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 Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 1:47 pm
He'd never asked Paris if he answered unknown numbers on his cellphone, so as he fumbled with his cellphone to look up the number and then dial on the hospital's phone, he worried that his calls would go ignored. "Come on..." he grumbled to himself, glancing around to make sure no one was staring at him suspiciously as he dropped the phone at the lobby desk, groaning in pain as he leaned down to pick it back up. Chris couldn't use his cellphone in the building, so instead of arguing more with the doctors, he just decided to have someone 'supervise' him on his way home.
It was the first time he'd been to the hospital in... ever. Not since he was born at least. Not as a patient, in any case. He'd gone to visit his mother and aunts and friends of the family if they were giving birth or were sick, but he didn't like the idea of staying over night at a place like this, just because he didn't have any way to get home. He supposed he could call his parents, but he didn't want to bother them with something he wasn't really sure he wanted to talk about at the moment. There was also Zia he could have called, but the last he'd heard, she was busy dealing with everything in her life. Daniel would probably freak out, and he didn't want to explain to his friend that he'd been trying to talk to a Negaverse General, instead of running away... as he would have requested Daniel to do.
Chris was lucky that he hadn't been hurt more than he had. Rather, he was lucky that Camelot had shown up when he did. He was pretty sure he would have been dead at this point if he hadn't. Instead, he'd gotten away with a cut across his shoulder and one on his thigh. Physical damage, at least. He was still shaken up about what had happened just as Camelot came to save him, and if he wasn't trying to hold a phone to his ear, he would have felt more comfortable with at least his hand protecting his chest.
Doing everything with his left hand sucked, though. His right arm had been put into a sling to discourage any movement that would reopen the freshly stitched wound, and the laceration on his left thigh made it painful to stand, or walk, for that matter.
He was just about to hang up when he heard the phone click on the other end. "Paris? It's Chris," he said without even waiting for a greeting. "I need you to do me a favor," he continued, hoping the phone didn't pick up on the stress in his voice... or the page for Dr. Rodriguez.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 1:59 pm
If Paris had given the effort to go out on patrol that evening, he might have sensed the powerful energy signatures, and even if he probably would have tried to avoid going to investigate due to his rather strong sense of self-preservation, at least he would have been up and about and not lying in bed unconscious.
He would have thought that the end to all the drama up at the Surrounding would mean he had more time to rest, and while he did have better opportunities to get some sleep, he found that his days were so packed with activity—working the shop when his father was unable to, spending hours at a time at the dance studio, cooking, shopping, and cleaning and generally making sure life was manageable for he and his old man—there were many nights where he discovered he was unable to keep his eyes open passed eleven o’clock.
For someone who was used to going to sleep late and waking early, the change in circumstances was a bit bizarre. It wasn’t as easy to get used to as some people might think, and he’d sacrificed a couple of nights of patrol in the process.
He heard his phone ringing through the fog of sleep, and was so surprised to hear it jarring him awake that he didn’t immediately recognize that the tone it was playing was the one he had set for numbers he didn’t have in his contact list. He rolled over to grab it, though his hand hit nothing but empty air at first, clumsy in the darkness. He was too tired and his eyes were too blurry to take a good look at the screen once he finally had it, so he simply hit the button to accept the call and brought it to his ear.
“‘ello?” he said.
It took him a moment to place the voice. He blinked through the grit in his eyes and tried to get his sluggish brain to start working. “Chris?”
Pausing, he pulled his phone away to peer at the screen and saw a number that wasn’t Chris’s, before bringing the phone back to his ear, squinting his eyes in confusion, though he was looking at absolutely nothing. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Do you know what time it is? Where are you? Why aren’t you using your phone?”
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 2:19 pm
"Yeah, sorry," he apologized, knowing very well how late it was. He wouldn't be calling him if he didn't mind spending the night alone in the hospital, but he had school in the morning and his dog to walk and feed, and he didn't want to run up the bill, even though he was sure insurance covered it. He just didn't need a reason to have to explain to his parents why the insurance called about a bill for an overnight hospital stay. "I know it's late... I'm sorry I woke you, but I need your help."
