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 Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2011 10:17 pm
Something wasn't right. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something off about Paris's voice, Chris decided, as he hung up the phone after confirming that his girlfriend was coming over that night to have dinner. Golden eyes stared, frustrated and confused at the phone in his hand, before slipping it into his back pocket and went around trying to tidy up the apartment.
He'd almost expected Paris to cancel on him again after doing so once already that week. He was find with her having other things to do, but he wished her voice hadn't seemed so... empty. Maybe that wasn't the right word, but he couldn't help but worry when he usually got plenty of explanations as to why she wasn't able to meet up with him, on the rare occasion that happened.
Chris moved around to the kitchen, making sure he had the dishes he'd used during the week in the dishwasher, at the very least, and then tried shoving the rest of the take out boxes into the almost overflowing trashcan. And, since he didn't want Paris to comment on how he hadn't taken out the trash, quickly grabbed his wallet and keys and tied up the bag to bring downstairs with him. Once that was disposed of and there was a new bag in the trash can, though, it was back to straightening things up. The little things now, such as picking up his underwear from where it had been tossed onto the bathroom floor, and then shoving the remainder of the clothes he'd taken out of the dryer into one of his drawers. He figured he could just fold them later, when there was more time.
And then, once that was done... it was sitting and waiting. Maybe he should have offered to pick her up...?
He nearly jumped out of his chair when the door was knocked on, and he almost tripped over Annabel in his haste to answer it. "Paris, hey," he greeted, quickly stepping to the side to let her in. Would it be bad taste to drop questions on whether or not she was okay right away...? He decided to at least let her get into the apartment, first, shutting the door behind her.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2011 10:35 pm
Paris had spent the last few days alternately hiding away in his house and doing everything he could to get away from it -- which, since Monday, had meant transforming into Ganymede and throwing himself into another half of a life he hadn't wanted but was suddenly thankful he had, if only for the easy distraction provided by a war he didn't always consider to be his own. But tonight... he didn't want to go out tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit in peaceful quiet in the wide open space of Chris's apartment and pretend as if nothing had changed from the week before.
He showed up a few minutes later than he'd intended, after taking the subway to the nearest station and walking the rest of the way to Chris's building. The going had been slow, as he'd been lost in thought the entire time, so dazed and defeated feeling as he wallowed in his own misery that he'd nearly missed the first train.
He had very little makeup on, just some eyeliner and mascara, and a thin coat of gloss. He was still dressed nicely, in a pale blue skirt and simple white top, his hair pulled into a half-ponytail, but the change from the happy, enthusiastic person Chris had known him to be over the weekend was painfully obvious. His shoulders sagged a bit, and he moved slowly, as if every motion were too great of an effort. Listless and tired, he greeted Chris with the barest trace of a smile.
"Hi," he said, leaning up to give him his customary peck on the lips. He moved into the apartment, leaning over to take off his shoes to place them in the front closet as he always did. He had his purse in one hand and another bag slung over the opposite shoulder.
"I hope you don't mind... I figured I'd just stay the night. I don't really want to go home tonight. I brought extra clothes with me this time," he told him, and slipped the bag from his shoulder to place it on one of the couches in the living area.
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2011 10:51 pm
Painfully obviously indeed...
Chris frowned as Paris pulled away from him, moving to follow her out into the living room to see what she was planning on doing. "That's fine," he said with a small shrug. "I never mind when you stay over." He looked forward to it, actually, because although he made sure to have her text him when she got home safely, he still worried that a monster or something else lurking in the shadows would jump her if he didn't walk her home. Sometimes he was even tempted to follow her as Valhalla, just to be certain... but that would be creepy... especially when she knew he was Valhalla and could just walk with her.
Her staying over also meant he would sleep on the couch. Well, usually. It was his own choice at least, although once or twice he'd fallen asleep in his own bed while they'd been watching television late at night. It was the easiest way not to tempt himself, at least.
