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the ticking of his clock; the red light from his lava lamp, enveloping his room in a sheen of dim red; the stench of sweat and sadness emanating from his bed; they all remind him of his mistakes, past endeavors. its melancholy. bittersweet at best. chris pulls on a dirty hoodie- its not even his, mind you- while he takes in the horribly depressing atmosphere. it leaves a hollow ache in his chest, creeping up towards his throat. chris understands how fucked he truly is. makes him wanna vomit.
he’s tempted to fall back in bed, to continue staring at his ceiling with the same blank expression he’s had on his face for two days now. nah. alcohol’s better than this, right? alcohol will make him feel something. anything. chris is sick and tired of the hollow expanse that is his chest cavity. a nice beer or two. it's not like he can go get them from his fridge. lucius stopped keeping them in the house after he learned just how badly chris will abuse any substance he can get his hands on when he’s sad. his brother will learn, however, what lengths chris will go to just to get rid of the ache.
the hallway coming out of his room is piled high with laundry.. god, how long has it been since he last did laundry? he hears someone across the apartment, “Hey Chris! How you doin’ man? you been hibernatin’ for a couple days now, you alright?” chris lingers outside his bedroom door for a minute before chuckling and walking out all the way. poor, naïve lucius. obviously he's not alright. they both know it. with the smile he's strapped across his face, he replies, “couldn't be better, baby! how ‘bout you?” the added finger guns make lucius laugh. he turns around to tend to something sizzling on the stove, “i’m doin’ fine, chris, you want some dinner? im making stir fry?” chris shrugs, “as much as i'd love to accept, pinkie, i'm getting dinner with sean at steak and shake. you and matt have a little date night, okay?”
that's a blatant lie. seans on a date night. lucius, however, is not clued in at all. he turns around with a content smile and leans back on the counter, wiping his hands in his apron and crossing his arms across his chest, “i’m glad you’re getting out of the house, chrissy. try not to get back too late, will ya?” chris smiles back, feeling almost guilty. that smile is too warm. he looks away, grabs his coat before responding, “will do baby bro.”
“call me if you need anything!”
“yes sir! i’ll catch ya later.”
he’s out the door.
he finds his car keys in his pocket, but decides not to take it. he tosses them in the hide-a-rock outside their apartment building, and starts walking the half mile to the nearest bar google could provide. he left his earbuds in his room, but he’s almost glad he did. it's cold outside, chill nipping at his ears and nose. he decides he likes it. an easy smile falls on his face when he stuffs his hands in his coat pocket. sun hasn't quite set yet, leaving an abundance of cotton candy colored clouds to decorate the sky. the sun, blazing hot orange, rests contentedly on the treeline; she paints the world around her with specks of gold and traces of her presence, almost a reassurance of her rebirth at dawn. chris hums a tune glued to the back of his mind, yet he can’t seem to place it to a song. with a look down to his feet, he’s decidedly not completely hollow at the moment.
when he looks up again, he’s face to face with the bar. just a little dive bar on the corner of an intersection, the kind of place you'd have one blurry little night and then forget about for the rest of your life. he likes to think he hesitated before going in, but that would be a white lie.
chris didn't think he’d get this drunk.
lucius picked his ass up from that bar. “i called sean, dumbass. he said he was on a date with-” chris waved him away, cutting him off with a sharp and harsh, “don’ remin’ me. jus’ gimme one a’ your stupid lectures, an’-... an’- drive me home.”
lucius... didn’t give him a lecture. he didn’t say anything for that matter. chris slumped down in the backseat of lucius’ car. shitty little hyundai. chris’ stomach churned with a mix of emotions, they entombed his whole body. entwined his bones in a scalding ache, an intense need and longing. his throat burned, his chest felt inflated and tight. his whole body felt tight. lean muscle, taut and unforgiving, clenched and screaming with the need to lash out. his brain is muddled. he’s swimming in his own need to drown. he’s hardly keeping his head above water. he’s bobbing, falling under, yet not long enough to succumb. he’s terrified. he’s angry. he’s sad. he’s desperate.
when they stop in the parking lot, lucius gets out and walks chris to their door. chris is struggling to say the least. tripping over himself. stumbling on his thoughts, and on the concrete. not like he's saying anything, though.
his brother guides him inside, struggling to keep chris upright. he spies matt, peeking out of their bedroom door. he says nothing to lucius about it. he’s fine, after all. chris is fine.
instead of leading him to his bedroom, lucius drops him on the living room couch. “chris, are you okay?” chris tries to give him an incredulous look. he rolled a nat 1. “pshh… ‘m fine, pinkie. lemme get to bed.” he stands, wobbles, and starts walking. a pair of hands on his chest stops him. “chris, tell me why you went out to drink.”
“what? is a man not allowed to go out to drink now?”
“you don't even like drinking. you do it when you get sad.”
chris shoves past him, making his way into the hallway. he stumbles like a toddler taking his first steps.
lucius stops him, yet again.
something works its way up, and it's not going to be good. his heart aches. he aches. his body, mind, and soul ache. his throat burns; it travels up, up, behind his eyes. it travels down, capturing his fists, clenching them until his nails dig crescent moons into the palms of his hands.
he throws his arm. he throws his whole body. his fist reaches out towards his right; the thing leaves a dent the size of a softball, along with traces of red.
he may have possibly hit a stud.
“chris.” lucius hisses out, through clenched teeth.
“stop.. tryna get in my business all the time! just let me be sad! let me-”
a sob racks through his frame.
shakes him to his core.
the tears fall once he does.
he’s on his knees, on the ground, doubled over on himself.
he wants to be over with. over and done. maybe he can just sleep forever. he’s ugly crying now, heaving, choking. lucius says something to matt about going to bed, and picks up chris. “cmon, bud. up and up. tell me why you've been hiding for so long.” chris leans headlong into the contact, burying his face in the crook of his brother’s neck. he’s latched on tight now, like a monkey to the back of its mother. nothing can stop the flow of tears. not even the sweet voice of his mother. not even the kiss of the one he wants most. it's all on the table now. his emptiness is replaced with a deep, dark ocean of desperation, sadness, terror. he’s overwhelmed. his heaving is periodically interrupted by hiccups or sobs. lucius sits him down on his bed, and sits with him, petting his hair until he calms down enough to get out a syllable.
he’s still crying a river by the time he manages to get it out.
“i love ‘im.”
“sean?”
a nod.
“i knew. i know, now. i didn’t think it was this bad.” he stops with a sigh, ruffling chris’ hair. he was now laying his head in lucius’ lap, hiccuping and choking on his breath. he’s shaking. “let me get you some water, okay dude? i'll only be back in a minute. change into some pjs while i'm gone, please.” he stands up, leaving a puffy eyed, still drunk chris in his wake. he grabs onto his brother’s sleeve. “please don’ leave me alone.” lucius smiles a shaky little smile. “i won’t, you big baby. put on some pajamas for me.”
when chris wakes up, he’s met with a blanket bed on his floor, a huge glass of water on his bedside, and a hammering headache.