepishly.

 

I could almost envision his cheesy smile, those big blue eyes going all twinkly.

 

"Okay!" he chuckled, much to my embarrassment.

 

But he continued singing, quite nonchalantly, drumming his hands on his lap to the beat, as Biscuit napped lazily by his ankles.

 

Ten minutes later I was sufficiently clean, calling Chris to throw me a towel from behind, I dryed off and dressed, before taking the candles back to the corner and planting myself back down on the blanket.

 

Chris grinned at me mischievously, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously and stared at him from the foot distance across the blanket.

 

"You are so cute sometimes," he cooed with a big soppy smile, I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully.

 

He laughed heartily and laid down on the blanket, "But you're so shy, it is just adorable,"

 

"Oh shut up you," I blushed deeper.

 

Chuckling, Chris rummaged through the rucksack on his lap, eventually pulling out some crackers and throwing them lightly on the blanket beside us.

 

"Dinner is served," he said, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

 

"Mmmm," I laughed sarcastically, but all the same, Chris and I were pretty starving, so we tucked in.

 

Half and hour later, Chris had passed out on the blanket, his head resting on the rucksack as he was still wrapped in his towel, the lazy thing.

 

I threw an extra blanket over him and grabbed my own as I lay down on one of the cushions.

 

Blowing out the candles, I stared up at the ceiling in the darkness.

 

From the open window I could hear the heavy wind blowing viciously from outside, distant city noises, as I wondered what was up in the floor above.

 

But as I allowed my mind to wander, I thought back to my life previous months ago.

 

What if my flat hadn't have been broke into?

 

I would never have went to live with Chris.

 

We probably wouldn't be as close as we were now, and I wouldn't want that.

 

A year ago, I had a flat, a job, decent amount of money, but I wasn't as happy as I am now.

Despite that fact that I lost everything, I felt like I had gained everything worth gaining.

I felt like I was coming alive for the first time in my life.

 

And it was all thanks to the curly-haired goofball that almost killed me on the day we met.

 

There were times over the three years upon setting foot in New York, I wondered what was the point of anything? I wanted to give up.

To take the easy way out.

 

I had been living in a blank daze.

 

And maybe I still am.

 

But all I know I'd rather live my life in a blank daze with Chris by my side than not.

 

I have also realised I get overly sentimental before I sleep, but maybe that isn't a bad thing.

 

Closing my eyes, I wasn't sure if the roof would still be standing when I opened them, but I did know, -if we weren't both crushed by the falling debris, of course- that I would always have Chris and Biscuit.

 

And that was plenty for me.

 

--

 

 

"Brrrreakfast time!" Chris sang as he climbed through the only window at the other end of the small room, scuffling the snow off his boots and coat as he trudged towards me.

 

I rubbed my eyes and glanced disconnectedly around the surroundings.

 

"Where have you been?" I mumbled, staring up at him through my barely opened eyes.

 

"I have been putting food on the table, my dear," Chris grinned, "-Aren't I a brilliant husband?" he teased.

 

"Sexism isn't a turn-on buddy," I quipped sarcastically.

 

He rolled his eyes, "Don't be ridiculous," he threw a carrier bag down on the blankets beside me and I took into account that he was at least clothed.

 

"What is that?"

 

"That is a plastic bag Jonny, it is the latest thing in high tech-"

 

"I meant -what's in it!" I snapped.

 

Chris laughed, his cerulean eyes glistening, "-You always were a bit of a bitch before 12pm," but noting my expression he elaborated, "I got breakfast," he said innocently.

 

I folded my arms and watched him carefully, I wasn't quite satisfied with him standing while I sat, so I tugged him down to sit beside me as I narrowed my eyes, "And where exactly did you get the money?"

 

"I didn't," he mumbled, twiddling with his thumbs.

 

"What?" I stated at him blankly.

 

"Think of it as a little gift from the market stalls to us,"

 

Suddenly the cogs in my head clinked to a halt, staring at him with flashing eyes, I spoke slowly and deliberately, "Chris, did- did you steal this!?"

 

Chris scoffed, laughing nervously for a second, until he met my gaze and stared sheepishly down at his lap, "Maybe,"

 

I stared at him incredulously, "That's- that's theft!" I exclaimed.

 

"-You can't go around stealing things!" I hissed, dumbfounded, "-That's wrong!"

 

Chris looked up at me, "So I am supposed to just let you and Biscuit starve?"

 

"C-Chris, we aren't thieves!"

 

"Don't think of it as stealing, think of it as, ...what Robin Hood did, and you know what they say, -charity begins at home,"

 

"This isn't freaking Robin Hood, Chris!" 

 

"It's kind of funny because we are both English," Chris murmured, staring at his lap.

 

"Chris!" I snapped and he eventually dragged his eyes to meet mine.

 

"We can't do this," I said softly, "We aren't criminals,"

 

"Yes, but I didn't take you in so I could watch you starve to death, did I?"

 

I smiled sadly at his concern, "I just don't want you to get caught,"

 

"I wouldn't get caught!" he assured me with wide eyes, "I won't!"

 

I rubbed his knee, "That is what everyone who has ever been caught has said,"

 

He sighed deeply, "We are running out of stuff Jonny, no one will hire me, I don't see another way out,"

 

I nodded my understanding, "I know, but stealing is wrong, and we both know that,"

 

"-But it's all right for rich people to steal from the poor!?"

 

My eyes flashed as I looked at him, "Of course it's not, but we are better than that,"

 

"Okay then," he folded his arms against his chest, "-What do you suggest then?" he sniped as he pulled out a can of dog food from the bag of loot.

 

There's where he had me.

 

I had absoultely no idea.

 

But all I knew was that I wasn't going to steal from others.

 

But then again, what choice did we have?

 

But despite my moral debate, I was pretty damn hungry, and since Chris had gone to the trouble of getting it, I apprehensively ate the food Chris handed me.

 

Biscuit stared up at me with wide, confused eyes.

 

It was almost like he understood the entire situation, almost like our helplessness was radiating onto him.

 

I didn't want him to feel scared either, despite the obvious logic that he was a dog, -a very sassy one at that, I still felt like he was almost like my child.

So I could understand Chris' motherly fussing.

 

I ruffled him between the ears and smiled, he eyed me warily, before returning to his dog food.

 

"So," Chris asked me nonchalantly, 

"-Have you got a plan yet?"

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 13

 

 

 

 

"Street begging?" Chris repeated dumbly.

 

"Not when you say it like that," I rolled my eyes, "Just sit at the street corner with an empty cup, -easy!"

 

Chris glared at me, "Why do I have to do it!?"

 

"Well, I'll be searching for a job," I replied.

 

"But- but," Chris stuttered.

 

"You certainly look the part," I quipped, not even recieving so much as a smile for my rather hilarious joke.

 

"Don't think you're getting off that easily," Chris pointed at me determinedly, "You are going to be helping,"

 

"Okay," I assured him, silently mapping out in my head which street corner would be far enough away from Pablo.

 

But the next couple of days were a difficult few, as the weather worsened, the room was freezing, we were both quickly loosing weight, and I'm pretty sure we both had permanent colds.

 

But somehow, just somehow, our spirits hadn't been completely smashed, and Chris and I took to a street corner, crossed-legs and a small empty cup between us, we soon realised what a harsh place New York could be.

 

It was coming up to Christmas after all, people couldn't be forking out to two homeless guys at the street corner.

 

As Chris leaned against my arm, boredly tapping his hands rhythmically against his lap, I sketched the distant skyscrapers as the snow fell lightly from the sky.

 

Five cents was our total for that day so far.

 

-At least we were five cents richer than yesterday!

 

Bored, Chris watched over my should carefully as I drew. I was too cold to have an aversion to him viewing by work, and I have to say, the goofball has done nothing but rave about me.

 

Which made me feel quite pleased and embarrased all at the same time.

 

When I'd finished sketching the last parked taxi, Chris nudged my shoulder with his chin.

 

"Sign it,"

 

I turned to him slightly as our noses brushed, "What?"

 

"You have to sign your artwork silly!"

 

I stared at the drawing, I wasn't particually sure how to sign my name.

 

Chris rolled his eyes and wrapped his hand around mine, gently moving the pencil in a long loopy shape that eventually I recalled to be a 'J' followed my a sideways pair of sunglasses, which Chris told me to remember as a 'B'.

 

He smiled at me proudly as he finished.

 

When suddenly his eyes lit up, which usually meant he had come up with some kind of manic scheme.

 

"Do you have any sentimental attachment to this?" Chris asked, his hand on the bottom of the sheet.

 

I shrugged, "No,"

 

"Can I sell your artwork?"

 

I scoffed the scoffiest scoff I had ever scoffed.

 

"Yeah, knock yourself," I laughed, "People would pay to not look at it,"

 

Chris stared at me determinedly, before hopping up and immediately choosing his first target, a middle-aged lady with a pushchair.

 

"Hi ma'am," I could hear him say, his pink mouth formed into a pout, his bright eyes, wide.

 

"Would you be so kind as to tell my friend over there that he is the next Leonardo DiCaprio,"

 

I ran a hand down my face exasperatedly.

 

She eyed Chris nervously, "I have to go," she murmured, quickly pushing her pushchair as far away as Chris as possible.

 

Chris stared after her in confusion, before plopping down beside me, "What did I do?"

 

I laughed at his oblivion, my breath coming out in little clouds around me, "Leonardo DiCaprio is an actor Chris,"

 

"No he wasn't damnit," Chris insisted, "He was that painter- Oh,"

 

Chris blushed slightly, "That was Leonardo Da Vinci,"

 

"You've hit the nail on the head," I said with laugh.

 

But Chris shrugged it off, targeting his next victim which happened to be a little old lady.

 

I could already hear the conversation, "Excuse me ma'am but do you think this is the work of the next Leonardo Da Vinci?"

 

Somehow, half an hour later, one wallop with a handbag, countless funny looks, and a couple of threats, Chris returned without the picture, and a flash, crisp, ten dollar bill in his hand.

 

I stared at him with such wide eyes I thought my eyes were going to explode out of my head, "H-How..." I trailed away.

 

He grinned at me, "I told you someone would want your beautiful work," he poked me playfully as he curled up beside me.

 

"They likely felt sorry for us,"

 

Chris shook his head persistently, "No! She said she loved the elegant lining and the simplicity of it all,"

 

"Lies," I murmured stubbornly.

 

Slipping the note into his pocket, Chris grinned, "We will be eating like Kings tonight,"

 

"It is better than whatever you got from that trash can last night," I murmured.

 

Which is completely true.

 

Desperate calls for desperate measures, eh?

 

But there was nothing funny about it, I almost threw up when I found out where it was from, but by this stage, I learned to get over it and carry on.

 

"You want to a little fact," Chris told me as he pushed the cup closer to his feet and rattled the five cent a little as a small group of people passed by, ignoring us.