"Is everything okay...?" he decided to venture, almost holding his breath as he asked. He didn't want to upset her if she didn't want to talk about it, after all. But she wasn't herself, and it was starting to worry him. "Paris...?" he spoke up, not wanting her to pretend that she didn't hear him, although he hadn't really given her time to respond.
Annabel didn't seem to realize anything was wrong, though, and had scrambled to her feet to go and greet one of her favorite people, flopping down at Paris's feet and wiggling around for attention and hopefully a nice belly rub. Paris gave such nice belly rubs!
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Posted: Wed Aug 17, 2011 11:13 pm
Paris began to head for the kitchen area once his bag was off his shoulder, setting his purse in the center of the island and meeting Chris with another small, but not quite real, smile.
"Yeah, everything's fine," he lied, hoping he sounded convincing but knowing he probably didn't. He said nothing else in explanation, and averted his attention to Annabel when she placed herself at his feet, crouching down to rub at her belly. "You'll keep me company in bed tonight, won't you Anna?"
He stayed over often enough for certain habits to fall into place. Chris would usually take the couch while he had the bed to himself, though Annabel would sometimes sneak up the stairs to curl up with him, and Paris couldn't say he really minded. He liked the feel of a warm body next to him, whether it was because Chris had accidentally fallen asleep beside him or because the dog had decided some cuddles were in order.
He could use that tonight. He wanted someone close to him as he slept. Chris, the dog, it didn't matter, though he'd admit to hoping it would be Chris. He was almost tempted to ask him if they could share the bed for once without it being an accident. He held the compulsion back for now, but wasn't sure how strong his will would be later.
"I'll go ahead and start on dinner," he offered, moving around the island to wash his hands in the sink before rummaging around for the ingredients he'd need. "You left the chicken out to thaw, didn't you?" he asked, though the question was unnecessary. He easily spied the thawed chicken out on the counter. "Good. I hope you don't mind chicken stir-fry. It shouldn't take more than an hour to finish."
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:23 am
Annabel had no idea what Paris was talking about, but she wiggled around excitedly, anyway, before flipping over and back to her feet to follow Paris out to the kitchen.
Chris frowned, unconvinced, but he didn't say anything immediately again. Something was off, and Paris was avoiding the subject. When dinner was brought up, he shook his head. "No, that's fine. Thanks," he said, about to ask if he could help, but knew he'd be shooed out so she would have more room to work. Which was fine with him. He would probably end up ruining it if he tried to help.
He went back out into the living room to turn on some music for Paris to cook to — her usual cooking music — before heading over to the couch to pick up her bag of things and take them upstairs to set on the bed. That way she wouldn't have to worry about getting it later. Not wanting to bother her while she cooked, Chris brought down his laptop to check and answer emails, and then play with Anna to keep her out from under Paris's feet.
"Did you want me to do anything?" he finally couldn't resist asking as he threw one of the dog's squeaky toys across the room for her to pounce and bring back. "You don't have to do it all, you know..." He was fine with helping...
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:48 am
Paris didn't pay much attention to what Chris was doing and instead focused on collecting everything he'd need for dinner -- broccoli, celery, carrots, onion... He set it all out on the counter to begin preparing later, and started first with the chicken, laying the breasts out on a cutting board to begin cutting it into two inch strips. When Chris had finished playing with the dog, Annabel did what Chris had tried preventing her from doing and moved to perch herself on the ground beside Paris, just watching with her big brown eyes, and Paris let her be. He hardly even noticed.
He looked up at Chris's question, washing his hands again after finishing with the chicken. He took out a large skillet from one of the lower cabinets and set it on the stove before turning on the heat and depositing the chicken into it.
"No, it's fine. I've got it. Your mom says you can ruin anything in the kitchen just by touching it, so..." He intended for it to be a joke, but it didn't sound right and he eventually wished he hadn't bothered. After all, he wasn't in much of a joking mood.
He did appreciate the music. He always liked a bit of background noise when he was cooking and cleaning. It helped him stay focused on what he was doing while at the same time giving such normal, everyday tasks a bit of fun. The more upbeat, the better, usually, but today he just wasn't feeling it. It sounded too happy, too motivational, too... not what he was feeling. Usually he would have been bobbing his head along to the beat, maybe doing a bit of a dance across the floor, but today he could barely even mumble the words as he halfheartedly sang along.
