Aug. 10th, 2014

fuck_it: (duvet)
It's weird, how fast time can go by without you noticing it's done it. A year ago, Chris cut across streets, behind a church and its graveyard and found his own grave marker, sat there next to his brother's like it belonged. It was fucked, and it still is— he knows the markers are still there 'cause he's checked— but the day had turned out brilliant, in the end.

He doesn't know if he and Cissie ever would've kissed if it hadn't been for all that, so while it's fuckin' awful that it happened, he can't be angry about it, not really. He's got someone he loves now, more than almost anyone, and that probably wouldn't have happened without all that.

Chris turns up at Cassie's flat without calling ahead for once, two tambourines that he bought from that one store in one hand and flowers in the other. He can't remember the last time he brought someone flowers, but he should've done it before now.

He knocks on the door with his foot, since his hands are both full of stuff, but finds that it swings open, which is fuckin' weird.

"Cissie?" he calls, frowning, and walks in.

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fuck_it: (Default)Chris Miles

March 2015

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