 

"Go ahead," I told him as I opened a clean sheet of paper and began to sketch a drawing yet to be objectified.

 

"When Hitler was homeless he painted pictures and sold them on the street," he said casually into my shoulder.

 

I shot my head around to face him, "Where the hell did that come from?"

 

"D'ya think it's a sign?"

 

I stared at the maniac incredulously, "Are you asking am I the next Hitler!?"

 

"Maybe," Chris giggled, sticking out his tongue as he leant his head against my shoulder, "-Dibs on Himmler,"

 

My eyes flew open, but I couldn't help a smile slip onto my lips, "Would you hush before you get us beat up or something," I chuckled under my breath.

 

"Now people think we are drug-dealing, serial-killing, illegal-immigrating, Nazi-sympathisers," I said dramatically.

 

"Oh goodness no," Chris played along, "We have pretty good cover though, don't we? Faking all this homeless stuff when really we live in a twenty floored mansion with the money we made in drug smuggling,"

 

I laughed heartily, my eyes on the page, "-And a golden elevator," I added.

 

"Biscuit could have his own red silk pillow to sleep on, and his own room,"

Chris stared up at the overcast, "With a giant roast turkey for dinner,"

 

"Mmmm," I sighed happily at the thought, "I would kill for turkey,"

 

"With chocolate cake for dessert," Chris cooed, both of us mentally salivating.

 

But Chris tapped the note in his pocket with a grin, "But don't forget, we are practically rich now,"

 

I smiled at his excitement, "We are practically Simon Cowell," I quipped.

 

And as the first night of eating well with the ten dollars we had earned was great, it didn't last very long and soon we were back to square one.

 

Chris continued to try and pawn off my drawings to the unfortunate souls he stumbled upon, the small plastic cup of our change remained low and unwavering.

 

But as one morning, I left Chris off at the usual street corner, I returned through the window that night with something I dreamt I'd ever receive again in my life.

 

A job!

 

An actual job!

 

It was in a factory on the outer parts of town, and I even worked out which buses I would need to take, and -Get this!- public transport is free!

 

For us it was anyway, with our lack of income and what not.

 

I'm sure my bank manager isn't too pleased with my current situation.

But hell, join the club!

 

Now would probably be a good time to state that neither Chris and I had any savings or anything whatsoever stashed away.

So that was a no-go.

 

Chris' parents had cut him off when he went to New York, stating their 'irresponsible' son would have to make it on his own, they were clearly resentful of his prosperous ambitions of becoming a singer, -when he was quite a smart lad, but dropping it all and making coffee for a douchebag was what he got instead.

 

But then again, if you never try, you never know.

 

Practically diving head first through the window, I dashed over to where Chris was casually lying, Biscuit on his lap as he made soft cooing noises as the two caught up on each others' day.

 

I grabbed Chris by the wrists and pinned him to floor in one quick movement, filled with bubbling excitement, I squeaked, "Guess what,"

 

Chris stared up at me, half-startled to death, as Biscuit trudged off to his cushion dejectedly.

 

"Wha-"

 

"-I got a job!!" I interrupted him gleefully, almost on the verge of bursting into a fit of giddy giggles.

 

Which wasn't the me I knew.

 

His eyes widened, "What? Are you serious!?"

 

I nodded vigorously, practically staddling him, "They accepted me!"

 

"Who did? What is it? Oh my God, I am so happy for you!!" Chris beamed, shoving me off his waist as he sat up and shuffled right up beside me until our drawn-up knees were touching.

 

"In a button factory," I smiled, "On the outside of the city, I have checked the buses, you don't need any sort of qualifications, just a bit of labour,"

 

Chris pounced on me and enveloped me in a huge hug, squeezing me so tightly I thought I might explode, I laughed happily and hugged him back.

"This is just brilliant!" he gushed, kissing my face several times.

 

As his arms wrapped around me, strangely enough, I could almost feel the boniness of them.

Running my hand along his back, I felt the bones more prominent and his body more skinny.

 

Internally I decided I couldn't allow this to continue, I wasn't going to stand back and watch Chris become ill.

 

I was going to fix this.

 

 

A week later I started my new job, brimming with enthusiasm, I set off with high hopes and a weak hug from Chris, who was lying on the blankets with a bad case of food poisoning.

A bucket by his side and a damp cloth on his head, I reluctantly set off, not really wanting to leave Chris in his current state, as I knew he would want someone around to help him, but he practically shoved me out the door.

 

Correction, -window.

 

I suppose when you are basically eating from bins, food poisoning comes along with the package.

 

Trudging my way through the 6am darkness and snow, I set off to the bus station with a soft smile playing on my features, because I knew, that this job could help Chris and I climb out of the fifty-feet hole we were in.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 14

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four days in on the job, and my hands were numb and raw.

 

My legs were so shaky I had trouble climbing through the window.

 

It was going on half one in the morning and I was well past exhausted, my head aching, my heartbeat pulsing through my eyeballs, I felt weighed down by the whole world, and hell, the world is a pretty damn heavy thing to be carrying on your shoulders.

 

I slid carefully through the window, my hands trembling as I noticed a candle was still alight in the back corner and Chris was leaning against the array of cushions I had made for him to support his back.

 

Four days in and he still hadn't quite gotten rid of the pesky bug, his face dreadfully pale with dark purple shadows under his eyes, he stared at me intently from across the room.

 

I slowly walked towards the blanket and knelt down beside him, his gentle eyes still fixed on mine, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice weak and slightly hoarse from his raw throat, "What's wrong?" he said tenderly.

 

I couldn't speak, the huge lump in my throat disallowed me to, my eyes prickling with impending tears, but I couldn't help but feel utterly stupid.

 

"Nothing," I eventually squeaked in such a high-pitched voice it almost sounded foreign to my ears, Chris shook his head slowly, "You're not okay," he croaked. I wanted to tell him not to waste his voice or energy, but anything I said would have probably came out as squeaks.

 

He wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders, pulling my head onto his chest as he ran a thin hand along my back.

 

After a moment, I couldn't take it anymore, wrapping both my arms around him and burying my face into his shoulder, the tight feeling in my throat increased, almost to the verge of a sob.

 

But I wasn't one for crying.

 

Especially not in front of people.

 

Especially not in front of people I like.

 

I had never cried in front of anyone in my entire life, well, of that I can remember.

But I always had a strong aversion of the line between my mind and emotions, and my actions.

 

I had placed a firm guard around my emotions for a reason, they weren't meant to be released into the outside world. They were supposed to stay locked up inside never to see the light of day.

 

People had guards for a reason, and mine was on a permanent up. 

As for the second I drop my guard, I will get hurt somehow, because I have nothing to protect me.

My emotions will be raw and laid in front of someone and that is when things turn for the worst.

 

Because then it is out of my hands.

 

But despite all of my rationalisations, my constant reminders to keep myself together, if not for myself, -for Chris, I slowly felt a well-repressed sob making its way up my body, pulling with it every ounce of self-respect and pride I had left, as I felt my guard slip from beneath my grasp, my walls come crashing down around me, as for the first time in many years, I actually cried.

 

Slow, achingly painful sobs at first, before my eyes began to sting like a thousand tiny knifes were slicing the back of my eyeballs, water brimming the edges of my eyelids, I buried my face into his chest as the tears spilled out and crashed down my face as they were finally free.

 

I grasped Chris' shirt tightly in two fistfuls as he pulled me into his embrace, my whole body shook with each new cry, until I was crying hard in his arms as he tried to console me.

 

I hated it!

 

How could I be so stupid and selfish!?

 

Here was Chris, sick and freezing, and I'm the one crying because my work is hard.

 

Although hard would be an understatement, it is tedious, and in the most unchildish way I can phrase it, the other employees are mean.

 

The bosses are horrible, the work is achingly long hours with little pay, and every muscle in my body aches.

 

"Shhhhh," he whispered softly into my ear, "You don't have to go back, I'm so sorry,"

 

I snivelled, "I need to," 

 

Ignoring me, he gently whispered, "Why didn't you tell me it was unpleasant?"

 

"Everyone is horrible to me," I croaked, "My hands are sore,"

 

I felt his clutch tighten around me as I buried my face deep into his chest.

 

"You aren't going back there," he said matter-of-factly.

 

I wiped the ever-consistent tears away from my face, as for the first time in years, I felt well and truly broken.

 

Maybe you had to be broken to be completely whole again?

 

"I need to go back there," I tried to keep my voice level but that didn't work at all.

 

"No you don't, I won't let you," 

 

I looked up at him slightly through my blurry vision, "I'm sorry,"

 

His face crumpled up, "You have nothing to apologise for,"

 

"I'm sorry for being so weak," I whispered as the tears didn't seem to stop, apparently after being locked up for so long they were having a freaking party.

 

"You aren't weak," he growled quite defensively, taking both of my raw and sliced hands and stroking the tender skin soothingly.

 

Planting a kiss on each one, he sighed and rubbed my shoulder.

 

Just as I could feel myself nodding off in my comfortable position, he gently shook me and gave me something to eat, not getting much of a choice, I managed to swallow down some food though my throat stung from the crying, and my breathing was too shaking, I finally returning to my cozy place and Biscuit joined us, licking my forehead as he passed. 

 

Perhaps it was his dog way of reassuring me.

 

Whatever it was, I pushed away the burning shame eating away at my feelings and fell fast asleep after almost being awake for 24hours.

 

----

 

It certainly wasn't the best sleep I had ever had.

 

And perhaps it was even the worst.

 

I tossed and turned through my sleep, having several nightmares about different things, a couple about the gloomy factory and the other employees, and a rather frightening one about my mother.

 

Then it was practically impossible to stay warm, pulling the blankets as tight to my body as possible, curling into Chris, who was surprisingly cold.

 

And then there was Chris' occasional puking and constant gagging, and his tossing and turning also.

 

I tried to help him, but my body was physically exhausted, barely able to pass him a glass of water without my shaky hands sloshing it everywhere.

 

His sickly groans, and my unconscious whimpers, I was surprised poor Biscuit slept at all with us two.

 

When my eyes managed to open after scraping two hours of sleep, I knew it was morning, managing to stumble to my hands and knees, I lit the candle and almost jumped at the ghostly complexion of Chris.

 

"Morning," he smiled weakly, his face dotted with sweat as his eyes barely opened.

 

I dipped his cloth into a small bowl of water and readjusted it on his forehead, "Get some rest," I whispered.

 

"You aren't going to work," he suddenly said, his eyes flashing as he grabbed my wrist, his bony clasp weak around my arm.

 

"I have to," I said quietly, "Just forget yesterday, I was overreacting and it was stupid of me, don't worry about it,"

 

"You were upset!" Chris argued, "It wasn't stupid and you can't just shrug this off,"

 

"I'm not," I muttered, already the feeling of complete and utter shame settling within me, "It just doesn't matter,"

 

"It obviously does, you wouldn't let me go to work with Mr Champion," he growled, "So I'm not letting you leave if they aren't treating you right,"

 

"That was different," I snapped.