"Could you turn off the music?" he asked. "Sorry, I just... feel like listening to something else. You could play your guitar if you want," he suggested. That would give Chris something to do as well as provided him with the necessary background noise.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 12:56 pm
Chris stared in confusion after Paris as she continued getting dinner ready, but did as he was asked and got up to turn off the music. Well, that just added to the list of unusual things for this visit... She wasn't about to break up with him, was she...? No, that didn't make sense because why would she have brought clothes with her...? Unless it was really just a bag of everything he'd given her over the past handful of months...
He quickly shook that thought from his head, not wanting to jump to conclusions, and probably really stupid conclusions at that, and went to get his guitar from behind the couch. He set the case on the coffee table so he could pull the instrument out and took a few moments to make sure everything was in tune. He wasn't really sure what Paris wanted to hear, and wondered if he should go ahead and ask her if she had any requests.
But he didn't, and his fingers moved along the neck of the guitar as he set each cord up as he strummed lightly against the strings. If she wanted to hear something else, then maybe something slower...? He was sure she'd be able to recognize the tune. He'd played it before and he was pretty sure she had it somewhere in her music collection. He didn't sing along — he usually didn't, after all.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free...
Maybe he shouldn't be playing such a potentially depressing song...
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 1:15 pm
He let the chicken cook while Chris went about getting his guitar, then lowered the heat and turned to begin cutting up the vegetables.
Maybe it had been a bad idea to come? He knew he wasn't doing a very good job of acting normal and that it was probably worrying Chris. Chris was blind of a couple of things, sure, but he couldn't miss the differences in mood. Happy and boisterous to dismal and not his usual talkative self would be obvious to anyone who knew him well enough, and he knew that Chris knew him pretty well by this point. He hadn't exactly kept much from him -- aside from... well...
No, he'd wanted to come, he reminded himself as he cut the carrots into smaller pieces. He couldn't bear to stay in his house tonight, but he didn't want to go out as Ganymede either. He was still in the process of trying to filter through all of the information he'd garnered from Kallichore, which wasn't easy, not when he already had so much on his mind. Perhaps he should have waited to talk to her until things settled down more, but then he didn't know when that would be, if ever. How could any of this possibly settle? At least with Chris he could sit in comfort and not worry about anything until morning.
Paris scraped the carrots off of the cutting board and into the pan to join the chicken before returning to the counter to work on the celery. He swallowed as he listened to Chris playing the guitar, and noticed that his hands were shaking as he picked up the knife. He stood still for a few moments and took a couple of slow, deep breaths, beginning to cut again only when he was sure he wasn't about to slice one of his fingers off.
"Play something else," he requested. His voice was quiet and didn't sound very steady.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 1:47 pm
He stopped immediately when Paris spoke up. Okay, that was a bad choice, then... Chris frowned down at his guitar, fighting with himself on whether to get up and try to talk to Paris about what was wrong, but that might not be something she wanted. He didn't want to harass her about anything. When she was ready to tell him, she would tell him, right...?
It took a few moments, but he decided to change tactics and play something more upbeat, anyway. Nothing heard at any big parties, but something he'd be likely to listen to on the radio while driving. That, and it was usually a popular request when he brought his guitar with him to parties... Parties that quickly turned into karaoke night because of it.
As he strummed out the tune, he glanced over to Paris to see if she recognized it right away. It was early two thousands, and one of the popular ones, so he was sure after a short while she'd know it. It wasn't until the tune picked up a little more that he threw caution to the wind and decided to sing along. "Tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is over rated? Tell me, did you fall from a shooting star, one without a permanent scar, and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"
Chris wasn't trying to be serious about it. There was plenty of time to be serious later on if Paris was in the mood for seriousness, but for now, he just wanted her to not sound like she was about to burst into tears. What was better than singing a cheesy, somewhat ironic song that has been so overused that it was probably cliche? Well, at least his intention was to cheer her up.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 1:59 pm
It wasn't working.
