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 Posted: Wed Nov 07, 2012 6:42 pm
"It's... it's complicated," he said, not knowing what else to tell his boyfriend that didn't involve mentioning talking cats and parallel lives... It was bad enough that Paris wasn't all that fond of Zirconia and how she'd treated Chris... Not that Chris was all that fond of her, either...
Still, she was his best friend, and if that meant trying to help her discover her true identity, then shouldn't he do whatever he could to help?
"For her... being a knight would be better than her situation now," he explained vaguely, hoping Paris wouldn't be too curious about it. He'd said he didn't have to tell him, but... Chris felt the need to explain himself, at least a little. "At least she'll be able to protect herself better... or even run away." It was the only reason he was okay with chibi senshi, because at least they had a better chance of escaping.
"It'll be okay, I promise," he mumbled as he watched Paris work on fixing up the bandages around his arm. At least it wasn't a horrible wound, although he was sure any deeper would leave scars... Not that he didn't have any already...
Once Paris was done wrapping his arm in the appropriate bandages, Chris stood to his feet, taking Paris's hand to help him up as well. "Thank you," he said softly, looking down into Paris's eyes to make sure he knew he meant it. "And I'm sorry about... all this... making you worry," he apologized once more, wanting to clear up this bit of trouble as quickly as he could.
"Let's go to bed, okay?" he requested, feeling sore and tired after being out all day and then planning on being up early that morning. They might as well get the sleep they could when they could get it. Of course... with all the sleeping they did, Chris felt they were more like an old married couple than two young adults in a relationship... Oh well...
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Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 1:21 pm
Paris mumbled under his breath about dumb rich people and their silly problems and the ridiculous solutions they came up with for those problems as Chris helped him up onto his feet again.
He pulled away just long enough to clean up the small mess he’d made on the coffee table, returning the bandages and antiseptic to the first aid kit, and grabbing the damp, slightly bloody wash cloth so that it could join Chris’s bloodied shirt once he was able to make his way to the small laundry closet and the washer and dryer housed within it. He paused before he did so to lean up for a kiss, more than ready to get back to bed and try to get some more sleep now that Chris was back and seemed intent on doing just that.
Dumbass should know better than to stay out so late to begin with.
“Get changed for bed then,” Paris said once he was pulling away again, making his way around the couch and giving Chris the space to follow. “I’m going to see about getting the blood out of your shirt before it sets in. It shouldn’t take long.”
He needed a few quiet minutes to himself anyway. He didn’t want to show Chris exactly how worried he’d been now that his boyfriend was home, nor did he want to risk making stupid, overbearing demands that might rouse a few of the old “obsessive” comments he used to get—and still got from time to time, though no longer from Chris. A moment or two to let himself be upset and then calm himself back down should do the trick, he thought, his feet instinctively carrying him toward the bathroom and the nearby laundry closet.
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Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 6:24 pm
Chris watched guiltily as Paris moved away to take care of the laundry, before glancing down at the bandages around his forearm and the rose still visible on his wrist.
It could have been a lot worse, and they both knew that. For now, their relative safety and health was all they could hope for during a war like this.
While Paris went to get the laundry ready, Chris made his way into the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth, washing his face, and other necessary business. He'd jump in the shower if he wasn't so exhausted and if Paris hadn't just fixed up his arm. To make up for not showering after patrol, he stripped completely to pull on clean boxers and lounge pants. If it wasn't chilly, he'd have done without them, but even the down blankets didn't keep out all the cold air.
He climbed into bed and set his alarm, waiting to turn off the light until he knew Paris could see his way into the room. He felt horrible, of course... but what other options did he have...?
Well... if Zia kept being a brat about it, he might just stop trying all together...
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Posted: Mon Nov 12, 2012 6:49 pm
Paris took his time with the wash, taking Chris’s shirt and the soiled washcloth with him to the kitchen to run both under cold water, doing what he could to prevent the stains from setting into the fabric. He returned to the laundry closet only when he’d gotten the stains mostly out, only to spray both liberally with stain remover, setting them aside once he was satisfied that he’d accomplished his goal. He left both on top of the washing machine until laundry day.
He moved slowly, dragging his feet, yawning every few minutes, rubbing his eyes and telling himself it was because he was tired and not because he was upset. In reality it was probably a bit of both. He was exhausted, but he was a little emotional too, and struggling to suppress it only enhanced his fatigue, as all of his energy went into staying up and keeping calm, when really it might have been easier just to collapse and freak out and get the whole emotional upheaval over with, maybe cry himself to sleep and worry about the rest of it the next day. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to if it meant setting himself back or proving to Chris that his secrecy might have been warranted.
When he felt the emotions had run their course, Paris returned the first aid kit to the bathroom and then finally entered the bedroom after turning off the lights and the TV in the living-room. He plopped down heavily on his side of the bed, looking over at Chris with a sad frown. He was quiet for a moment or two, considering the situation, before he turned off the string of lantern lights above their bed and climbed over Chris to settle down on his other side instead.
“So I don’t roll on your arm,” he explained, nestling close with his head on Chris shoulder, turning to press his face into Chris’s neck.
He inhaled deeply, held it for as long as he was able, and then released it in a loud, heavy sigh.
“Just be careful,” he said.
Paris didn’t expect Chris would stop.
He wouldn’t be Chris if he did.
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