all things considered, chris has been doing a lot better than he used to be. he’s long since stopped flinching at even the slightest of movements in the corners of his eyes. he’s no longer startling awake, throat hoarse from screaming. most of it is over, he thinks, most days. a blessing, that is. but then there are days where he can’t even get out of bed. those days... he forces himself to. it’s the benefit of noelani, he supposes. in canada, he wouldn’t care. he distanced himself from everyone else, and no one was willing to stop him. here... well, it’s not exactly that he has someone stopping him. no one is, yet again. but that’s the point of him being here. trying to heal on his own and actually heal this time. forcing himself to put himself back together, into a semblance of a person.
he’s just trying to catch an emperor butterfly, the blue wings flapping near him, and it’s right as he’s got his net around it that he’s broken from the fixation at the sound of a loud, sharp crash. “ fuck -- ” he gasps, a desperate, heaving sound. associations are a cruel vice, thinks about heavy metal in his hand, a hot barrel pointed at his own neck. he doesn’t realising he’s repeating the curse word, he can only hope that there aren’t any small children with easily offended parents nearby.
he takes another sharp intake of breath, trying to steady himself. what a mess, a public disaster of a kid. there are too many people around that he can’t focus on a singular presence near him, but that’s just as well, as he slowly sinks to the ground.