He might have found it amusing at some other point -- Drop of Jupiter -- but he didn't find any amusement in it now. He didn't want to laugh. He didn't want to hear about happy things. But then he didn't want to hear about sad things either, because sad things made everything worse while happy things mocked him -- like, ha ha, you'll never be happy, why do you even bother to try?
It always happened this way, ever since his mother had left. He'd think things were going well, that he was finally getting the hang of life, and then the minute he grew comfortable with how things were and even began to prefer it that way, something came up to ruin it. It had happened in February when he'd been awakened, and it was happening again now, like a monster lunging up to drag him back down to the bottom of the bit, and he'd be forced to make the slow climb again or die alone there.
It was like the world was telling him "Too high, Paris. You're going too high."
And it was unfair, because he didn't think anything should be too high.
"Not that one," he said, quickly finishing the rest of the celery and dropping that into the pan, too. He grabbed the onion next. "Another one. Just... something... anything... just not that."
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 5:40 pm
His hand lifted to place over the strings, immediately stopping the sound, and he clamped his mouth shut. Well, s**t... he shouldn't have bothered with that one, then... He was going about this all wrong, wasn't he...? He just didn't know what song he was supposed to play without Paris not liking it. There was obviously something wrong with her... he just didn't know what.
It took a little longer this time for him to think of a song, although he wasn't really sure if he wanted to play anything. He didn't want to risk upsetting her even more than she already was.
"You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere. Anyplace is better, starting from zero got nothing to lose. Maybe we'll make something, but me myself I got nothing to prove." he sang, despite his sudden drop in self-confidence. He didn't know how to make Paris feel better and it was starting to get to him. He sang anyway because even though he didn't think he was all that great, he was hoping Paris still liked the sound of his voice. She'd told him before that she liked his singing, but he didn't know what it would take to make her smile.
He knew something was wrong, though... it was just trying to figure out what it was was the problem. But this was her favorite song, wasn't it...?
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 6:13 pm
He shouldn't have used the onion.
He had barely begun to cut into it when his eyes started to water. He paused to still his shaky hands again, and returned to the onion only when he thought he had himself in order.
Only he couldn't seem to do anything about his watery eyes. Paris clenched his teeth together and held his breath, as if through sheer force of will he could make the moisture in his eyes go away, but it didn't work. What started out as a prickle quickly quickly grew into a blurry mess before his eyes, until he could barely see what he was doing and had to stop cutting again.
And then Chris started singing that song, and Paris just wanted to tell him to stop, but he couldn't do that either, because if he opened his mouth he couldn't be sure actual words would come out, and anyways if he didn't keep his teeth mashed firmly together the tears overflowing his eyes would just spill over, and he couldn't act like that over something as insignificant as an onion.
Only he knew, deep down, that it wasn't about the onion. Perhaps it had acted like a catalyst, but by the time Chris had started singing again it had moved far beyond that. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning and he couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to because he knew them all by heart, had known them for years, but he couldn't bear to hear it now without thinking how wrong it was, because there was no way anyone could remain so hopeful when everything good in life was continuously overshadowed by all the bad.
Paris set the knife down on the counter and let go of the onion. The dog was sniffing around at his skirt, but soon lost interest and realized she wouldn't be getting the attention she wanted for a while, and went off to play with one of her chew toys instead. Chris was sitting on the couch in the living area and playing that song and it sounded so nice, but so, so unfair, and Paris suddenly wanted to rage and scream, but he couldn't do that because he couldn't get his mouth to work and his hands were shaking and his eyes were blurring, filling, streaming, and his cheeks were wet and his chest hurt from holding his breath and he didn't want to do anything anymore, just wanted to throw himself down and lie there and never move again, because nothing he did ever made a difference.
See, my old man's got a problem...
