“Are you okay?”
You approached him like one would a wounded animal – softly, slow with your movements. Blood aside, you’d never seen him like this.
He had wanted to lie and tell you “yes.” But he knew he couldn’t lie to you, not when his eyes were already watering and the blue was ablaze against that deep crimson. Not when you looked at him like that. His head was shaking, as he managed to choke out “No.”
The bag in his hand dropped to the floor, startling Dodger, as you rushed to Chris’ side, catching him before he crumbled.
You didn’t care much about stains – Chris’ white shirt was already beyond saving, spattered and tinted pink – because much like Chris, you, too, were dressed in red.
“Hey,” you said softly. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
He was almost reliant on you to move anywhere, resting his body on yours. Letting you support him. He knew that his legs wouldn’t work on their own.
You sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, and grabbed some towels. They were old, and you told yourself you always liked pink anyways as you ran them under warm water in the sink.
Chris was silent, staring into dead space when you returned.
Smoothing the towel over his face, careful to not hurt him or be too harsh, the fake blood came off easily. You found yourself tilting his head for him. He was motionless, like a rag doll.
“What happened?” You asked him cautiously.
“Nothing,” he stated, eyes still watering. And you found that you believed him. But you also realised just how hoarse his voice was. “Just… bad day.”
You knew the kind, even had your fair share. And you knew he suffered from anxiety – and you couldn’t even possibly imagine the emotional toll of having to repetitively die over and over again for a scene might have taken on him. You let it be. He didn’t sound like he wanted to talk. At least not about him.
“Going out with Sebastian?”
You were wringing water out of the towel, watching the scarlet accumulate in the sink. Fuck, you’d probably have to let the boys know you’d be a little late.
“Yeah,” you said, giving him a small smile in the mirror. He was looking at you.
“You look very pretty,” he mentioned again blankly. There was a bite to his tone, but you were sure it wasn’t accusatory. Sure as you could be, trying to stay afloat in these unchartered waters of Chris’ emotions.
“Well, we’re going to a pretty place,” you shrugged, wanting the subject to change. You knelt down on the tiles to start on the gore beneath his fingernails and the blood coating his hands. “How did you get home? I didn’t hear the garage open.”
“Uber.”
You laughed lightly, but it fell short, feeling stagnant in the complete silence of the bathroom. “You came home like this in an Uber?”
“Yes,” he tried for a smile, but it came off as uneasy. You hated seeing him like this.
“They must’ve been terrified.”
YOU ARE READING
ocean eyes || c.evans
Fanfiction"He looked at her the way an immortal would describe Galileo's first look to the Milky Way. And if you hadn't been so entranced by the splendor of it all, that look that Robert wore would seem familiar. Because right beside you, Chris was looking at...
