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 Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 1:10 pm
"s**t!"
Chris slammed on the breaks once he was certain he wouldn't be able to make it through the intersection before the light went to red. Sure enough, it was red before he even got to the line. If it wasn't such a busy day, he would have been tempted to go through, anyway, but him getting into an accident wasn't going to help anything...
He'd left the gym only ten minutes ago and was trying to navigate the city during the afternoon. It was no easy feat, especially when he was in a hurry. His heart was pounding, and his left leg bounced impatiently on the floor of the car as he waited for the light, hitting the gas and letting the wheels squeal just slightly as he sped off towards the direction indicated by the blue signs on the side of the road.
It had been a rather uneventful day until that point. He'd walked Anna, gone to class, and spent an hour and a half at the school gym, wanting to keep in shape to accommodate the extra inch he'd seemed to gain over the past six months. He was a little less than ten pounds off his target weight, and made sure to eat plenty of carbs and protein to try and give himself a little extra boost.
Now wishing he hadn't taken the time to shower and change before getting dressed, Chris had checked his phone for missed messages on the way to the car, a little surprised to see a total of four, all sent close to the start of his workout session. There were a couple of missed calls as well, but no voice message left.
The first was from Paris, and while the thought of a text from his boyfriend made him smile, the message within had his heart nearly stop.
Ross texting. Paris fainted. @ hospital.
Chris had stared at the words in horror and disbelief. Paris was... in the hospital?? He quickly opened the others.
CHRIS PARIS IS AT THE HOSPITAL CALL ME <3 MOM
Then one from Peter:
Dude, wtf is taking you so long? Answer you phone, loser.
And finally from Marissa, Paris's mother:
Idk what your mom and brother texted you, but Paris isn't dead. Don't freak out.
That was easy for her to say... she was already with him!
Regardless of Marissa's request for him not to freak out, Chris had practically sprinted to his car to head out, nearly backing over one of the other students as they tried crossing the lot without looking.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to get to the hospital, and then a few more to wait for Marissa to come down and get him. They wouldn't just let him wander in the hospital on his own, and when he finally caught sight of her, he went immediately with her. Any thing she might have said, any reassurances given fell on deaf ears. He didn't want to hear that Paris was or wasn't okay. He wouldn't believe them until he saw for himself.
He did hear Marissa say something about letting him have a few minutes alone as he entered the tiny room to see his boyfriend on the bed, looking white as a ghost, and hooked up to an IV. He felt as though he were just as white, and stared at Paris for a few moments before making his way over to the bed, sitting on the edge.
What should he say? What should he do...?
"Hey..." he mumbled lamely, reaching out to take the hand that didn't have the IV, holding it gently, nervously.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 1:44 pm
Paris did not like hospitals for one very obvious reason: the last time he’d been in one, his father had died during surgery.
Therefore, being transported from the dance studio to the hospital via ambulance after doing something so simple as passing out was not only embarrassing, it was also quite terrifying, and his first few conscious minutes in said ambulance—and in the hospital itself a short while later—had been spent actively arguing against the transport and very nearly refusing any sort of treatment, with the result that he had been given… something. He wasn’t sure what it was called—none of the nurses or doctors had felt the need to share that bit of information with him—but it was apparently meant to calm him down and actually achieved a fair bit of success in that department.
And so there he was some time later following the initial examinations, set up in his own room—and he didn’t know who was responsible for that, though he figured his mother or Momma might have insisted on it—propped up in bed in an unflattering hospital gown, with an IV shoved into his left hand and a pulse oximeter clamped gently onto his index finger, doped up on… something… and looking a bit like the living dead, what with how pale his complexion had become and the odd sunken look to his eyes.
Someone had called his mother—and, again, he didn’t know how that had come about, but he figured either Ross had stolen his phone and done it himself, or the hospital staff had called his emergency contact. The point was she’d gotten there first, and had spent the last hour or so sitting with him while the doctors explained to him every little thing that was wrong with him in kindly chastening voices that did nothing to put Paris in a better mood.
Momma and Peter showed up next, though they’d disappeared somewhere since then—the cafeteria, maybe?—and he’d seen Ross and a couple of the other dancers, but they’d left him to get some rest shortly after. The person he was waiting the most for was of course Chris, and though Paris was very happy to see him when his boyfriend finally came in the door, neither it nor the medication really did anything to completely squash the anxiety, nor did it quell the fact that he just did not want to be here at all.