He couldn't really go into detail with people around, so he went with an, "I'll explain it when I see you." That was fair enough, right...? Part of him was wondering why Paris was his go-to person in a situation like this. Paris didn't have a car, and he knew that... He would have to walk a good bit... but he also knew that Paris was capable of not freaking out from seeing injuries. Paris had helped him out when he'd left the Surrounding that one time, not wanting to hang around there any longer to be fully healed at Virgo's Outpost, so why wouldn't he help him now?
"Could you bring me some clothes? Just sweat pants and a teeshirt is fine," he suggested, wondering if Paris would borrow some of his father's clothes or if he would go and buy some. "And then meet me at the D.C. General Hospital." Hopefully that would explain the phone issue. Chris spoke quickly so he didn't waste any time, but hopefully slow enough so that Paris knew he was okay... oh...
"And I'm fine, I just... don't have anything to wear... and need an escort home, apparently," he frowned, having tried to walk out on his own but didn't get far. He'd already signed the discharge papers, so now it was a matter of waiting for Paris to show up with clothes. Because he wasn't going to be walking around the city in just a hospital gown and blood splatter in his hair. Ugh, he needed a shower...
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 5:32 pm
Paris continued to peer blearily through the darkness. His brain was still moving rather slowly, and it took him more than a few moments to process what Chris was saying. The word that stuck out most clearly to him was of course the one he wanted least to hear in any situation, especially when it involved the people he cared for most—‘Hospital.’
Quickly he sat up in his bed, disrupting Sassy, who’d curled up beside him. She meowed at him before making herself comfortable again, but he just pet her once before getting up. His head spun very briefly, but it went away by the time he was sliding out from beneath the blankets. “What are you doing at the hospital? Are you hurt? What happened? Why do you need new clothes? Did you crash your car?” he assumed, though it didn’t take him long at all to think that it was more likely something else. “Wait… was it… were you out on patrol?”
His stomach gave a sickening turn and he hastily reached out for the lamp on his bedside table, flicking it on to bathe the room in a dim light. With the phone still pressed to his ear, he dug around in a basket of clean laundry he hadn’t taken the time to put away yet, disrupting the stacks of folded clothes in his search for a pair of shorts he yanked on over the underwear he’d worn to bed. He had a long-sleeved t-shirt on already, and for the sake of speed he flung open his closet to grab a pair of flip-flops instead of trying to pull any other shoes onto his feet.
“Are you by yourself? You didn’t call your parents?”
Paris didn’t bother running a brush through his hair, just found an elastic on his desk and cradled his phone between his ear and shoulder as he tied his hair back messily. At the last second, he remember to grab a hoodie and his purse on the way out, dashing from his room to write a quick note to his father—“going to see Chris; be back later”—before heading out the door without a second thought.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 6:25 pm
Chris supposed the questions he was being asked were fairly normal. Of course Paris would want to know why he was at the hospital. He would have told him, but glancing around at one of the nurses who had been staring a little to long at the outside of a chart to actually be reading it, Chris mumbled a quick, "We'll talk later. And no I didn't call my parents." He didn't want his mother to freak out, because he knew she would. She worried too much to not freak out... And it would make him feel horribly guilty for it.
"I'll be in the second floor lobby..." he decided on a whim, not wanting to hang around in a room by himself for who knew how long, but also not wanting Paris to be kicked out because of visiting hours or whatever. He should be able to get in just fine, though. There were still people up and about, despite it being very late and into the morning.
"I'll see you soon?" he wondered, although the sound in the background made it seem as though Paris was already up and about. He hung up after waiting for any last words from his friend before turning to head to the bathroom to change, or at least put on his old pants, giving the eavesdropping nurse a wary look. What if people in the Negaverse worked at the hospital? Talk about easy victims... But right now he was trying to keep that off his mind.
Instead, he focused on at least pulling on the torn and bloody khakis he'd been wearing before deciding to power up and patrol. The tears came after the injuries, of course, but it would have been too suspicious if he was brought in for stitches with untouched clothing... aside from being covered in blood.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 7:18 pm
He would have liked to have gotten more of an explanation on the phone, at least for his own peace of mind, but Chris wasn’t offering and Paris could only assume that he was right—that Chris had been out patrolling, and that he’d most likely run into some trouble along the way. Paris didn’t see why he wouldn’t say anything otherwise. Clearly something had occurred that he didn’t want to be sharing around other people.
