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When he wakes up, there are still people on his floor, still drunk from the night before, and there's a notice on his door.

He's been evicted, effective today.

Chris stares at the notice for long time, standing there in his doorway with the sun and cold streaming in, still barefoot and shirtless from the night before. It's not as if he hasn't been through this a few times before. Though, something tells him that this time, it's got more to do with the fact that he hasn't paid rent since he turned up.

Turns out, the landlord's threats of chucking him out weren't just a load of wank after all.

Who knew?

He hasn't got a lot of stuff that's his own: a few shirts and some trousers, the tee-shirt from Cassie and the gold coin that was Jal's, and it doesn't take him long to pack it all up in a rubbish bag and head out. It's probably better if he does it early on, before the landlord comes by to make sure it's done personally, and before he can sort out the damage that's been done to his flat because of the party.

There are a few bottles of something leftover from the night before— and to be honest, he's a bit annoyed at the fact, fuckin' Darrow wankers— and he grabs one and starts to walk.

It's a liquid breakfast this morning, apparently.
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fuck_it: (Default)Chris Miles

March 2015

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