But he didn’t say much, just leaned back against the raised bed and the surprisingly comfortable pillows and gave a pathetic, wan smile as he greeted Chris with a soft, “Hi…”
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 3:25 pm
He was terrified, seeing Paris like this. Seeing him hooked up to cords and looking so sickly... What could he have done to prevent this? What had he missed that would have kept Paris out of the hospital and actually healthy and happy...? Part of him told him that these things just happened... but another part swore against it, convincing him that it had been his fault for not being more sensitive to the fact that Paris had gone through so much in such a short period of time. That him not dying was a feat in and of itself.
"What happened...?" he asked quietly with a surprisingly steady voice. He sure didn't feel like he sounded. He sounded decently confident with understandable concern. Probably his subconscious keeping him from freaking Paris out even more. "Ross texted me... said you'd fainted... I... I'm sorry, I was at the gym, I didn't have my phone with me," he confessed a little more mournfully, sliding a bit closer to Paris and the pillows.
This was all wrong. Paris shouldn't be here... He was sure Paris could see the distress as it started making its way onto his face, and he leaned forward, reaching over Paris with one hand to support himself, and leaning his forehead on the pillows over Paris's shoulder. Yes, he knew he was probably crowding him, but... he wanted to be close, he wanted to offer him whatever comfort he could, hating that he hadn't noticed any signs that he was suffering and would end up in the hospital.
His throat felt tight and his face was hot. Just the fact that Paris was here in this hospital bed was enough to almost send him over the edge. Instead, he just tried to steady himself with a deep breath, squeezing Paris's hand that felt too cold for him.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 3:46 pm
The thing about whatever it was that they’d given him was that it didn’t stop him from feeling anything. He was still nervous and impatient and anxious as hell, and he had all the same thoughts swirling through his head—how abnormally clean everything was, how cold he felt, how he wished he could leave, how strange the IV felt and how something so small as an oximeter on his finger made him feel strangled and constrained, and all he wanted to do was rip it off and climb out of bed and go home.
But he couldn’t act on it. Not really. Everything was sort of… dull and foggy. He felt tired and sluggish and clumsy. He supposed he appeared relatively calm despite everything, even if he certainly didn’t feel that way.
Everywhere he looked brought forth memories of his father lying in wait on a gurney. Every sound he heard reminded him of the long wait and the inevitable conclusion. Every time a nurse or a doctor came in, he flinched back and expected to hear something terrible, something that would send him spiraling back into grief again.
“I was at dance,” he said, though from what information Chris already had he could probably formulate a pretty accurate idea of what had occurred on his own. “Passed out. Was unconscious for a little bit, I guess. They made me come here. I don’t… remember much…”
He’d woken up soon after falling, remembered seeing a crowd of concerned faces over him, but he must have blacked out again at some point because the next thing he recalled was being in the ambulance.
Paris waited until Chris had finished squeezing his good hand before pulling it out of his boyfriend’s grasp to raise it and place it comfortingly against Chris’s head. His left hand he kept very still beside him. He didn’t like the way the IV felt, or the trace sight of blood that remained from when they’d drawn a couple of vials upon first sliding the needle into the back of his hand.
It reminded him too much of that day with his father, not so long ago in April.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly, unwilling or unable to raise his voice very loud as he admitted, “I never stopped running.”
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 4:54 pm
Chris wanted him out of the hospital, too. He was too young to be worrying about things like that... Especially when they had to risk getting hurt as senshi and knight. As if he didn't worry enough that one day he would get a call saying that someone he cared for or loved was in the hospital or worse because of the negaverse and its youma. As if this war wasn't enough to worry about...
He froze when Paris apologized and confessed to running, even after he'd been asked to stop. He drew back enough to stare at him in disbelief, hurt that he would continue to place himself in danger, even after he knew that there were people who cared about him worrying about his health. "You... never stopped...?" he breathed, choking a little on the words as his eyes grew too hot and too moist for his liking.
The last time he'd cried had been when Eleonora had passed away. He remembered it clearly because he hadn't felt so lost before in his life... Of course, he'd only been ten at the time. Since then he hadn't shed a tear. Not at the Surrounding when grief had overcome him from the deaths of so many, nor in the more recent battle, when they'd been ambushed. Crying wouldn't bring them back, and while he didn't fault others for expressing their emotions through such a pure and powerful way, he'd held himself back, focusing on trying to protect others as they grieved, feeling like he owed them at least that small sense of security in such horrible times.