 

"No it isn't, now sit down here and go back to sleep," he said, tugging my wrist with every ounce of strength he had. Which was barely nothing.

 

"We need the money," I said, shrugging off his pale hand, "Look after yourself, I have to go now,"

 

"Jonny," he groaned, but ended up gagging and leaning into the bucket.

 

I knelt down and rubbed his back, "I will try and get the evening off," I said quietly, "Don't go out in this state,"

 

"Jonny I can barely sit up never mind walk," Chris whispered, I could tell his throat was probably burning and raw by his hoarse voice.

 

I rummaged through the rucksack and pulled out a small tub of yogurt Chris had gotten from God-knows-where, pulling out a spoon and placing it in his lap as I rearranged the cushions around his back.

 

I then took to filling the tin bath and hauling it back through the window, the bitter morning air stinging at my skin.

 

I swiftly lit some candles and set them around the bath to melt the snow.

 

I folded the towel and laid it beside the bath for Chris later, glancing at my watch- courtesy of the junk yard via Chris- I realised if I didn't get a move on, I would be late and miss my bus.

 

Not bothering to eat, knowing I would far rather Chris ate than myself, I sipped a bottle of water, keeping it within reaching distance of Chris' hand, before giving him a quick hug and heading to the window.

 

"Have a good day," I told him.

 

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure I will have bundles of fun," he quipped with a hint of humour to his eyes.

 

"-You don't have to go there," Chris pleaded with me using his beautiful blue eyes, but despite my torn heart, I knew I had to. 

 

Ignoring his request, I looked at Biscuit, "Look after Chris for me, Biscuit," I joked.

 

"I'll be fine," I assured Chris, tying my scarf around my neck a few times.

 

"Put a coat on, damn it," Chris moaned, not particularly convinced, he pointed towards his trench coat.

 

I rolled my eyes, but it was freezing outside and I didn't have a coat, plus Chris wouldn't be needing it.

 

I smiled at him and slipped the coat onto my arms, the hem falling to  slightly above my knees.

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 15

 

 

 

 

 

Staring out into the blackness of the early morning, I took my seat on the fairly-lit, cigarette smelling bus and stared out the window as the grumbling engine started up again and pushed ahead.

 

My tummy clenched in sheer dread.

 

Sickly butterflies flew around at the pit of my stomach, my head spinning in nausea.

 

I felt my heart quicken and my palms grow clammy, all of the symptoms were fairly similar to my bus journey to high school.

 

Pulling with each rotation of the bus' tyres, it dragged back the awful memories of my short time at academics before I dropped out.

 

How I hated it.

Each day was a physical torture to get out of bed.

 

I had never had any friends either, none one single friend.

 

And everyone else either ignored me or picked on me, after all, they all thought I was down-right stupid.

 

I closed my eyes tightly, attempting to force out the gloomy memories.

 

I felt my right leg bounce nervously, the annoying muscle spasms sending tiny waves of dizziness throughout my body as every nerve in my body tingled and sent goosebumps crawling under my skin.

 

Attempting to breathe steadily and control my racing heart, I thought about Chris, and how we was.

 

His warm coat around my shoulders soothed me slightly, almost like he was there with me.

 

I knew he would be worrying today.

 

I couldn't blame him after my breakdown last night, but I didn't want him to be anxious.

 

I wished I had have stayed behind to look after him, he was sick after all.

 

But I couldn't start feeling even more guilty now, we both needed the income I got from the factory and I would just have to suck it up and get on with it.

 

Twiddling with my thumbs, I looked down at the sore skin on my palms and fingertips, grimacing at the redness of them in comparison to the rest of my pale skin.

 

I shivered and stuck my hands into the pockets of Chris' coat, carefully watching the street lamps whiz past the dark sky as with a feeling of unease settling within me, I realised we were nearing the huge factory.

 

The small bell of the bus sounded with a tinkling- sinister to my own ears- ring, and I shuffled to the exit and smiled weakly at the bus driver before heading off on the small walk to my workplace.

 

The snow was coming down heavier, the wind chilling every ounce of my body, or perhaps it was the impending day that reduced my temperature.

 

Slipping through the main door and sliding my clock-in card against the machine, I opened the door to the huge room with conveyor belts and hundreds of tables and workers.

 

Hanging up Chris' coat and my scarf onto one of the many racks, I made my way to my spot on shaky legs.

 

I was almost certain I got about twenty glares from random people, and I am even more certain that I'm not being paranoid.

 

Sliding into my seat by the conveyor belt, I began immediately, mentally deciding that the sooner I started, the sooner I could leave.

 

Muffled murmurs sounded from around me, I felt the little anxious twinge in the back of my mind that someone was talking about me.

 

It was like school all over again.

 

I sank into my seat a little bit, my heart starting to race as the murmurs continued.

 

'Don't be so ridiculous, I'm sure it is just some people having a conversation,' I told myself desperately.

 

But as a tall man passed the opposite side, he stared at me with such venom and hatred that I had to swallow hard.

 

Chewing nervously on my lip, I ducked my head and attempted to continue with my fiddly job with trembling fingers.

 

Two hours later, and the air in the factory grew sinister.

I could almost feel the unease settling around me.

 

The back doors swung open as one of the delivery men stepped inside with an armful of cardboard boxes.

 

A couple of heads spun around to look at him, so slowly I turned my head and my eyes set upon a tall man, two arms full of many tattoos, four piercings in various parts of his face, his dusty coloured hair shaved, and a scruffy stubble along his jawline.

 

I turned my head back to my work, but I was put off by a voice from a couple of feet away from me shouting, "Robin!" to the delivery man, and then subtly pointing at me with his thumb.

 

My heart physically stopped in my chest as I felt my eyes unconsciously widen.

 

This was definitely like school all over again.

 

I ducked and tried to continue with my work, my mind racing just as fast as my heart as I heard loud footsteps stepping towards me.

 

Now I knew I wasn't being paranoid.

 

Something was seriously wrong.

 

I felt a dark shadow grow over me as a tall figure stood behind my chair, almost attempting to completely ignore it, I felt a warm breath on my neck.

 

Before I could even begin to comprehend what was happened, a low voice murmured, "What the fuck are you doing 'round here?"

 

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly I was yanked from my seat and shoved to the floor.

 

I gasped and looked up at the huge guy towering over me, his grey eyes glistening as his mouth smiled slightly.

 

"Whoops," he spat, the creases around his eyes deepening.

 

Everyone else in the huge room appeared to be oblivious to goings-on, I stared up at the guy I knew to be Robin.

 

"What was that?" I managed to say, trying to make my voice sound as brave and indifferent as possible. But my terrified eyes told it all.

 

He didn't give me an answer though, instead grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out the door he came in, shoving me into the corridor.

 

I stumbled back on shaky legs, clinging to the wall to keep my balance, "What the fuck!?" I glared at him, my face flushed, although part of my brain told me to shut my mouth before I got my face kicked in.

 

"You stupid little bastard, what the fuck do you think you are doing around here?"

 

"I don't even know you!!" I cried, desperately worried for this man's sanity, and my own safety for that matter by the rather malevolent glow to his eyes.

 

"Well I know you," he spat, grabbing two handfuls of my shirt and pulling me close to his mouth, "-And I know what you are," he spat bitterly.

 

"What are you talking about!?" 

 

But before I could even hear my answer, a huge fist met by face with such force it could have been by Mike Tyson himself.

 

I cried out in pain as I felt my face slowly to see if it is was still attached, a sudden blow striking my chest forced me to double over, "British piece of shit," he growled into my ear, before shoving me to the ground, kicking me repeatedly in various placed of my numb body.

 

Something struck in the back of my mind, this had happened all to often in school.

 

And I'd had enough of just taking it and not fighting back, weakly lifting a leg and blindly kicking him wherever I could.

 

Wrong move.

 

He dragged me up to face him, although I couldn't really see him as my eyes were closed in pain, "Go back to your own country," he said before slamming me against the wall with every ounce of power he had, my head meeting the hard concrete wall with a thud.

 

As I finally felt my body give up, I slid to the floor as I heard his laughter against the sound of sloshing blood, "This is for your queen," he spat, before I felt one last blow to my body, and the footsteps growing further away followed by a swing of the door.

 

I knew this would matter to no one in the building.

 

There was so many desperate staff that the bosses wouldn't give a shit if one of them kicked the shit out of another.

It was normal in a workplace of such poor quality.

 

But as my head spun and I felt liquid drip down my chin and the back of neck, nausea swirling in my stomach.

 

Justice was the last thing on my mind.

 

Thankfully I didn't seem to loose consciousness, blinking rapidly to clear my cloudy vision as I stumbled to my feet.

 

I wasn't sure if it was the fact that I hadn't eaten that had made me so dizzy, or the fact that I'd just had the shit beat out of me.

 

Pushing the door open to the bathroom, I felt my body go weak as I saw the damage that had been created.

 

Under my eyes were completely bruised with a sickly blueish purple, blood trickling from an unknown location at the back of my head and from my nose and mouth.

 

I was certain I was basically a walking bundle of injuries, the throbbing in every cell of my body was enough to make my almost swelling eyes sting with tears.

 

But I didn't want to risk get the shit kicked of me again, sloping into a cubicle, grabbing a clump of tissues and dabbing at the blood dripping down my face.

 

I prayed to God I didn't have concussion or any other sort of nasty internal damages.

 

Because God knows I couldn't afford the freaking medical bill.

 

As I sunk to the floor, the cold tile wall against my bruised back, I pulled my knees to my chest in protection, resisting the urge to breakdown here and now.

 

I just wanted Chris.

 

I wanted him right now, as pathetic as it probably sounds, I wanted him to kneel down beside me and hug me and comfort me, but instead I was all alone and battered in an empty bathroom.

 

Tears trickled down my cheeks, fiercely wiping them away as I sincerely hoped crying wasn't going to become a regular thing for me now.

 

I needed Chris more than I ever had before I couldn't help but feel my heart ache, I felt strangely vulnerable and afraid.

 

Mopping up the bloody mess on my face and neck, I chucked out the tissues and wiped my tears.

 

I certainly wasn't going to get anywhere sitting in here, and I sure as hell wasn't staying five more minutes in this disgusting building.

 

Pulling myself together for at least a couple of minutes, I took a deep breath and managed to climb to my feet.

 

I was still quite unbalanced and a light shove from a five year old would be enough to topple me, but I managed to walk shakily to the door and swiftly make my way down the corridor, purposely keeping my eyes as far away as possible to the spot as could be, I didn't particularly want to see my own blood splattered across the wall.

 

Slowly sliding the door open, I hurriedly made my way to the other end of the huge hall, feeling about a million sets of eyes on me, a couple of surprised gasps, lots of whispering, and I'm pretty sure Robin snickered.

 

Grabbing my coat and scarf, I headed out of there and towards the main desk, scanning my clock-out card and asking the rather stunned old lady at the desk for my wages.