After hanging up, Paris ran about a block before realizing he couldn’t just walk the entire way to the hospital. There was the problem of finding Chris some clothes, too. He hadn’t even considered grabbing some from his father’s room, but then he didn’t think any of his father’s pants would fit Chris anyway—they’d be a few inches short and bigger around the waist. Luckily, he could thank all of his long nights out clubbing and his inability to drive a car for something, as he scrolled through his contact list for a local taxi service. He waited impatiently in the chilly night air but didn’t care to waste time by returning home for something more insulating.
He picked up some clothes at a 24-hour Wal-Mart—one of the few things Wal-Mart was good for, he thought, though he was sure Chris had never had much of a reason to set foot in one too often, much less wear their clothes. The sweats and t-shirt would have to do, though, at least until he got Chris home. He grabbed some pain reliever and extra bandages just in case, unsure if Chris’s stock had been replenished since they last time they’d used them.
When he finally got to the hospital, he had the cab wait outside while he all but ran in and pelted toward the elevator, taking the first one that opened up to the second floor. As soon as he was in the lobby, he looked around and went straight for Chris, looking him over and failing to mask his concern.
“Are you okay?”
There was blood on his clothes. Paris really didn’t like the sight of blood on Chris’s clothes.
“Were you by yourself? What were you thinking? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 7:28 pm
He still wore the hospital gown instead of a shirt, figuring he could at least slip it off easier than getting the polo he'd ruined back on. The gown was also much cleaner in comparison to his pants and shirt. He hadn't bothered tearing up the undershirt he'd worn, and merely tossed it in the dumpster once he'd finished tearing up his other clothes. It was also a good thing nothing vital was hit. Chris was sure that if Painite had managed to really run him through with her spear, well... he would have been lucky not to be sent straight to the morgue.
Exhaustion was creeping up on him, and while the medicine was still working to keep the pain at bay, the ache was preventing him from dozing off completely. Chris opened his eyes when he heard Paris approaching him looking him over with an expression of disbelief. "You're going to freeze like that, jeez," he grumbled, using his good arm and leg to push himself up from the waiting room chair. It took him a moment to let blackness take over his vision and then clear up, but once it did he began to make his way over to the men's restroom.
"I'm fine..." he mumbled again, taking his time in getting to the door and pushing his way in. He kept his voice low so others wouldn't hear them and glanced over at Paris again, showing him a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry... I couldn't think of a better person to call... I didn't mean to wake you," he said, noting how Paris had already cleaned off the make-up he normally wore. He was glad that he'd rushed over in such a hurry that he didn't even put on eyeliner. It made him feel like Paris really had been the right person to call... Not that he expected anyone else would take their time to put on make-up! But as it was, Chris was glad to see him.
"It was the one from camp," he told him once the bathroom door was closed behind them and he made sure the stall doors were all open. "The one with a thing against children..." He didn't feel like mentioning names in case they were being overheard, but he thought Paris had the right to know. "I didn't call sooner because I was with someone else... I don't know if you've met him, but he's another... like me... And he helped me here. He left just before I called you." More or less.
Chris reached behind his back with his good hand to try and tug at the strings, but with his arm in the sling, the strap had gone over top of it, making it difficult for him to reach, and was soon giving up. "Can you help me out of this sling?" he asked, trying to pull at the strap to loosen it up. "I want to get out of this..."
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 7:54 pm
Paris chose not to acknowledge the fact that he was quite cold. His jacket and shirt were enough to keep his top half warm, but his legs were freezing.
Instead, he followed Chris into the bathroom, listening with increasing concern as his ex explained bits and pieces about what had happened. He frowned when he found out exactly who it was Chris had been up against. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever heard her name before, but he remembered her easily enough—she’d been at camp, and then at Callisto’s awakening. She was a bit hard to forget, considering the young ages of some of her targets and victims. That she gone after Valhalla didn’t endear her to him at all. If anything, he disliked her more.
“Careful,” he said, watching Chris struggling with the sling and hospital gown. “Where were you hurt?” he asked, moving forward to help him out of the sling as requested, gently easing it off before circling around him to undo the strings of the hospital gown.
