Permission granted by Guine to have Chris present. :[a

Word Count: 776

The sun was hanging low in the sky when Paris finally woke up, as an orange glow seeped through the window that led out to Chris’s fire-escape. He would have been shocked to find that he’d slept so long if he hadn’t been up for over twenty-four hours, and if much of that time hadn’t been spent defending against a siege in space.

For a moment, he laid there motionlessly, almost boneless, soaking in the warmth and reveling in the feeling of being alive, the knowledge that he’d made it, before reality set in and he remembered where he was—as if he could ever forget.

The last time he’d woken in this bed with someone beside him, he’d opened his eyes to an arm slung across his waist. There was no arm this time, but he could feel another body there still—the depression of the mattress, the heat the radiated from behind him—and he slowly turned to hesitantly peer at the figure next to him.

Chris was still sleeping soundly, breathing deep, mouth slack, and eyes closed to the rest of the world.

Paris might have taken a moment to stare if his bladder wasn’t encouraging him to get up. Already regretting having to move, he rolled out of bed and forced himself to his feet, raising his arms into a stretch before stumbling bleary eyed into the bathroom.

He felt exhausted still, as if he hadn’t slept at all, and he ached all over from the amount of activity he’d forced from his body over the span of the previous day. His arms hurt from throwing so many rocks, his legs from the rapid movement, the sudden tense moments, and his back from the painful landings he’d taken in twice being forced back into the outpost. His head throbbed at the temple, as if the wound that had been magically healed was still there, and he forced down a few pain relievers on his way back out into the loft bedroom.

Chris hadn’t moved at all in the few minutes he’d been gone. Slowly, Paris crept back toward the bed and lowered himself into a crouch beside the low mattress, staring at Chris as he slept.

He looked so peaceful, so far removed from what had happened yesterday that it was hard to believe it had even occurred.

Always, after the fact, very little of it ever seemed real. It was hard to imagine himself back there again with such a simple scene before him, when he woke up from a long sleep and felt so normal.

He could have kissed him. It would have been so easy to lean closer and steal one. He remembered the evening they’d broken up, how he’d forgotten to take one last kiss for himself before revealing his secret, how he’d regretted it later when he could barely even remember what it felt like. He could do it again, just once, and Chris would never know. He was so deeply asleep that Paris doubted something so light and fleeting would wake him.

But he didn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. It would be cruel to himself, reminding him of things he could no longer have, and cruel to Chris, who he’d already kept so much from.

Instead, he got back to his feet, retrieved his shoes from where he’d placed them under the bedside table, and slid them back on. He slipped silently down the stairs, greeted Annabel with a smile and a pet when she came out of the back room where she must have been eating, and made his way quietly through the kitchen in search of a pen and piece of paper. When he found what he was looking for, he wrote a quick note and set it in the center of the island.

Quote:
Thanks for letting me stay. Sorry for sneaking off. You looked tired so I didn’t want to wake you, but I should really be heading home and make sure Dad’s not wasting away without me.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. You can be mad at me if you want, so long as it isn’t for too long.

Get some rest. I’ll see you when you come into work tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.

XOXOXO
Paris


He left after nudging Annabel back upstairs and walked home through the orange dusk, breathing in the October air and staring at the city around him, losing himself to thought.

Of all the things he’d ever done wrong, all the bad he’d done before, he must have done something good, something right along the way, to deserve so many chances at life.