 

She handed me the little brown envelope with a concerned glance, peering at me from over the rim of her glasses, I stared up at her, my own eyes attempting to avoid hers.

 

"You okay, son?" she said in a delicate voice.

 

"Just fine, thanks," I croaked, swiftly taking the envelope and wrapping my scarf up before quickly making my way to the bus stop.

 

When I reached the inner city, I stopped off at a shop, purchasing an apple to stop myself from fainting, I made my way down the backstreets of New York to Chris and I's housing quarters.

 

Climbing through the window, I was welcomed by the dry air of our room, the candles burning in the back corner as a freshly washed Chris lay on his blankets, looking a tad better than this morning, Biscuit lazily leaning his chin against Chris' thigh.

 

"Looky here, Jonny's bringing home the dough," Chris laughed hoarsely to Biscuit as he ruffled the dog's long ears.

 

His laughter came to an abrupt stop as he set his eyes on me, the sparkly orbs widening in horror as his mouth opened a little bit.

 

"Jonny..." he whispered.

 

I shook my head slowly, "Don't worry about it," I mumbled, although I knew I may as well had told Chris I was moving to Switzerland and changing my name to Victor because he was too horrified to hear a word I said.

 

"Who did this to you?" he barely managed to utter, appearing to be in some sort of trance.

 

"Just some guy at the factory, it's nothing," I shook off his concerns.

 

He stood up, although clearly unwell, he walked towards me and had a closer look at my face, "Oh you poor thing," he whispered breathily, frowning deeply as he brushed my cheekbone lightly with his fingertips.

 

"Why would anyone do this?" he hissed, I could see his wet eyes reflecting the candlelight.

 

"He said it was because I am British," I mumbled.

Chris closed his eyes tightly, his eyebrows knitted together in distress as tears trickled down his face.

 

"This isn't fair," he croaked, "People can't just do things like this,"

 

Suddenly his eyes flew open, wet eyes staring into mine, he stated fiercely, "You are never going back there again," his tone not fit to be reasoned with, and to be honest, I was too tired to argue with him.

 

"Do you want to go to the police?" he asked me quietly, I could see his mind racing behind those eyes.

 

I shook my head vigorously, but regretted it instantly as the wound on the back of my neck ached.

 

"No, I want to just forget it,"

 

Wrapping his long, skinny arms around me he mumbled into my hat, "Tell me what happened, because you aren't going to forget it keeping it bottled in there,"

 

"The guy...Robin," I winced at his name and wrapped my arms around Chris, "Well he just roughed me up a little, in the corridor,"

 

"Where the fuck was the manager?"

 

"Like they would actually care," I mumbled, but all the same, I felt better now that I was safe with Chris.

 

"You poor, poor thing," he said softly, "I wish I could knock the shit out of this Robin guy,"

 

"Good luck with that," I chuckled bitterly, leaning my chin against his shoulder, "The guy is about 7ft tall, tattoos, piercings, -the lot,"

 

"Well is no match for me once I am angry," Chris said jokingly, "I am just so sorry you got hurt,"

 

"I will be okay," I said, although I wasn't quite sure about that.

 

"Come over here," Chris gently pulled me down to sit in front of him on the blankets, sitting closely behind me, he pushed away my hair to look at the wound on my neck.

 

He hissed as he saw it, and by the sound of his breathing he was crying.

Something that had been occurring a lot recently between the pair of us.

 

The next thing I felt was something ice-cold at the back of my neck, tiny droplets of water dripping down my back as Chris laid a wet cloth against the wound to properly clean it out.

 

What's worse was that we didn't have any pain medication of any description so I had absolutely nothing to take away the agonising pain soaring through my body.

 

"I'll draw you a bath," he told me, "Eat some of this,"

 

He laid a small array of food onto my lap, pulling a blanket over my shoulders and dishing up Biscuit's dinner before going off to sort the bath.

 

I felt extremely guilty, after all, he wasn't feeling well himself, he shouldn't have to look after me.

 

Food appeared to be a strange concept to my stomach today, managing to swallow down some of it, I sipped on the bottle of water.

 

A few minutes later, I slipped into the bath, every nerve in my body was throbbing in pain.

 

I hoped the cool water wouldn't aggravate my injuries further.

 

But I seemed to soothe my muscles a bit instead.

 

It was less embarrassing than the first time, mainly considering I was in too much pain to actually think.

 

"Jonny," Chris called from beside the window, I quickly drew my knees to my chest, and looked around to him, "Hm?" I mumbled.

 

"I'm going out for a bit," he faltered a little bit, pulling his hood up, "Is...is that okay?"

 

"Of course," I replied, half-attempting to shrug off his conversation as quick as possible as I felt my face burn.

 

"I won't be long," he told me with a small smile, before slipping out into the dark evening.

 

I didn't ask him where he was going.

Which was completely stupid of me, but I didn't really blame myself considering the fact that I was in the bath.

 

After managing to climb out and wrap myself in a towel, I shakily lowered myself to sit on the blanket.

 

Biscuit nuzzled into my lap, making quiet dog-noises with helped to soothe my twinge of a feeling developing in my chest.

 

One of fear.

 

But I leant my head against the cushions, making sure I was tightly wrapped in the towel before allowing my exhausted eyes to shut.

 

What felt like only a blink of an eye, when actually it was two hours or more, I slowly faded in consciousness as I looked up at the figure towering above me.

 

My heart lurched as for a second I thought it was Robin.

 

But focusing my eyes and pulling the towel safely around me, I noticed it was Chris. And he was desperately out of breath, his face pale and dotted with sweat.

 

He knelt down and threw a couple of boxes onto the blanket beside me.

 

"Wha-" I mumbled sleepily.

 

As I looked closer I saw the logo of a painkiller brand, and some bandages and antiseptic cream.

 

Chris had a sheepish look on his face.

 

Then it clicked in my head.

 

He had stolen from a pharmacy.

 

"Chris, did you steal this?" I slowly sat up.

 

Chris' eyes penetrated mine, rubbing at his wrists, he nodded.

"It was necessary,"

 

I wanted to yell at him.

I wanted to tell him how wrong it was.

I wanted to suddenly burst into a lengthy preach of morals.

 

But I didn't.

 

I felt touched.

But frightened.

 

"You got caught, didn't you?"

 

He nodded, "I had my hood up, they didn't see my face, a few chased me but I threw them off guard and came here,"

 

I should have felt disappointed or even angry, but I felt nothing more than admiration.

 

I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "Thank you," I mumbled into his curly, wet mass of hair.

 

"I'm sorry," he croaked, "I just wanted to help you,"

 

"I appreciate it so much Chris,"

 

"I don't like stealing, you know,"

 

"I know you don't," I said soothingly.

 

I pulled away from him slightly, staring into his eyes as I pushed his chin up with one finger, "Please stop," I breathed, "I wouldn't be able to cope if you went to prison," 

 

He nodded, wrapping his thin arms around me.

 

"Plus we couldn't afford bail," I joked as I cuddled into him.

 

After a couple of minutes embraced, he pulled away and took out the bandages and cream, doting over my wounds like a mother hen, and within ten minutes, I was bandaged, dressed, and slightly woozy on pain meds.

 

Lying back on the blankets, I felt a slight dampness on my back, confused I felt around.

 

"Hey Chris,"

 

"Mmhm,"

 

"Why is it all wet over here," I said slowly, Chris leaned over me, groping the floor.

 

"What the-"

 

Looking up, we both spotted a small leak dripping from the ceiling.

 

"Fucking hell," I grumbled.

 

"You know what, we'll fix it tomorrow, I am too tired to be bothered tonight," so we both laid back on the blankets, pulling an extra blanket over Biscuit and our heads to shield off the leak.

 

"Let's just hope the ceiling doesn't cave it," I whispered under the blankets to Chris, grinning slightly.

 

Chris snorted, "Knowing our luck it is bound to happen,"

 

"I wouldn't be surprised," I chuckled weakly.

 

I felt small padding footsteps sneak under the blankets and onto my chest as Biscuit curled up on top of me, nestling into my neck before drifting off to sleep.

 

Chris smiled fondly, before snaking his arm around my waist and kissing my cheek.

 

"Sweet dreams," he whispered, before closing his eyelids.

 

The next morning I could barely sit up, every single muscle in my body ached.

 

So even if I had have wanted to go to work, I wouldn't have been able to, unless someone was willing to carry me on a stretcher.

 

Chris had regained some colour to his cheeks, his eyes resuming to their usual beautiful sparkles as I was glad his food poisoning had seemed to pass.

 

After a little bickering, Chris practically force-fed me breakfast, and despite my queasy tummy, I was quite glad for food.

 

I managed to replace the bandages, with a little help, and dish Biscuit's breakfast up for him.

 

He ate it with gusto, his tail wagging frantically as his dark liquid eyes thanked me.

 

Sometimes I felt like Biscuit was the most sensible one of us, he seemed to know freaking everything!

 

Just by the glow of his eyes.

 

Almost a bit like a non-speaking Yoda.

 

I think if Biscuit could speak, he would sound a bit like Morgan Freeman.

I told this to Chris over breakfast and he laughed.

 

Chris had gotten a few bits and pieces from the skip to repair the leaks, so after breakfast, Chris hopped up on my shoulders, although he didn't want to hurt my injuries or anything, I assured him I would rather the roof was fixed.

 

So after almost falling about three times, we managed to repair it for the moment.

 

When our little bit of morning DIY was finished, I told Chris that I wasn't going to go back to the factory, much to his relief.

 

As much as I hated to think it, 

I was pretty scared of Robin and basically everyone else at the factory.

 

 

So I was off to the street corners with Chris, and Biscuit.

As Chris said having a cute dog would gain us more sympathy.

Which meant more money basically.

 

Chris forced me to wear his coat, saying as I was still pretty beaten.

I felt guilty, so I made him wear my jacket.

 

Slipping on my quite worn out high-tops and scarf, I followed Chris out with my notebook and pencil in tact.

 

We sat right up tight to the wall to shield off the snow and wind, to only a slight avail.

 

Sketching a rough copy of the pretty flash limousine that was parked down the pavement a bit, Chris leaned on my shoulder and sighed.

 

I looked down at him, the snowflakes clinging to his curly eyelashes.

 

"Should we have gone to the homeless shelter that night?" I asked Chris suddenly.

 

He turned around to face me, "Why would you ask that?"

 

I shrugged timidly, "I mean-" I faltered, "Things are getting worse,"

 

Chris traced my eyes with his own, "No, because we can do this," so that was that. I nodded and he resumed his position as Biscuit dug in the snow.

 

Chris stared out at the passing people, "This kind of reminds me of that song,"

 

"What song?" I murmured, a pencil in my mouth as I rubbed out an excess line on my page.

 

"That one by 'Passenger',"

 

"Caravan?" 

 

"No that other one,"

 

"Let her go?"