Finally, Paris couldn't take it anymore. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, crouched down on the floor behind the island, and brought his hands to his face and cried.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 7:44 pm
He didn't realize Paris had disappeared right away. He continued to play the song on his guitar for another verse or so, and then had to stop when he heard some kind of strangled sobbing noise from the kitchen. Looking up and realizing Paris was no longer there had Chris immediately jumping from his seat. He placed the guitar on the couch as he moved around the pieces of furniture and out to where the kitchen was.
"Paris?" he asked gently as he glanced around the corner of the island, very concerned to see his girlfriend on the ground. He moved over to her, kneeling down and reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders, rubbing at them gently. The idea was to try and calm her down, as well as not freak out, himself.
"Did you cut yourself? Or... Did I say something to upset you...? Or is it something else?" he tried, keeping his voice low so as not to upset her more. Annabel poked her head curiously around the corner as well, before moving over and trying to lick at both Paris and Chris. She wanted to know what they were both doing on the floor!
"Can you stand...? You should sit down..." he told her, wondering if he should try picking her up and carrying her over to the couch to lay down. He could try to finish dinner, himself... o-or he could call for take out...
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 8:00 pm
Paris kept his hands covering his face and shook his head when Chris came over to him, unable to answer him. He didn't usually cry in front of anyone, not since the last of his childhood tantrums, and the thought that he was doing so now in front of his boyfriend only made him cry more, because he realized just how much he'd been holding in, and all the frustration and anger and loneliness and anxiety and fear of the last week came rushing through him and poured out of his eyes.
He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do about anything anymore. He was lying to Chris, stringing him along and making him think he was something he wasn't, and he couldn't keep that going, not for much longer; eventually something would happen and his secret would be out, and then what was he supposed to do when Chris hated him for it? His father was sick, dying more like, and even though they'd never gotten along especially well, he was still his father and Paris was afraid of losing that familiar, albeit distant, presence in his life. He was trying so hard to get used to being a senshi, opening himself to others more, beginning to seek out information, working with Valhalla, going to Ganymede, but none of it seemed to matter; he was just one person in a giant war and what could he expect to do to impact anything when he was still so mad that he had to do it in the first place?
He kept shaking his head, releasing a few more half-choking sobs. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, knew Chris was probably freaking out, but he couldn't help it. Now that it had started, he couldn't stop. It kept on coming, more and more and stronger and stronger until it overwhelmed him and completely shattered the walls he'd built around himself for protection, rushing out and leaving him open and raw, shaking and crying so much he could barely even breathe.
"I'm... I'm not going back to school," he managed to choke out, but it wasn't what he'd wanted to say at all. He didn't know what he wanted to say, except that he was tired of all the unfairness and he just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.
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Posted: Thu Aug 18, 2011 9:00 pm
He'd never seen Paris cry before, so it was rather alarming now that she was. He stood up briefly to turn the stove down to warm, before reaching out to try and lift her up from the ground, pulling her close to him.
"Shhh," he tried to comfort, almost tripping over Annabel, who was now whining in concern, as he stood and started heading back out to the living room. "Shhh, it's okay... Just breathe. Paris... I need you to breathe," he said, moving to place her down on the couch so she was at least a little more comfortable than sitting on the floor of the kitchen. He was worried, frightened even. How was he supposed to know how to comfort her when he didn't even know what was wrong? He was especially concerned when she said she wouldn't be going back to school. What would she be doing then? Did she lose her scholarship? Was she moving out of the city?? It could be any number of things and Chris didn't know where to start.
"Baby," he said, picking up on his mother's habit of cutesy nicknames without even realizing it. He'd said it softly, barely heard above Paris's crying. "Please stop crying... Tell me what's wrong?" Chris lifted his hands to try and get her to move her hands from her face so he could wipe away her tears (and makeup if it was running). He looked around to try and find something to make her comfortable, and quickly got to his feet to hurry off, returning less than a minute later with a box of unopened tissues in his hand. He ripped off the top and placed the box beside her, before moving to sit on the other side, wrapping his arm around her as he tried to give her some more comfort.
He thought he was doing pretty well for not completely freaking out. How could he when she was the one freaking out first?
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