When Paris had revealed to him how he'd been lying about who he was, Chris had been angry in the betrayal. But now...? Now that he knew he loved Paris and would want to do anything for him, he felt so helpless. He knew it wasn't in Paris's nature to be spiteful towards him, but he felt a flash of betrayal nonetheless.
He'd asked Paris to stop... when he found out that he was making himself sick from running, he'd asked him to at least tone it down... Yet Paris had lied to him once more. He'd lied by hiding it from him...
Chris stared at his boyfriend until something hot rolling down his cheek made him snap out of it, and he quickly went back to hiding his face against the pillows over Paris's shoulder. He'd forgive him, of course... This wasn't about him, anyway. It never was... but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 5:52 pm
What was he supposed to say?
Everything he thought of seemed meaningless, and he didn’t know if it was because the drugs were muddling his thoughts or if it was because there really wasn’t anything for him to say in response. Any apology he could have come up with would have sounded empty, he knew, considering he wasn’t really sorry in the first place. Or he hadn’t been. Not until now—now that he had a reason to be truly apologetic, now that such careless behavior had landed him in the hospital.
He wasn’t even sure he would have taken it all back if he could. All the other times he’d ever lied to Chris… it’d been about relatively important things. Somehow this didn’t seem like that at all, not like when he’d purposefully portrayed himself as a girl, or when he’d kept his secret life as Ganymede under wraps even when he’d known for months who Chris was. Those two instances… if he could have gone back and done them differently, he would have. He would have been honest about himself right away, would have revealed who he was when Chris had.
But this was different, and he wasn’t sure how except that the source of it had come from a different place. He ran because he thought it made him feel better, and he hid it when he could because he didn’t want to stop.
Now, he supposed, he didn’t really have much of a choice.
“I’m sorry,” he said, even though he didn’t think it meant much to either one of them. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for it to get like this…”
That, at least, was the truth. He hadn’t done it to hurt himself; he hadn’t done it to hurt Chris or anyone else in his life. To see Chris with tears in his eyes… if Paris could have been more responsive, he would have tried to offer him more comfort. For now the best he could do what keep his hand on Chris’s head and hug him with one arm.
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 6:33 pm
He knew Paris hadn't done it to hurt either of them, or anyone else... That just wasn't Paris. He blamed himself more than he did his boyfriend. Perhaps if he'd been able to understand why Paris had such a need to run like he did, or if there was a way to help heal the wounds left by loss and sorrow. All he could do was stand by and try to make sure that he would be taken care of...
After making sure he had himself under control, Chris pulled back again, looking Paris over with a new kind of determination, as if he wasn't going to let something horrible happen to him again if he had anything to do with it. "What did the doctor say?" he asked as he reached down to pull up another set of blankets that had been folded at the end of the bed, carefully pulling it up to Paris's neck so he could get warmed up a little more.
Part of him hoped it had just been fatigue... He already felt too guilty, but knew the likelihood that there were other things wrong with his boyfriend was high. Even though he didn't want to, even he could see that Paris wasn't in his prime.
Did that make him a bad boyfriend for not looking for those things to point out to Paris...? Since he wasn't actively looking for Paris's faults...? If he'd paid closer attention to things like that, would Paris even be in the hospital now...?
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 7:13 pm
Paris released Chris as his boyfriend pulled away, sliding his hand out of Chris’s hair and dropping it back down to his side to rest limply. He settled more comfortably against the pillows and let the blanket be draped over him. The heat that had kept rising and rising earlier that day had left him by this point. Now he simply felt tired and weak and a little cold, as he always did after a fainting spell. The chill in the room was not unbearable, but the extra blanket was certainly a welcome addition.
He didn’t try to smile again, not in rueful apology or as some form of failed reassurance. Paris knew that the only thing he could do to make up for his careless behavior was to make sure it didn’t happen again. He didn’t know if he could do that. He didn’t know if, when the stress became too great, he’d be able to resist. It had become routine now, an easy escape—at least in those brief moments when he forced everything out.
Watching Chris warily, Paris answered his question as gently as he could. “The short answer is that I have appointments with a nutritionist and a shrink next week,” he said.