 

Chris shot me a funny look, I shrugged innocently, "What? Pablo used to play the radio a lot,"

 

Chris rolled his eyes, "No, the one about the homeless guy,"

 

"Holes?"

 

"Yeah! That one," Chris beamed.

 

"Sing a bit of it," I nudged him, my eyes concentrating on outlining the bonnet of the limo.

 

Chris twisted his mouth a little, before clearing his throat dramatically and clapping his hands down on his thighs, before his beautiful voice began to twinkle into the city air like the sweet smelling steam from a cherry pie just out of the oven.

 

When he started to really get into the song, he began to sing a little louder, I found myself tapping the paper with my pencil quite rhythmically.

 

A lady passing by threw a dollar into our cup, Chris almost choked on his lyrics.

 

I beamed at him, my cheekbones stinging a little from the bruises.

 

Chris finished the song, and by the end of it.

 

We had two dollars and fifty cents.

 

"Ah, I like that song," I sighed happily when he had finished.

 

"So do I," Chris smiled.

 

"You sound really, really good," I said sincerely.

 

Chris blushed, "Don't talk shit,"

 

"I'm serious! The lady seemed to think so, she gave us a whole dollar," I reasoned.

 

"She felt compelled to by the state of your face," Chris tapped me lightly on the nose, "-And we have a cute dog,"

 

"Stop being so damn humble," I complained, "You are brilliant,"

 

Chris looked the other way, his cheeks bright red, "Yeah right,"

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

That evening we celebrated with shop-bought food, instead of our usual dinner from the trash cans.

Quite literally.

 

And tea!

 

For the first time in God-knows-how long, Chris and I purchased take out tea from a coffee shop with part of my wages.

 

Which was a treat all in itself.

 

It really helped warm us up, and the dinner Chris had gotten was just lovely.

 

It felt wonderful.

 

Something that we had probably taken for granted at home.

As a matter of fact, we took everything for granted.

Food, running hot water, heat, a roof over our heads, a bed, electricity- the lot.

 

Because we just didn't appreciate it while we had it, even though we weren't the richest of people, we still could have been more grateful.

 

But then again, who would have known this was going to happen?

 

It has certainly helped put perspective on everything.

 

That night, after Biscuit had been fed and Chris had already fell asleep.

I lit an extra candle, the warm orange glow alighting their faces, I took out my notebook and pencil and began to sketch the outline to my little family.

 

I carefully drew Chris' graceful shoulders, his collarbones poking out slightly, his long neck accompanied by a rather adorable head, bundles of curly curls to draw, closed eyelids and eyebrows, his nose and mouth, until the drawing was starting to take shape, I sketched the muddled blankets around his body, filling in the creases a little darker, his lean arms laying haphazardly, before I began to draw Biscuit, his long ears spread out on the cushion as little padded paws curled up at an angle, his dark nose pressed into Chris' shoulder, and before long, I realised I had been drawing for a good hour and I finally had a sketch of the best family anyone could wish for.

 

Blowing out the candle, I slid underneath the blankets and leant my chin on Chris' shoulder.

 

Because despite everything, life was perfect and miraculous, in its own twisted little way.

 

Waking up the next morning, I mentally prepared myself for a day of street-begging basically.

 

Sliding out from under the covers, I noticed Chris washing his face in the bath.

 

"Your on breakfast duty," Chris laughed.

 

"Good morning to you too, mister," I chuckled, leaning across and opening up the rucksack, I pulled out some bits and pieces for Chris and I to eat, before scraping a meaty breakfast into a dish for Biscuit.

 

"Here you are my lovely," I cooed affectionately as I laid the small tin dish beside my furry companion.

 

"Go on baby, eat up," Chris said as he joined me on the blanket, pouring himself a drink from the bottle of juice.

 

A tiny pang of fear struck my chest as I watched Biscuit's sleeping form.

Poking him slightly with my knee, "Biscuit?"

 

I leant across and took a closer look at the dog.

 

My heart sped up considerably as he didn't move a muscle.

 

Pressing my hand lightly into his fur, it felt cold and stiff. I shakily felt around for a pulse, not particularly sure where a dog's pulse would be, but finding nothing, I shook him slightly, "Come on sweetie, wake up," I whispered shakily, my heart racing frantically as I lifted his limp body into my lap, repressing a scream as every organ in my body sunk to the pit of my soul.

 

My eyes prickled with tears as I realised, the third member of our family, our always reliable companion, our best friend, had gone.

 

Biscuit had died.

 

And now I had to deliver the worst news I had ever had to deliver to Chris.

 

That dog was like a child to him.

 

Chris looked up from his breakfast with a sweetly innocent expression, I had to bite my lip to stop myself bursting into tears.

 

"What's up?" he said, probably noticing the distinct paling on my face, as I was pretty sure every ounce of blood has disappeared from my body.

 

"Chris-" I said slowly, the tears in my eyes slipping past my blurry view and rolling down my cheeks, I placed a hand in his knee, "Biscuit has passed on,"

 

 

 

 

[RowanMarie]

Rapture: A Bioshock/Coldplay Crossover

 

Chapter One

 

The Lighthouse

 

 

 

 

Phil's POV

 

The day was stifling hot, as the sun was beating down on the man in his state of slumber, baking the the concrete that surrounded him. The man stirred from his slumber at the sound of thunder.

 

Phil's eyes fluttered open, only to be met with the clear, blue sky, and the high-noon sun. A cold shiver swept over his body, relieving his flushed skin, if just for the moment. The scent of salt water overwhelms his senses. He rolls his pounding head to the left, using a shaky right-hand to shield his eyes.

 

And he sees ocean. Endless ocean, with no land, and no ships in sight, the dark blue of the water melding seamlessly with the light blue sky. And the only thing that kept Phil from rolling over into a watery grave was a short concrete wall, about a foot tall. Slowly, he sits up, his palms flat on the ground's surprisingly smooth surface to help support his weight and regain his balance.

 

"What the hell happened?" he says aloud, though there was no one there to answer.

 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, the elephant made itself known; a lighthouse. It towered over him like the behemoth of man-made structure it was, with these sharp, modernized features in it's side, throwing the building's conventional silo-design out the window.

 

It was a work of art.

 

But what puzzled Phil the most, or was at least added to his ever-growing list of questions, was that aside from the lighthouse and the stone pedestal for which it stood on, there were no other land masses. No protruding rocks, either. Maybe there was a reef, then? If there was, Phil couldn't see it.

 

He spun around, searching for any clues as to what was going on. "What the...? How...?" He stopped, his pounding head not allowing such erratic behavior. He had to be rational; he couldn't just start panicking! So, he decides to do a complete 360 of the walkway, and see what information he could gather.

 

There was a dock leading down to a wooden shack on the other side of the lighthouse, some twenty yards away. Well, that must be the way Phil came. How else could he have gotten here? It was the only logical solution. But there was just one problem:

 

There was no boat.

 

No ship. No raft. Not even a piece of lumber he could have floated in on. And let's say he had, in fact, simply washed-up on shore, his mode of transport having surely been carried out by the tide, leaving him with, yet, another question:

 

How long had he been there?

 

Why would he come here?

 

Or maybe... someone dropped him off.

 

But who would do that? Why would they just leave him stranded here? Did they do this on purpose? Did they want him to die of starvation and dehydration, because they certainly didn't leave him any supplies.

 

But who would want him dead? What could he, mild-mannered Phil Harvey, have done to earn such a reaction from another human being?

 

Maybe this person just flat-out doesn't like him. And should it really come as a surprise, considering his profession?

 

...

 

What was his profession? Hell, where did he live? And why could he only remember his name...

 

Another crack of thunder. Phil turns to where the sound came from, and sees storm clouds gather in the far-off distance. He needs to find shelter, from the both the approaching storm, and the blistering sun.

 

He looks back at the lighthouse, it's once intimidating presence suddenly a welcomed sight. Maybe he'd lucked out after all.

 

The man walked up to the astoundingly tall double doors that served as the entrance. It's gold-like surface had the image of a man etched on it's front, as it glistened in the mid-day sun. Phil tried the door, pushing it in, as it swung open with ease...

 

... leading him into darkness.

 

"Hello?" he called. The large room was distinctively cooler than outside, which Phil took as a good sign. "Anybody here?"

 

Silence.

 

"I-, I'm just looking for a place to stay. I, uh, don't wanna rob you. So... don't hurt me?"

 

His words bounced off the walls of the massive space, each echo giving it's own twisted take on his voice, up to the point where it sounded completely alien. The lights came on-

 

-and left Phil breathless.

 

The room had walls adorned in gold and a rather large, circular wall in the middle of the floor, which came up to Phil's waist. There was a plaque there, also covered in gold, which read:

 

"In what country is there a place for people like me?"

 

-Andrew Ryan

 

Then Phil looked up at the awfully large bust statue of a balding man with a sneer on his face, and a banner attached by two lanterns hanging from the ceiling, with a red background and gold lettering. It read:

 

No gods or kings.

Only Man.

 

If Phil's mind wasn't racing yet, it certainly is now.

 

Slowly, and in a dream-like state, he makes his way to the back of the room, amazed by the slick tiling and smooth stone walls with gold-plated trimming. How could a place so gray and seemingly cold hold such beauty? Who made these intricate designs out of mere rock and metal, and still managed to obtain such an air of sophistication?

 

Yet more items on Phil's grocery list of questions.

 

On the other side of the room, he came across a double staircase. Three fights down, it led him deeper and deeper below, until it came out into an equally large room, with a giant, circular contraption in the middle. It appeared to be some kind of pod, big enough to fit several people in comfort, and was also covered in gold; only this was not as shiny as all the other items he had seen so far, and seemed to be spotted with rust.

 

On the front of this pod was a glass door, and it was open. Phil looked around, unsure of what to do. The pod appeared to be held in position over a hole in the floor. Where that hole led to was anyone's guess.

 

He stepped over the narrow walkway that led to the pod's entrance. He should probably be outside, waiting for a passing ship, and looking for a way to signal them that he was there. He couldn't use the lighthouse, that would only drive them away. He should be using this time to find a way to get out of here, not mucking-around when his rescue could be here at any second.

 

But what if no one was coming?

 

It was a depressing thought, but a possibility none the less. Besides, there had to be someone in this lighthouse. Someone to maintain the interior, the exterior, the electricity, so on, so forth.

 

So, where was everybody?

 

Maybe this pod was the answer. Wherever it goes, surely there will be people?

 

And if there isn't? What happens if point B is in worse shape than where Phil was now? What if the pod breaks down?

 

What if he can't come back?

 

Phil looks back at the large, lavishly decorated room, and then back at the pod, in the center of which was a gold lever. He weighed his options;

 

Stay here and die of exhaustion, waiting for a rescue that may never come?

 

Or dive into the unknown?

 

Phil pursed his lips, then made his decision. He pulled the lever, and the glass door closed shut, sealing him in.