There was blood on his pants, and he saw the wound on his shoulder as soon as he slipped the gown off and down his arms. He paused to circle around front again to look his torso over, satisfied to see that there weren’t any extremely glaring wounds. Just a couple of cuts and scrapes, and they didn’t seem so bad, at least not compared to what could have happened if he’d been a little less lucky.
Paris grabbed the new t-shirt out of the shopping bag to slip Chris’s arms into the sleeves before lifting it up over his head. Assuming Chris wouldn’t have been given a sling for no reason, he helped him back into it once the shirt was in place, not about to let him discard it just because it made things awkwardly difficult.
“Do you need help with your pants?” he asked, taking the sweats out of the bag as well.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 8:06 pm
Chris held still as best he could, not wanting to do anything to irritate the wounds. It was difficult to get his arm into the sleeve since the fabric was now laying across the injury he had, but hopefully by tugging it down and off his shoulder a bit, it wold be okay. He was sure his whole neck was black and blue at this point. He'd been lucky to not have been hit in a very vital area and dodge it by a hair. Unfortunately, his shoulder had been cut down to the collar bone, and without the advantage of sped up healing, he would have been recovering for at least a month or two.
His leg was no different, although a little more shallow than his shoulder. He did his best not to put pressure on it, but he needed to stand. Once his arm was in the sling, he let out a small groan, realizing how difficult it was going to be to do just day to day things... like getting dressed. He was no switch hitter, so he'd never really trained with his left hand, exclusively. In fact, his team would prefer if he didn't hit at all. But that was another story entirely.
"Yeah, I can't put pressure on my leg," he admitted when Paris offered his help, grateful for it and past the point of caring who helped him, as long as he was taken away from the hospital. He got them off at least half way, but had to lean against the counter so he wouldn't have his entire weight on his injured leg as he changed into the sweatpants Paris brought him.
"Thank you," he mumbled softly, glad that his boxers hadn't been ruined besides a bit of blood on them, but it was a little less embarrassing than walking around in a hospital gown, and just that.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 8:21 pm
“You don’t have to thank me,” Paris told him. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to help you out after you got hurt, and you’ve done plenty for me, so… I’m just returning the favor.”
He was just happy Chris had called him. He wasn’t at all pleased that he’d been hurt by an officer of the Negaverse, but Paris was glad he’d proven himself trustworthy enough for Chris to call him over anyone else in a situation like this. It was bad enough that Chris had been hurt to begin with, and that he hadn’t been there to help him; at least now he could take care of him and make sure he was okay—until he got Chris home, and hopefully longer than that.
“Are you going to tell your parents, or…?” he asked, trailing off before finishing the question. It wasn’t necessary for him to do so anyway. “They’re probably going to find out at some point, aren’t they? At least that you made a trip to the hospital…”
He helped Chris out of his torn pants, and he was very proud of himself for not making any teasing comments or staring at his ex while he assisted him into new clothes. Now wasn’t really the time for it. He was far more worried than anything else. He just wanted to get him back to his apartment and make sure he got some rest.
Once he’d pulled the sweat pants up and into place, he balled Chris’s ruined clothes up and shoved them into the shopping bag to be disposed of.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 8:33 pm
"True," Chris admitted, letting Paris help him with his pants. "I'd do it myself, but getting these on took me a good ten minutes... And I practically had to sit on the ground," he said with a grimace, although the mock one only lasted a few moments as his weight shifted and pain shot through his leg.
"I don't know. I told the doctors I was mugged... I don't know if they believed me... I said I fended them off long enough for someone to come and help me, which would explain why I still have my wallet, but... I don't know. You know my mom... She'll freak out and probably cry." And he didn't want to have to sit and hold her hand and promise her that he would be more careful when he knew he probably would be anything but.
And please... as if he cared if Paris helped him. He'd already gotten over his pride in not wanting to ever ask for help, but he knew he wouldn't get far without decent clothes, and without someone to help him walk. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't walk around in locker rooms. Which probably explained why he was so unaffected by it... Some things were definitely better, now that he knew Paris was a guy... Well, he was sure Zia would help him, either way... but he'd feel awkward about it.