A lot more than that had been said when the doctor had come in to talk to him and his mother, but Paris didn’t know how to say any of it when the thought of it made him feel so ashamed. He’d answered questions as they were asked, listened to the observations as they were made, and tried not to feel too terrible when the results of his blood work came back, even as his mother watched him sadly and the doctor brought up all the things Paris wanted to heartily deny.
Malnutrition, dehydration, low blood pressure, low blood sugar, anemia, it had all been discussed. Paris didn’t think he needed to go into the details for Chris to pick up on what most of the conversation had been about. What he’d already said should be more than enough.
“I have to take iron supplements… vitamins…” he added, “… something to help me sleep… They mentioned other things, for anxiety and stuff like that, but the rest of it… I guess that’s what next week is for...”
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Posted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 9:31 pm
Chris let out a small sigh through his nose, listening as Paris spoke to him. A nutritionist and a shrink? Vitamins, a sleep aid, anxiety medicine...? And more on top of that? He shifted slightly on the bed, before leaning in to press a kiss against his boyfriend's lips, hoping that the simple action would maybe help calm him. He seemed too settled and out of it for him to be Paris... but if it was to keep him from stressing out again, then Chris was hoping Paris would be wiling to give it all a try...
"I'll be here to help you, okay...?" he promised, brushing back some of Paris's bangs behind his ear, and reaching back to fluff his pillow a little more. Er, he might need to warn him that he was going to be fussing over him now, too... but he was also sure that Paris realized that. "Whatever you need, I'll be right here... Absolutely anything." He paused, staring into Paris's eyes to make sure that he knew he was focused on him. "I love you, Paris... It'll be okay..."
No, he didn't think that something as simple as love was going to solve all their problems, but it made him true to his commitment. If there was anything he could do for him, he would. He kissed him again, as if in reassurance, when the door was suddenly thrown open. Chris, startled by the sudden intrusion, jumped off the bed and spun around, only to frown at his little brother and his box of crackers.
"About time!" Peter scoffed, popping a few more animal crackers into his mouth as he made his way over to where Paris was. He pulled a chair closer to the bed, but instead of sitting in it, he used it as a step to hop up and join Paris against the pillows.
He heard Chris sputter something about him being careful, but he just rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt him, jeez... Look, the wires are on the other side. You should answer your phone more often. What if something worse had happened?? Not that I would have wanted anything worse to have happened," he added quickly with a look towards Paris in apology. Besides, he was small enough to fit on the bed with him.
Their mother made her way back into the room, immediately making a beeline to capture Chris in a hug, followed by Paris's mother, who was just as cool as his mom, only a lot younger. "Are you feeling okay? Was Chris bothering you? I'd give you some crackers, but mom said the doctors should be in with food for you soon. I'll eat your jello though, since you don't like it," he offered.
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Posted: Fri Jul 27, 2012 11:24 am
“Love you, too,” Paris mumbled back. He managed a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips, but it still didn’t look like much of a smile, not like his normal ones.
Even having Chris’s support, even knowing that he wasn’t alone in this, it didn’t make him feel any less helpless. Beneath the medication he was being inundated with a great mix of emotions—anger and bitterness, frustration, sorrow and regret and disgust. All he could do right now was sit there and let it run its course, wait for it to wash through naturally when he would have forced it out before.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, and a terrible thought to think that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make things easier on himself, on the people he cared about. He didn’t like that he had no power over it, that he had no influence on his own thoughts and feelings, that he couldn’t rein them in on his own.
He tried for a better smile when Peter trotted into the room, followed closely by Momma and Mom. Paris didn’t much mind the company in bed, though he wished there had been room for Chris, too.
“No, he wasn’t bothering me. Just checking up, like you are,” Paris replied, attempting a playful nudge before he glanced over at his mother. “I want to go home,” he said.
She had that same sad look on her face that she’d had when she’d first arrived, nearly as pale as he was, though he was sure in her it found its origins in fear more than illness. He didn’t expect she liked the look of him sitting in a hospital bed any more than he liked being there. Her hands kept fluttering impulsively around her stomach when she had nothing better to do with them, and her eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed, though she was too stubborn to let any tears fall around other people.
“They’ll release you soon,” she reassured him, “once you’ve eaten. They said you won’t have to stay here overnight. I’ll take you home with me.”
Paris wasn’t sure how much he liked that idea, and he turned a pair of tired, sad eyes onto Chris as if his boyfriend might argue for him.