 

 

 

 

Who can guess what game this is based off of, first? :D

 

 

 

 

 

 

[catrinaxyloto]

{my first post} A Short Buckin Story: Rainy Days in London

 

:lol:

 

Jonny and Chris were at The Bakery, on a rainy day in London. Jonny moved his fingers so swift, yet so gracefully, as Chris sang with his deep, beautiful voice.

Jonny looked at Chris and wondered, "How can such a silly, loud, slighty obnoxious guy have a voice of an angel?". He stared at Chris and thought for a little bit. Then he came out of his trance, when he heard "Jon...Jonnyboy...are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, I guess I just have been out of it today... maybe because of the rain." answered Jonny as he realized he wasn't playing anymore. He slowly glanced up and saw those bright blue eyes only a few feet from him. He got caught in the sea of blue in Chris eyes, almost everytime he looked at them.

Chris looked into Jonny's eyes for a few seconds before he said "Well I guess we'll continue then." with a slightly forced looking grin.

They were almost done playing "Violet Hill". Jonny always loved this one, it had a special meaning. Jonny was watching Chris again. This time those eyes looked sad and confused... almost longing.

Chris started to sing " I took my love down to Violet Hill..." as he got quieter and quieter and Jonny stopped playing too. Jonny glanced at Chris, to see him slowly look up. It was silent.

They locked their green and blue eyes, as Chris started to open his mouth.

"If you love me....won't you let me know...."

His voice gave Jonny chills.

"Chris..."

"Jon...."

Chris stood up, and walked over to his bestfriend, and love, and kissed him right then, and there. He stared into the green eyes that seemed to be bright and kind of confused. He started to say something, but just turned around and started to walk away.

Jonny grabbed Chris's shoulder, spun him around, and kissed him, as to say "It's okay, I love you and i'm letting you know."

He grabbed Chris hand and they nodded to each other as a sign of 'approval'. Chris's eyes lit up to the bright sky blue again and smiled. This made Jonny melt inside.

Chris glanced outside and it was still pouring rain. "Why waste such a nice day inside?" He said excitedly, as he dragged Jonny out the door. He danced and sung around the rainy street, jumping in every puddle. Jonny laughed out loud, and shook his head a little at the man that he had fallen in love with.

The sun peeked out of the clouds, as Jonny ran to his love. He took his Chris's hand, and they started walking the lovely, but rainy, streets of London. Chris sang " You know I love you so..." and smiled at Jonny.

And that was it. The moment he lived for. Walking the streets, of the place he loved, with the man he loved. Nothing could be better.

 

~Oh Rainy Day, come round', sometimes I just want it to slow down~

[RowanMarie]

Rapture: A Bioshock/Coldplay Crossover

 

Chapter Two

 

Under the Sea

 

 

 

 

 

Phil turned as the pod began to descend, facing the single-pane glass window, the length and width of which was the size of a grown man's head, arms, and torso, giving him a decent, yet limited, view to what was going on.

 

As the edge of the metal walkway ascended, metal pipes running down the shaft appeared, and then the pod was submersed in water. Bubbles began to rise to the surface, as Phil saw nothing but darkness. Then the shaft leads into a slightly more open area, as a strange, green light, giving the surrounding space an eerie appearance of being bathed in algae and rust, begins to run in parallel with the pod.

 

A ledge appears, bearing the decorative sign '10 Fathoms' in dulled, gold lettering. Next, drenched in a light blue spotlight, is another one of those statues, holding something high above their head. The pod passes it too quickly for Phil to get a proper look. More green lights, (which just looks like a thick metal pipe, by now) and another decorative sign bearing gold lettering, this time saying '18 Fathoms'.

 

"What in the hell are Fathoms?" Phil muttered to himself. He was sure it was a unit of measure for water depth, but he had no idea what '18' Fathoms was equal to in meters. How is he supposed to know? He didn't have a job in marine biology, or some-other fancy occupation. Of all the things he couldn't remember, he felt sure that his job had nothing to do with water. "Well, it's a start." he sighs, slightly put-off by how distinct his own voice sounded in the silence of the pod. The British accent was almost alien to his eras, somewhat like when there is a slight echo on a public telephone, and every word you say is whispered back, creeping into your subconscious...

 

A visor is drawn over the glass, and a picture of the lighthouse's silhouette is projected on the surface, a winged-figure standing a top of the building, along with the black outline of a sunrise, and calm waters below. The picture changes, as radio interlude music begins to play.

 

The picture of a very young and stylish man and woman appear, with the words Incinerate! spelled out across the bottom of the screen.

 

"Fire at your Fingertips!"

 

'Plasmids By Ryan Industries'

 

"Plasmids?" Phil ponders, is that even a word? And why is that guy's hand on fire?"

 

The young man on the screen was lighting a cigarette for the lady, using only his index- finger. The picture changes, and a man in an armchair appears. His hair was black, skin pale, and suit sharp, as he smoked from a pipe. The words 'From the Desk of RYAN' were next to the man, who Phil presumed was, Ryan.

 

"I am Andrew Ryan," the man's voice began, "and I am here to ask you a question; Is a man not entitled to the sweat on his brow?" the picture changes to a farmer in the middle of his field with his home in the distance, and the sun high above his head. "'No,' says the man in Washington," the image changes to the farmer being chased away from the Capital Building in D.C. by a Bald Eagle, " 'it belongs to the poor'. 'No,' says the man in the Vatican," the picture changes to the the hand of God, reaching-out to the cowering farmer, "'it belongs to God.' 'No,' says the man in Moscow," the farmer is now fleeing from the scythe and hammer that were a trademark of the Soviet Union, in front of St. Petersburg, "'it belongs to everyone." the picture returns to the still of Ryan in his armchair. "I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible." The music slowly becomes more and more dramatic, "I chose..." the visor drops down.

 

"Rapture."

 

And there, from the floor-bottom of the sea, was a city. A vast city, of the tallest metallic skyscrapers Phil had ever seen, all lit up like downtown London. There had to be dozens of these buildings, each with intricately-placed walkways running between them, allowing for easy access to... whatever this place was. The lights gave off this haunting greenish-blue hue, as all forms of sea-life weaved in and out of the open spaces. Phil couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't even think. All he knew was, that whatever was going on, couldn't possibly be real. A city? At the bottom of the ocean?! No, that surely can't be right. He's dreaming! He has to be.

 

"A city, where an artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great will not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city, as well."

 

The pod, now navigated by some outside force, makes it's way through the water, making turns between the buildings like a would on the road. A left, and then a right, and Phil could see the signs. Those beautiful neon signs, advertising such things as 'Bella Mia's High Fashion', and 'Robertson's Tobaccorriam'. That's when he saw a few of the sign's lights begin to flicker. But it wasn't just the one, there were several. Phil didn't get a chance to study much more of his surroundings, as the pod was quickly being guided through this port into another building. These archways seemed to be littered with more commercialism than serving any real practical use. To help steer the pod, maybe, but isn't that what people were for?

 

"There has to be someone here." Phil breathes out, half amazed by this new environment, yet terrified at the same time. Assuming all of this was indeed real, and Phil was in fact not back at the lighthouse, hallucinating from lack of food and dehydration, then why had he not heard of this 'Rapture' before? Then again, he couldn't remember anything other than his name, so maybe this place was actually world-famous, designed as a paradise for the rich and the elite. But what if they don't take too kindly to him just dropping in like this? What if they throw him out to drown in the cold, salty sea?

 

But was that really any better of an alternative to starving to death? Or having to look out into the endless sea, yearning for something, anything, to drink, but have nothing to quench his thirst? At least if he were thrown out to drown, death would be far more instantaneous.

 

But what if they don't kill him? What if they are really just a bunch of kind, decent people who only want to help? Shoot, they could even get him a ride home! One thing was for sure, was that somebody had to be there. Who else could maintain all of these buildings, and keep all of these lights from burning-out? Who was controlling the pod, gently corralling it into the building.

 

'All Good Things' the arches read, 'Of This Earth', 'Flow', 'Into The City'. Then there was the entrance, a simple circle reading all around, 'Rapture Transit Authority'. The pod moves forward through the short tunnel, and into an eight-sided room, advertising yet more plasmids. Each were displayed in these movie poster frames. One had information on a plasmid called 'Telekinesis', and showed a gender-neutral face bending a levitating tea spoon.

 

The pod lurches up, and all is bathed in darkness.

 

Soon, the pod breaks the waters surface, and reaches a new platform. Phil could not see much through the darkness, as the lights blinked on and off. A railing and red carpet, gray tiling, and a tall, skinny window to the dark green water outside.

 

Dripping water. The occasional deep groan of a heavy object settling. Phil's breathing. His heartbeat. That was all he could hear. The rest was utter silence.

 

"He-hello?"

 

A chill ran down Phil's spine.

 

"Hello?" A voice of static calls from inside the pod. "Is someone there?"

 

 

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Twisted Logic

 

Chapter 16

 

A little snippet for Marie, :D

 

 

 

 

 

For a long time, Chris simply stared at my face.

 

As though it was some sort of joke.

 

Before he laughed, "Don't be ridiculous Jonny, Biscuit is fine, aren't you baby," he smiled, running his hand over the dog's ears.

 

Then I saw realisation in his eyes as he felt the cold, stiff skin.

 

His hands began to shake, but he stroked Biscuit's ears back and forth.

 

"Come on sweetie, wake up, stop messing around," he whispered breathily, "You're playing dead, aren't you?"

 

"-He is so smart, isn't he Jonny?" Chris stared up at me with large eyes.

 

I didn't know what to say.

 

What was there to say?

 

I lifted the limp body gently into Chris' arms in the manner in which someone would handle a newborn baby, carefully cradling his head, I placed his body into Chris' arms.

 

"He was getting old," I said softly, "It was just his time to go,"

 

Chris shook his head, "Wake up baby, come on," he shook Biscuit several times, "Come on," his voice grew desperate, "-We can go for a walk! You would like that wouldn't you, I know you always loved walking in the snow, it was soft on your paws,"

 

"Chris-" I whispered tenderly.

 

"-NO!" he cried, "He couldn't be dead, he just...he just couldn't be,"

 

"I'm so sorry," I felt tears dripping down my face.

 

"But I loved him," Chris croaked shakily, his voice was filled with such emotion to match his sad eyes, that I felt tiny stabs of pain through my heart, "He has always been here for me, I need him Jonny...I need him,"

 

"I know you do," I said, "But he was needed somewhere else," I wiped my wet cheeks.

 

"That's not fair," Chris cried, I watch as his eyes slowly filled with tears.

 

"I loved him so much," Chris whispered as he buried his head into Biscuit's fur, "Please come back to me," he said again and again.

 

I slowly placed a hand on his shoulder, "He wouldn't want you to be upset," I told him softly.

 

"-I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO DIE, BUT HE WENT AHEAD AND DIED ANYWAY!" Chris sobbed, "-Why should I give a shit what he would want now..."