Once he looked decent enough to leave the bathroom, he turned to limp towards the door, but paused as he caught a glimpse of his face. "Ugh..." he groaned, lifting his good hand to try and un clump some of the hair close to his neck. It was matted with dried blood and his face was much paler than he was used to. "I look horrible..."
Whatever... he made grimace at the reflection and turned to head out the door, reaching over to grab onto Paris's shoulder when he needed help with his balance. "Sorry," he mumbled, letting Paris lead the way.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 8:47 pm
Chris was much taller and much heavier than he was. When his ex gripped onto his shoulder, Paris paused to make sure he wasn’t unbalanced by the sudden added weight and pressure from one side. He slipped an arm behind Chris’s back to help steady him, pressing his fingers lightly into his side to encourage him to place more of his weight on him if he needed to. He could handle a little more now that he was ready and knew to expect it.
“I can help you shower when we get to your place,” he offered, carrying the rest of the supplies he’d brought with him as he led Chris from the bathroom. “Or we can find some way to wash your hair, at least.”
He steered them toward the elevator after making sure Chris had already finished putting the paperwork for discharge in order, allowing his ex-boyfriend to lean against him as much as he needed to as they left the hospital together and slowly made their way toward the cab he had waiting.
They didn’t talk much on the way to Chris’s apartment. There weren’t many things about the situation either of them felt comfortable enough to discuss around a third person, so they sat mostly in silence. Paris stayed close to Chris even though there was plenty of room for the both of them in the back of the cab, loosely holding onto one of his hands and staring out at the city lights streaking past through the window.
It took a while for them to make it upstairs once they arrived at Chris’s apartment complex. Chris’s movements were awkward and somewhat halting, and Paris slowed his steps in order to compensate. He dug through his purse for the keycard he needed in the elevator to get up to the top floor, suddenly glad that he’d never remembered to give back the set of keys Chris had given him when they’d been dating. He hadn’t had much of a reason to use them since, but he liked the idea that he could still come over when he wanted to, even though he knew he wouldn’t without first getting Chris’s permission.
“Do you think you can make it upstairs or should you sleep on the couch?” he asked. “Shower first, though, right? Downstairs bathroom or upstairs bathroom? Take your pick.”
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 8:58 pm
Chris snorted lightly at the offer to help him shower, not thinking that would be at all necessary. He didn't say anything at that time though, too focused on trying not to make Paris topple under the weight he was putting on him. His leg was starting to ache, especially since he'd been limping around on his own already. He really needed to get some kind of crutch if he was going to be on his feet. He had school and Anna to walk... It was going to suck while he healed.
He was glad that Paris had kept the cab waiting for them and didn't mind in the least when Paris held his hand through the duration. He knew he'd probably scared his friend, so if it gave him any amount of comfort to do such a tiny thing, then Chris was willing to let him. Besides, after his own run in with Painite, he was glad to be alive... If anything, he was glad to be given the same comfort in return.
It was a miracle that they made it to the apartment, or at least Chris thought so by the time they headed through the door. He felt tired and weak, and while he understood that he might start feeling like this, and that this was why the doctors had suggested him stay the night in the hospital, he'd obviously underestimated how much blood he'd lost. The shock of nearly dying must have been wearing off, and with it the relief from pain.
"You don't have to help me shower... Maybe just help me rinse out my hair," he said, not sure if he was ready to take the time to get undressed and then shower and then re-bandage everything, and then get dressed again. It would just take too long, but his hair felt really disgusting. The nurses had helped him clean up as best they could, but a lot of the blood had already dried.
"Upstairs... if we can... I don't want to sleep on the couch..." Especially since he needed to lay on his back to stay off his shoulder and leg.
He glanced down at Paris while he tried to get him to head for the stairs. He looked exhausted, but concerned and determined as well. Even though they'd had rough areas in their relationship, Chris felt as though he'd definitely made the right choice in asking for him to help. And while Paris could claim that it was just repayment fr what Chris had done for him, it still didn't make it worth any less. Chris was beyond grateful to him... And he knew he could trust him.
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 9:10 pm
Paris made sure to close and lock the door behind them. He toed off his flip-flops and kicked them toward the front closet, but didn’t bother taking the time to place them neatly inside as he normally would have. His purse and plastic bag of extra bandages and pain reliever he set on the kitchen island as they passed it on the way through the living area to the stairs leading up to the loft.
“We can just turn the water on and stick your head under then,” he suggested, keeping an arm around Chris as they made their way slowly up the stairs. Anna trotted over to greet them, tongue lolling and tail flicking back and forth, but she seemed to realize that something was off and refrained from getting too close, bounding up the stairs ahead of them to lay herself along the end of the bed.
Getting up the stairs took more effort than usual, though considering Chris could barely put any pressure on his injured leg, Paris had been expecting as much. When they finally arrived at the top of the stairs, Paris steered them passed the bed and turned Chris toward the bathroom, closing the toilet lit and guiding Chris to sit down on it while he fiddled with the shower.
“I’ll try not to get your shoulder wet,” he said. “If I do, I’ll just change the bandage real quick.”
It took a few minutes and a bit of adjusting, and he was forced to help Chris out of his shirt and sling again to prevent either from becoming wet, but Paris eventually figured out a way to help wash the blood from his hair without necessitating a full shower or irritating either of his wounds too much. After a quick shampoo and a rinse, he was toweling it dry and aiding his ex back into his shirt and sling, and then leading him carefully from the bathroom to the bed, easing him slowly down onto it and comfortably under the blankets.
“I’m staying the night,” Paris announced. “And I’m sleeping up here. Scoot over onto my side,” he said, motioning to the half of the bed he used to sleep on back when he’d stayed the night more often, “so I don’t accidentally hurt your arm on anything.”
He gave no warning before unbuttoning his shorts and kicking them off so that he was one again in just his shirt and underwear. “I hate how denim feels against bare skin,” he explained. “I’m not sleeping in those. You’re just going to have to deal,” he told him with a small smile, flopping down onto the other side of the bed to make himself comfortable, though he didn’t get under the covers just yet. Instead, he looked over at Chris, staring at him closely. “Are you okay?” he asked. “We can talk about it now if you want. What happened…?”
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Posted: Fri Dec 02, 2011 9:23 pm
It could have been worse, really... Climbing up the stairs and then having to get help washing his hair. He felt useless and pathetic, something that he definitely didn't like experiencing. He hated asking for help and avoided it whenever he could, but this time he knew it wouldn't be possible without another set of hands. Well, it could have been possible, but he would have probably hurt himself even more and could have exhausted himself to the point of just... collapsing.
So for those reason he was even more grateful to Paris for coming to his aid. He would have to make it up to him, somehow.
Chris let Paris help him with his hair, making sure to scrub as much of the dried blood and dirt out as possible. He still felt gross and doubted he would feel better until he was able to take a full shower, but with fresh wounds and even fresher stitches, he needed to be careful. He didn't want to end up going back to the hospital because he hadn't waited for his accelerated healing to kick in.
He had no argument for when Paris announced his staying the rest of the night, although it was really early morning by that point. Hell, he wouldn't have felt comfortable letting Paris head home on his own after what had happened. What if Painite was lurking around, waiting for someone to stray into her path? Camelot had her retreat, but who knew if she was going to come back looking for more.
As much as he wanted to roll his eyes at Paris and his walking around in his underwear and staying int he same bed as him, he couldn't. Not when he still needed him to help him out. He supposed he could call his parents, but... he didn't want them to fuss and worry and think he was incapable of taking care of himself.
His left hand lifted to place it over his chest when Paris asked about what had happened. He had every right to know, and Chris glanced over to him for a few moments before turning to stare up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure he could watch Paris's expression as he spoke, already embarrassed for getting his a** kicked...
"General Painite attacked me with her spear," he told him, although that was probably pretty obvious... "I couldn't fight back... and..." A cold, haunting feeling sent chills up his spine. Imagining his own chest as a hallow shell was... not a very pleasant thought. Much less imagining anyone else having to go through that. His hand clutched rightly to the front of his shirt, as if that would somehow prevent someone else from sticking their hand inside. "She knelt in front of me and stuck her hand in... But Camelot stopped her..."
He stared blankly at the ceiling, trying not to be upset about something that had already come and gone, but the feeling was still there.
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