#c;chris

Continued from here. 

“Oh. Hey Chris.”

『❆』Mickey Milkovich

He HURT all over the place. He could feel the space where the KNIFE had entered his stomach. It is PULSING and THROBBING making Christian cry out in AGONY. The street fighting was always dirty, but it had never gone this far. His face was beaten in, blood caked under every free inch of his body. Under his fingernails, in his hair, within every crevice available. It had soaked his clothing, his body starting to go numb. This was it. He knew this was the end for him and all he could think about was everything that he hadn’t done. He tries to push himself upright, but his arms quiver underneath of him sending him back into the pavement. He barely feels the impact, using the last of his energy to roll onto his back, hand pressed over the wound on his stomach. He was starting to feel dizzy. It was too late-nothing of this world would save him now. His green eyes blinked closed on the black and white world that he lived in. he said goodbye to the grey that he lived him. He wouldn’t miss the monotone-wouldn’t let himself wish that before he died he at least got to see colour. 

@thebvdguys

Christan’s head turns up, looking at the brunet boy in front of him with long baggy locks hanging in his eyes. He licks his lips, amused that this guy seemed to be able to think he could tell him what to do. Between him, and the curly haired man in a guard uniform-this camp was going downhill fast. Chris didn’t give a shit about transmitting anything to the Ark, didn’t care if the people up there came down or not. He was solely against the idea of taking his wristband off because that's what was expected of him, that is what they wanted him to do. Chris chuckles, staring at the fire intently. The night was falling over the camp swiftly, and he was being bombarded again.

Christian is silent for a few moments, letting everything Mickey has just said wash over him. He bites down on his tongue so hard the metallic taste of his own blood fills his mouth. He takes a few steps closer to Mickey, turning his head on a slight slant. His green eyes lock in on Mickey’s Blue ones and he just stands there a moment. He feels the tension between them like a magnetic field coursing through his veins. Making him want to close the distance between them all the way. But he doesn’t. “What type of love do YOU want Mick?” The question is simple, and his voice is low. He wasn’t talking in general terms. Christian didn’t feel the need to spell it out for Mickey. The implication was there. What kind of love did Mickey want with Chris, what did Mickey want with Chris? Where was this supposed to go? His eyes never leave Mickey’s and he takes yet another step forwards, almost chest to chest with the other boy.