 

I wrapped my arms around his skinny body, "Shhhhhh,"

 

"Why did he leave us..." his eyes emptied themselves of tears, dripping consistently down his pale face and onto my shirt, "I just want him back Jonny," 

 

I nodded understandingly, attempting to hold my own emotions together as my eyes filled with tears.

 

But I didn't have time for worrying about myself, because I needed to be there for Chris.

 

Biscuit was one of the biggest priorities in his life, and now he was gone.

 

And he was left sobbing and grieving.

 

The next hour was unpleasant to say the least.

It wasn't pretty, or soft, or gentle.

 

If it had have been anyone else's dog, I wouldn't have understood what the big deal was, I would have thought it was just a dog.

Go buy a new one?

You won't even notice the difference.

But not Biscuit, not Chris.

 

That dog was an equal in our family.

He was our best friend. 

 

I had never seen anyone cry as hard as Chris did, consistently for an hour.

He threw things at the wall and cuddled Biscuit's dead body, I watched as he curled up in the corner and tugged at his hair, begging Biscuit to wake up.

His throat was hoarse by the time he had finished, weakly leaning against my chest as he looked as though he was about to pass out.

 

He slipped his frail arms around my waist, his curls tickling my chin, "I am going to miss him so much," he mumbled, his eyes red and his cheeks stained with tears.

 

"I will miss him too,"

 

"He never complained you know," Chris looked up at me with helpless eyes, "He always listened to my problems, he was always full of so much life,"

 

I nodded solemnly, I knew that I should just allow him to talk as much as he needed and be there to listen.

 

He curled up onto the blanket, wrapping his shaking arms around Biscuit, I wrapped my arms around him.

 

Staring down at the poor dog's closed eyelids, A few tears dropped off of Chris' nose.

 

"You'll put in a good word for Jonny and I when you get to heaven, okay?" Chris laughed shakily, "I won't ever forget you buddy," he closed his eyes lightly, his eyebrows knitted together as tears dripped down from his face.

 

"We need to give him a proper send-off Jonny, we need to bury him,"

 

I watched sympathetically as Chris stared at me with wide eyes, "He deserves it,"

 

I knew it would have been stupid to argue, or be rational, "Where would you like to bury him?" I asked quietly, running my hand up and down his back.

 

"Somewhere far away from the city, we have to go, we have to go far, far, away from here Jonny,"

 

"I wish we could, but we can't," I let him down gently, "Why don't we find a good spot in the city,"

 

"I'm not chucking him in the bin," Chris suddenly snapped, his blue eyes flashing.

 

"Of course not, I wouldn't suggest that,"

 

Chris buried his face into his hands, "I'm sorry..." he croaked through the tears, "I'm so, so sorry,"

 

"Shhhhhh," I hushed him soothingly as I wriggled my arms around his body, "I didn't mean to snap," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice.

 

"I know you didn't," I ran my hand through his long hair.

 

"We need to just get away, we need to go now," I stared at him helplessly, "We need to bury him before sunrise, he would have liked to be buried in the countryside,"

 

I watched as Chris jumped up, making plans in his whirring mind.

 

"I want to drive far away from here, I want to do it now Jonny," he looked at me with watery, determined eyes.

 

"How do you suppose we do that?" I asked him softly.

 

"We will beg, borrow and steal if we have to, but Biscuit will get a proper funeral,"

 

I nodded, "I agree, but Chris," I softened my tone, "-We can't just up-sticks and go,"

 

"Why not?" he quizzed me, "What's holding us back? What is there for us here?"

 

I shrugged weakly, "How will we get a car?"

 

Chris dried his eyes on his sleeves, "We will sneak into someone's trunk if we have to,"

 

"I would love nothing more than to just drive as far and as fast away from here as possible with you, but it just isn't realistic," I said softly.

 

"Nothing is realistic Jonny, now pack up the rucksacks and lets get moving," I resisted the instinct to argue and began to stuff our things into a rucksack.

 

 

 

 

[catrinaxyloto]

Oh Those Green Eyes..

 

 

 

 

Part 1

 

 

It's almost show time. Will and Guy are bickering, not unusual, but its more intense tonight, the crowd is huge. I'm worried about Jonny. Normally he would be practicing, or eating a quick snack, or at least just calming down before a gig. But he is sitting on the closet floor. Poor Jonnyboy. Will tried to get him out, but I guess he just wanted to be there until showtime. I was thinking about trying to go speak with him, but he's my bestfriend and if he wanted his space, I should give it to him. But he's still there and I think I should go talk to him, and see if he's okay.

I hurry over to the closet and open the door. He's sitting there, but he's turned around in the dark. "Jonny?" I whisper, as I step into the closet. I see his head in his hands, and I hear a sniffle. This breaks my heart to see him sad. When Jonny smiles everything seems happy, like there's not a care in the world. But when he's upset, my heart breaks for him. "Jonnypuff, are you alright?" I get no answer, but he looks up with wet and longing green eyes. I sigh, a sympathetic sigh, grab the flashlight, and shut the door. As I sit down, Jonny wipes his eyes, and slightly smiles at me. I love it when he does that, his small, shy, smile. "So Jon, are you going to tell me whats wrong or am I going have to make you speak?" I try say with a little humor. He looks up into my eyes for the first time, and even in the dim glow of the flashlight I can see his beautiful green eyes. Oh how I love those eyes. "Chris it's fucking hell..." Jonny says, with a voice full of pain and sorrow. I hate it. I swear I would do anything to make that man happy. "Jonny please...what is fucking hell?!" I say in a panicy, voice. My eyes are tearing up and I feel the blue of them drip out with the first tear. " Chris... do you know what it's like to need someone so much, but they dont even see it?" It almost surprised me, because he was explaining exactly my feelings. " I feel like there's a missing piece that I need, to feel complete, but I just can't do it Chris. I can't." Those green eyes. Usually so bright, are full with tears. That handsome face, always gleaming with a smile, and those dimples, oh those dimples, has tears streaming down past the sad lips, onto the dark floor. " Jon...I know how it feels. Sometimes I lay awake, and dream I could make an escape. To a place with the happiness I lack. But Jonny, I love it when you are happy. I love your smile. I love your laugh. I can't stand to see you this way..."

He quickly looks at me. Oh it's bloody killing me. He looks so lost. " Chris I..." "Jonny please..." I think. He started to open his mouth when...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part 2

 

 

"What are you doing in here when we are on in five fucking minutes?!" I, startled, wipe my eyes and look up to see Will. "The show!!" I totally forgot about it...and i'm pretty sure Jonny said the same thing in his mind because he quickly starts to stand up. He glances at me still one tear in his eye. Oh hell, how will I do the show? I can't be myself when Jon is upset. I shoot Jonny a sympathetic look, and we both look away and start getting ready, knowing that the show will be a bad one. A billion things are running through my mind, when I realize it's time to go on stage. After my usual, " It's great to be here" and " We love you all" speech, I do what I have wanted to do for a long time. " Everyone, this is Jonny." I walk over to him. "Jonnyboy, Jon, Jonnypuff, my other half. He is my bestest friend in the whole world. I couldn't live without him, even if I tried. I want him to know how much appreciate him. I need your smile Jonny. I.. I love you Jonny." The crowd is silent. Will and Guy exchange a confused glance. Jonny smiles and his green eyes meet my once again bright blue eyes. There come the dimples. Everything in the world stops as I lean in. Oh god, what if he doesn't feel like I do. Hell, it's a little late for that. And then the lips meet. It felt more right that anything I have ever felt before...iI feel...complete. Jonny is the escape. I'm his missing piece. " Everyone, my bestfriend, my love, my Jonnypuff." " Chris... I love you." He says so innocently and sweetly. He smiles again and the world comes back into play. Guy and Will are basically crying over there. The crowd is cheering. "How can you not love him. Look at those eyes. Oh those green eyes..." I giggle and start to sing..

 

"Jonny you, are a rock... upon which, I stand..."

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like this better than my first one... I hope you enjoyed a little Buckin:kiss::)

 

[ColdplayPenguin]

Three Years

 

Here is a little one shot that had been gnawing at me, :D x

 

 

 

 

Drumming his long, graceful fingers against the smooth surface of the oak table, Chris' eyes flickered back and forth from the small clock on the other side of the café.

 

Despite the warmth in the air, every nerve in his body was tingling and goosebumps of utter fear, prickled every inch of his skin.

 

It was more down to fear rather than anything, and the consistent, uncontrollable shaking of his left leg was a pleasant reminder of that.

 

Every couple of seconds, his brain remembered what was in store, and sent his heart tiny accelerations as he tried in vain to control his rapid breathing.

 

Staring down at the coffee he had ordered, he felt nausea swirl in his stomach as he wondering why on earth he even bought a coffee.

He doesn't even like it.

 

But after adding five sachets of sugar into the murky liquid, it would be a shame to waste it, carefully wrapping his pale pianist fingers between the handle of the cup and shakily pulling the ceramic cup to his lips and sipping on the hot coffee, only to have it catch on his increasingly tightening throat and send him into fits of coughing and spluttering as the cup in his hand sloshed around the table.

 

At this stage, he wasn't quite bothered by the other customers and their pointless chattering.

He had bigger fish to fry, and more important concerns on his whirring mind.

 

The little tinkling of the bell above the door sent his heart thudding as he quickly tried to mop up the spilt coffee with napkins, his large blue eyes widening involuntarily as he silently prayed it wasn't who he was waiting for.

 

He needed more time.

 

More time to organise his thoughts and work out what to say.

 

More time to think of something that would clear the air that had been tainted for three very long years.

 

He only wished that it hadn't have taken this long, but then again, just because this person had agreed to meet with him, doesn't mean all was well and dandy.

 

Deep scars had been made in both of them, scars that would never go away, and three years had only deepened the wounds.

 

It had been three years to this date, that Chris had last spoken to Guy, after their huge argument.

 

Everything quickly spiralled out of control, heading downwards in a pitfall of torn friendships and despair and escalating into one huge divide in the four very best of friends.

 

Jonny, the always reliable best friend he was, stuck by him. The two of them going solo, together. More of a duo, really. 'Back to their roots'  as Jonny would joke, but despite the joking and the loyalty, Chris knew from the wondrous emerald-green, open-books' of his eyes, that he still deeply missed the other two.

 

So with Simon and Garfunkel doing their own thing, which mainly consisted of the occasional pub gig or wedding.

Nothing like what they were used to, the huge, crowded stadiums and arenas.

 

But that was when they were Coldplay.

 

But now they were just the 'Cold' and the 'Play'.

 

It took all four of them, together, to create that spark, to ignite that passion, and to make the beautiful music they were making.

 

But divided, everything fell apart.

 

Will, the always reliable best friend he was, stuck by Guy, and the two of them left to do their own thing.

 

Whatever that was.

 

Because Chris wouldn't know, as they hadn't spoke in three years.