Marissa broke in before he could. “Chris can come, too,” she said, “if he wants to.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 27, 2012 2:54 pm
Chris closed his mouth when Marissa invited him to her home as well. Ah... well... As long as he was allowed to come too...? "Paris's stuff is still at our house," he pointed out anyway. "He might feel more comfortable there." He carefully extracted himself from his mother's hug, so he could back up into the corner of the room, not wanting his mother to make any comments about his own red eyes.
Her lip wibbled at her son's words, shaking her head. "It's only natural for a mother to want to take care of her child," she said with what seemed to be a dry sob as she fiddled with her hands, fingers rolling the rings on her left hand around and around. Still, she glanced between Paris and Marissa, obviously not wanting to stress either of them out. "Paris is more than welcome to stay if he wants. Or you're welcome as well, Dear," she included as she glanced towards Marissa. She did open her mouth again, probably to argue that it might be best for Paris to go with his mother, though... but she forced herself to stop.
Chris just watched in mild exasperation, eyeing Peter every once in a while to make sure he wasn't bothering Paris. "Should I go down and get them to bring up the food for him, then?" he grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. Ugh... go figure that Peter would hog Paris to himself...
Whatever, man. Paris was like the brother/sister he never had. Michael was so much older and always away, and Chris was just a jerk. Paris, though... Paris actually seemed to give a s**t about him, so of course he would do whatever he could for him. He was his mentor as well, so... It was kinda expected, right?
Of course, Peter didn't really want Paris to go home with his mother either, and he ducked his head down to focus on reading something interesting on the packet of his crackers. He didn't want Paris to be taken away from him, especially when he didn't know if he was okay...
It figured that Chris would be the one invited over to Paris's mother's house to stay with him or whatever he was going to do...
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Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2012 11:08 am
Last year, figuring out where to go for a little bit of rest and recuperation had been easy. Of course, that was because last year he’d actually had a place he could call home.
Now he had three places to offer varying degrees of comfort. The first, his home for the last two months, was the Gallos’ house, with all of its openness and sunlight and its kitchen that, depending on the time of day, either smelled of sugar or garlic or some other seasoning. The second was Chris’s apartment, and arguably the place he would rather be under circumstances such as these, but he wasn’t so far gone to the medication that he could ignore the voice of reason in his head telling him that he still had not succeeded in sorting out his thoughts on the matter of moving back in together. Until he did, it seemed a better option to resist the temptation in favor of a less precarious option.
The last place was the house he was currently least familiar with—his mother’s new house here in Destiny City. It was, perhaps, not the most comfortable of places to be in its unfamiliarity, but as picking between the three seemed an unfair choice to make at this time, Paris settled for his mother’s choice in order to prevent any forthcoming arguments. He could already see her gearing up to make her case—shoulders back, eyes sharp—and though he was pretty sure there weren’t going to be any hurt feelings on either side either way, agreeing proved to be much less of a hassle.
“It’s fine, I’ll go with Mom,” he said tiredly, hoping the lackluster sound of his voice would remind all of his guests that he wasn’t feeling well and it’d be great if they didn’t try to turn this into a debate.
His mother, at least, seemed pleased. She smiled gently as the tension quickly seeped out of her shoulders.
Thankfully, nothing else could be said on the topic, as the nurse chose that moment to wander in with a tray of food, negating Chris’s question. Paris briefly glanced over the chicken nuggets he assumed tasted like cardboard and the French fries that didn’t look firm enough for his liking, before passing his container of red Jello off to Peter with its accompanied plastic spoon after the nurse had directed him to eat and wandered back out again to get some paperwork ready.
“I don’t want to eat this,” Paris complained, poking at the chicken nuggets as he did so. “They don’t look very appetizing…”
“Baby, at least try,” his mother said. “I’ll make you something else when you get home, but you need to eat before then. Did you even have anything for breakfast?”
Paris shoved a chicken nugget into his mouth before Momma could mention the muffins he hadn’t eaten.
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Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2012 11:54 am
Peter watched Paris warily as he popped off the lid of the jello. Maybe he shouldn't be eating it if Paris needed more food...? But that would be mean forcing him to eat something he especially didn't want.
"Are you sure you don't want any, Paris...?" he mumbled semi-offering the gelatinous snack to him, just in case he was feeling adventurous. He bet that if he used his magic on him, he'd eat it... And just in case he was able to use said magic while not powered up, Peter reached out to press a finger against Paris's good arm, muttering the attack name just loud enough for Paris to hear. He eyed him curiously, holding the container up a bit closer to him, wanting to see if it worked.
"Thank you," Chris said in delayed response to Marissa's offer to let him go along with Paris to her house. "Just let me know if I can do anything to repay you... I can take out the trash, or change high lightbulbs," he offered with a sheepish shrug. Just because he didn't like cleaning up after himself didn't mean he couldn't at least help Paris's mother around the house!
"Dear, sit down please?" he heard his mother fussing over Marissa, obviously concerned about the stress she was putting on herself. It was just like his mother to continue to fuss over everyone... probably to keep herself from getting upset more than she already was. He felt bad, but it wasn't like Paris did it on purpose, and he knew his mother knew that as well.
Chris shot a glare at Peter for hogging the bed, and moved over to stand beside it, gently rubbing the tips of his fingers against Paris's scalp to hopefully relieve some of whatever tension he was feeling. "Faster you force them down, the faster you can get out of here, okay...?" he tried to encourage, really just wanting to hug him and fuss over him... but that was a little awkward with their mothers and Peter present.
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Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2012 4:32 pm
“Christopher, your awkward is showing,” Paris tried to tease, though it might have come out sounding a bit more flustered than he’d meant it to.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want any of them there. He certainly wanted Chris there, and he didn’t mind Momma being around, or Peter, or even his own mother if he were honest with himself. He didn’t want to be alone in a hospital of all places—the twenty or so minutes he’d been by himself before his mother had arrived had been more than long enough for him. Paris liked the company, he liked the comfort that came with it, the warmth he felt in knowing that everyone there felt concern and love for him.
But it was tiring to see so much movement and hear a few different voices, and even though the room was moderately sized and none of them should feel cramped, there were a few moments when Paris still felt crowded in. It had been much easier before when it was just he and his mother, or a few minutes ago when it had just been he and Chris. Now there were different presences competing for his attention and he had to worry about pleasing and reassuring them all beneath the fog of the medication.
He tried for more amusement at Peter’s touch and the sound of his young voice quietly muttering a phrase that had no hope in working now, and managed a snort and a roll of his eyes.
“Nice try,” Paris muttered when it had no effect, lightly nudging him again and wrinkling his nose at the offered cup of Jello. “I’ll eat it if you want me to throw up all over you,” he mindlessly threatened.
From her place in the chair Momma Gallo had ushered her into, Marissa made a noise that sounded like a strangled moan and covered her face with her hands to mutter something under her breath that Paris thought sounded like “I’m a terrible mother.” Momma rushed to reassure her, treating her in much the same way she treated Paris and her sons, murmuring quietly while brushing at her hair and calling her sweet names that were meant to be comforting and may or may not have worked.
Paris kept his mouth shut from that point on, filling it with as many of the chicken nuggets and overly soft fries as he could before leaning back against the bed and the pillows to tune everything out and doze until he was released. Thankfully he was kept for no more than another hour to an hour and a half, at which point a nurse came in to remove the oximeter and his IV—he didn’t watch her do it and was thankful for the cotton ball and band-aid that went over the tiny wound.
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Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2012 8:38 pm
Chris stood by as Paris ate the food that was brought for him, and waited by the bed as he had the needle taken out. Peter had been instructed by their mother to get off the bed and allow Paris some space, and then, once the nurse had everything taken care of and all that was left to do was fill out paperwork, his mother presented a pair of pajamas she had brought from home.
"I'm sorry I went through your things, Precious," she apologized, seeming flustered but not embarrassed enough to look like she'd found anything particularly inappropriate. Just the fact that she felt like she was invading his privacy without his permission. Her sons were completely different, as she'd given birth to them... but Paris, even though she thought of him as her own (probably Marissa as well, by the way she'd been trying to comfort her), she probably didn't want to cross too many lines that were not yet granted to her to cross.
She held out the pajamas to him, as well as a set of slippers and a houserobe, clearly wanting to make sure he was going to be warm enough. And then she ushered Peter out so Paris could have some privacy to change, and Marissa, still sounding a bit weak and upset, said something about getting Paris's prescription from the pharmacy as she followed the other two out.
Once they were gone, Chris turned to Paris, offering him a hand to help him out of the bed. "Do you need any help...?" he asked, before smiling weakly at the irony. "Kinda reverse from when I had that run in with Painite, huh...?" Because then, he'd had Paris help him... even though they had yet to decide on trying a relationship.
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