 

Despite a lengthy fifteen year friendship, apparently one argument could easily disintegrate all of that.

 

Not that it was Guy's fault, Chris knew he was as much to blame.

 

But that didn't mean he didn't feel betrayed by Will.

But then again, Guy was probably feeling just as betrayed by Jonny.

 

Inhaling sharply as his eyes flickered around the room doing their customer-crawl, but not spotting the man he was supposed to be meeting.

Doubt dashed throughout his mind.

 

'Of course he's coming,'  Chris told himself again and again, 'He wouldn't be so cruel to agree and not show,'

 

But after the night of the argument, he wasn't so sure anymore.

 

Despite the three years since that night, he could clearly remember every single sentence, every single second, and every single emotion that was coursing through his body.

 

Mainly because he had replayed the scene in his head every night, when he was lying on the creaky single bed in Jonny's flat, he closed his eyes and that was all he could see.

 

When he was watching TV, that was all he could see.

 

Even when he tried to write, that was all he could think about.

 

It was amazing how one single, insignificant argument could tear apart lives and friendships.

 

Reminiscing, Chris sighed.

'I thought our bond was stronger than that,' he frowned remorsefully in thought as he traced his fingertips along the handle of the cup.

 

'How did we allow such a silly fight to destroy everything we've dreamt of?'

 

But looking to the past would never solve their problems, but maybe today, this rather ordinary, drizzly London Thursday, at 12:27pm, could.

 

Just then, the small bell tinkled above the door, Chris sighed.

He wasn't sure if he even had the willpower or the strength to look up again, only to be greeted by a little old lady or another unfamiliar face.

 

His eyes boring into the lukewarm coffee, soft footsteps grew closer, before stopping at the end of the table, a shadow casting over the table as suddenly Chris shot his head up.

 

And was greeted by the face of Guy.

 

 

"Shit," Chris breathed as he suddenly lost control of his hands and knocked the cup sideways, straight into his lap and seeping into his newly ironed jeans.

 

Cursing under his breath, he frantically felt around for the napkins, his hands visibly shaking wildly as he felt his face heat up despite the chill he had been feeling earlier.

 

The wooden chair in front of him creaked as it scraped against the floor as a result of being pulled out.

 

Guy took a seat in front of him, his lean legs pulling his chair forward as he rested his elbows on the tablecloth, still yet to say a word as he placed his chin on his palm.

 

But under those liquid brown eyes that Chris didn't dare to look at, he was feeling just as nervous and petrified.

Chain-smoking five cigarettes outside the cafe just to build up the courage to go in.

But now, sitting directly in front of the bumbling man in front of him, he could have easily smoked another dozen or so. Or a couple of shots of the strongest alcohol there was.

 

Because under that sheet of false confidence, was someone who was just as anxious as Chris.

 

He had spent every night staring up at his own ceiling, in Will's flat, replaying the scene like he used to replay his old Pink Floyd records.

But now he had lost that taste for music.

 

Because every song made him think.

And thinking was something he would have preferred not to do, instead drowning everything with large quantities of alcohol and nicotine.

 

"I- um, well, -hello," Chris stuttered nervously as he nibbled on his lip, his alert eyes darting across every single place but Guy.

 

"Hello," Guy spoke slowly, and the familiar Scottish accent he carried only made Chris' heart ache more.

 

Carefully Guy reached across the table and took the menu from behind the salt shakers, Chris caught a glimpse of his smooth hand.

 

The same hand that dragged back a million memories of that night.

 

 

 

Grabbing the plate on the coffee table in front, Guy clasped it in his tight fist, immediately chucking it at the wall above Chris' head, the loud smash rattling throughout the studio closely echoed by a loud scream from Chris.

 

Tiny shards of china sprinkled down and landed in his hair and around his feet.

 

"You little piece of shit!!" he screamed, grabbing a clump of the porcelain from within his curly mop and chucking them viciously at Guy's chest, "You always act like everything is my fault!!" 

 

His eyebrows tightly knitted together in fury and sweat collected on his brow, Guy gritted his teeth and loudly growled, "Do you think that maybe there's a reason for that!?" 

Shoving Chris hard in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards and fall against the wall.

 

"Because you're always so damn fucking touchy!!" Chris yelled in return as he returned the shove to Guy.

 

"-And people think I'm the oversensitive one!!" he cackled sarcastically, glaring at the other man with venom in his eyes.

 

"Oh you are the oversensitive one you little bastard," Guy growled as pushed Chris hard in his chest.

 

Knocking his head against the wall once more, Chris gritted his teeth and shoved him with both hands and with a surprising strength, managed to toppled Guy onto the floor, as he landed with a hard thud.

 

But before Chris could perform some sort of victory dance, Guy wrapped his hand around his ankle and with a swift pull forced the singer forward, where he knocked face into the nearby fireplace and chipped his two front teeth, bursting his lip.

 

Breathing heavily and staring down at the blood on his fingertips with impossibly large eyes, Chris darted back and forth between his hands and Guy's slightly smug face.

 

"You jealous bastard!!" he screamed, "That's what this is all about, isn't it?" But before Guy could answer, Chris lunged himself on top of him, grabbing the nearest object, which was a phone book on the table and shoving it hard against the bassists' famously attractive face.

 

A loud scream sounded from Guy and it was slightly muffled by the large phone book, before kicking Chris hard on the thigh, sending him backwards onto the floor where for another half an hour straight, the two screamed, and clawed, and bit, and shoved, and punched, and probably every other form of violence imaginable. Screaming an array of insults and groans of pain.

 

 

"Just a tea, thank you," Guy smiled slightly up at the pretty waitress and she nodded politely and set off behind the counter with a new order of tea, as well as another coffee for Chris.

 

Managing to gather the courage to raise his head from his coffee-soaked lap, Chris glanced at Guy for the first time since he had walked in.

 

His wonderfully lush dark hair, swooped slightly upwards and a bit longer since the last time they had spoken.

 

Beautiful deep, brown eyes shyly met his gaze under graceful eyebrows and a pale complexion.

 

Suddenly Chris eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of a shiny object on Guy's chin.

 

Dumbly, he stared at it, "What's that?" he asked.

 

After three years of not speaking, it was ironic that their first conversation would be about Guy's face.

 

"It's a piercing," Guy explained quietly, although his heart was beating a million miles an hour, he tried his best not to show it.

 

"What- why?" Chris mumbled confusedly.

 

"I wanted a chin piercing so I got one," Guy spoke slowly, trying to avoid his immediate instinct to snap at Chris, which he knew was part of the reason why they had fell out, "I didn't think I had to ask your permission on what to do with my face, do I?" he sniped quietly, although he felt tiny pangs of guilt flood through him even as he said it.

 

"No, no, of course not," Chris said quietly, his voice trailing away as he stared dumbfounded at the silver stud.

 

"Stop staring," Guy growled as he flashed narrowed eyes upwards onto Chris'.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Chris said timidly as he shot his gaze downwards onto the table, his sheepish expression making Guy feel a bit bad.

 

"Here you are," the waitress smiled as he left two steaming cups onto the table, collecting Chris' empty cup and placing a small plate of biscuits on the table before returning to behind the counter after receiving two grateful smiles from two handsome men.

 

 

"What have you been up to?" Chris asked quietly as he played nervously with the sachet of sugar.

 

"Playing around," Guy mumbled as he stirred milk into his tea, neither one of them looking up.

 

"How's Will?" Chris felt his heart beat loudly inside his chest, he faintly wondered if anyone else could hear it.

 

"Same as always," he responded simply, and then with an obvious trace of bitterness, he added, "He still thinks you're a dickhead for letting it come to this,"

 

Ripping open the sugar sachet and pouring the fine granules into the coffee, Chris nodded silently.

 

After a couple of seconds, Guy asked, "How's Jonny,"

 

Sniffing slightly in contempt, Chris looked up at him and said, "He still thinks you're a dickhead for letting it come to this,"

 

Guy laughed slightly, although it still carried that air of bitterness, surely it was a start?

 

After a couple of painfully awkward minutes, the two old (ex-)friends sipped at their drinks, both of them were pretty sure they had memorised the grains in the wooden table after a couple of minutes staring at them.

 

Before Guy quite bravely, yet grumpily said, "I kind of miss your annoying chattering," before shooting his eyes downwards.

 

Chris ran his finger over the rim of his cup, "I kind of miss your bitchy moods,"

 

Guy laughed, "Not as much as I miss that disgusting smell of chocolate in the morning,"

 

Chris giggled, "I'm pretty sure I miss your horrible scent of cigarettes more,"

 

Gently placing his hand on Chris' wrist, Guy softly said, "I really miss some of those shitty songs you write sometimes,"

 

"-Even the one about the neighbours cat?"

 

"Especially that one," Guy sighed wistfully.

 

"Well it has been ages since you've came to me with a terrible bass line and all,"

 

"-And that annoying way you do your vocal warm-ups," Guy chimed in.

 

"And those crappy photo magazines you always have lying around," Chris grinned.

 

"Plus the way you always throw yourself over Jonny,"

 

"Not to mention that horrible navy sweater you didn't take off for two weeks," Chris rolled his eyes playfully.

 

When suddenly Guy's chair creaked backwards and he suddenly stood up, walking over to directly beside Chris.

 

"Stand up and say that to me again," Guy challenged with narrowed eyes.

 

Chris' heart suddenly sped up, his palms growing clammy as the back of his mind was trying to piece together what he had said that was so wrong, while the rest of his mind had shut down from fear.

 

"I..er-" he stuttered weakly, shakily standing up and pushing his chair in, facing Guy with wide, terrified eyes.

 

"I-I said...about...that...sweater...you wear-" but Chris was cut off from complete and utter shock as Guy timidly held out two arms, offering out a hug.

 

Choking back his extreme shock, Chris shakily stepped forward, and leant forwards as he was incased inside the arms of his friend, ignoring everything else in the room as he wrapped his arms around Guy's back tightly.

 

Before he knew it, his throat had tightening and he was clinging to Guy tightly as tears dripped down his face.

 

"I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely into Guy's shoulder.

 

"I'm sorry as well," Guy said quietly as he ran a hand down the singer's back.

 

"I don't want this to go on anymore," Chris sobbed, "I never did,"

 

"Stop it, just stop it," Guy's voice cracked, "You are going to make me cry in public,"

 

"I have missed you and Will so much," he buried his face deeper and inhaled the familiar smell.

 

"Don't talk about it," Guy soothed as he pulled back and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Let's just go get some ice-cream," 

 

Chris laughed shakily and wiped the tears from his cheeks, "Sounds good to me,"

 

And so they left.

 

The customers at the cafe that afternoon certainly received quite the exciting entertainment, but for the two old friends, their lives were starting to begin again.

 

Old bonds were slowing being reformed.

 

Bridges built.

 

And it just goes to show you, that even after three years, you simply can't erase such a strong friendship with only a simple fight.

 

 

 

The End. :cheesy: