First Date
"I'll come with you to Etcetera."
Chris shakes his head, resting heavily on his elbow, chin tucked into his hand. He taps the top of his knee, trying to ignore the low grumble festering in his stomach.
Emily stares at him from across the table, eyes narrowing more and more with each passing second. Chris is surprised she's even here today, on Tuesday, when Emily didn't have class until tomorrow. Matt might've texted her. Matt needed to mind his business.
The courtyard is quiet, morning air blowing by as students stumble pass, some yawning, some pouring energy drinks into cups, others looking as though death came for them in their sleep but they still have a schedule to keep.
Emily clears her throat. Chris looks at her.
"It's been almost two months, Chris."
Chris rolls his eyes. "I'm never telling Matt anything again. It's not that bad."
"I can literally see your wrinkles." Emily gestures to his forehead, then points at the growing dark circles under his eyes. "You look like fucking shit, Christopher. You need to go."
"Em-"
"Don't 'Em' me." Emily snaps, eyebrows arching into a frown. "You're a danger to yourself and others around you."
All Chris is hearing is 'do you want to eat your friends, stop being a fuck baby' which is more or less what Emily is saying without being as crass as she sometimes is when she's convincing Chris that his anatomy doesn't work the way he wants it to.
Chris holds up his coffee cup, neglected and cold. The barista at their library's coffee shop made shit coffee but Chris didn't feel like going home or to Matt's, where he would be pestered and prodded much like how he is now. Coffee was good for suppressing the hunger but it wasn't a long term solution.
Emily snatches the coffee from his hands, pries the lid off and pours it on the ground beside her, ruby lips pursed. She reaches across the table and smacks him upside the head.
"I'm serious, Chris." Emily hisses.
"I know. Sorry." Chris sighs, rubbing the tender skin. "I'll go tonight."
Emily lifts an eyebrow at him. "I'll go with you."
"Em, no. Okay? I'm a big boy. I can go."
Emily stares at him, each ticking second revealing how little she trusts him. Chris knows she worries about him, has since he was younger. They were different, Chris a little more self aware while Emily didn't mind picking apart food from friend, didn't mind the rush that came with ripping a beating heart from someone's chest, listening to the dying gasp, watch the light fade from wide, terrified eyes.
Chris would call her heartless but it's hard when you're at the top of the food chain and your friends are your livestock. They were predators, man eaters since birth with the perfect disguise. It reminded him of the Land Before Time where Little Foot befriends Chomper and Chomper's mother tells him not to play with his food.
"Promise me."
"Ugh," Chris groans. "Don't you have other people to pester? Like Mike? Ashley? Doesn't she have a new blog post?"
"Don't change the subject." Emily snaps, impatience seeping through every syllable. "Promise me."
"Okay." Chris concedes, lifting his hands up. "I'll go after class. Tonight. Promise."
Emily holds out a pinky, a deep maroon, clipped short and smooth. Chris grasps it with his own, squeezing softly and Emily sighs again, forcing a smile onto her face. It looks painful, judging by the grimace that follows Chris guesses it was.
Emily didn't like to have these conversations with him and Chris didn't like listening to them but he'd rather it be her than Ashley.
"Since you're on campus, walk me to class?"
Emily clicks her tongue. "Fine. I have to meet Jess anyway."
Chris grabs his bag from the ground, lifting it onto his shoulder with a wide yawn. He knuckles the corners of his eye, blinking rapidly as he adjusts his glasses.
"How is that going? You and her?"
"It's going." Emily answers, rising to her feet. She slides her leather tote onto her shoulder, righting the loose folds of her cardigan.
"Ok? But, what does that mean?" Chris narrows his eyes at her.
"It means," Emily smirks. "Mind your fucking business, Chris."
"Ooh geeze, yes ma'am." Chris mock salutes, earning a low chuckle. "I'm glad you two got over.. The thing."
"Same." Emily agrees, rounding the stone table they were sitting at. She sides up to Chris, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. Her gaze is warm when it lands on him, eyes glistening a soft brown in the sunlight.
Emily links their arms together, pressing close to him as they walk. It's how Chris knows they're actually friends because Emily barely touches anyone unless she wants to fight them, or maim. Chris has only seen Emily fight once with her fists, in high school, and it was like watching a bear manhandle a bird.
"Jess said you're covering her shift Thursday." Emily mentions.
Chris nods, "Yeah. She said you guys have a date or whatever."
"Or whatever." Emily snorts, amused.
They climb the old steps towards Hilgbe Hall, passing a large fountain that's bottom was blackened by pennies. Jess said if you threw a penny in and it managed to hit the bottom, your wish would come true. Chris tried, once, and judging by the fact that he still woke up with the same nauseating hunger meant his penny did not reach the bottom.
A group of women hurry past them, hands folded over their mouths as they giggle, scarves wrapped snuggle around their necks. Chris' nose twitches, the soft smell of jasmine and buttered popcorn causing his stomach to churn. Emily squeezes his arm. Chris thinks he should've stayed home.
Chris' class is on the fifth floor of Hilgbe Hall; take the stairs because the elevator at 8am is impossible to ride in. He sits in the back, squinting at the sun's glare peaking through the glass. Emily sits beside him, nose turned up, and Chris knows she's staying for his benefit than that of the students filing in.
Emily told him once it was a matter of time before they were outed as Ghouls and the human friends they've made would turn on them because it's what "humans do in the face of death". Chris asked if she would kill them, Emily told him if it meant surviving but Chris has watched Emily hunt, watched her toy and torture. She may mourn their life after but it's similar to a cat regretting eating a mouse.
Chris fiddles around on his phone, scrolling through Ashley's blog, Predators Anonymous. It was a safe space for ghouls, where they could go to exchange information and experienced under the disguise of fictional writing. His eyes narrow upon reading of Doves infiltrating sector 7, which was close to here. Chris glances over at Emily, who is reading over his shoulder.
"Mike said the Goats were moving."
"That's still a stupid name." Chris bitches.
"Tell it to the art snobs who run it." Emily remarks. "Sector 7 is close to here, but I wouldn't worry."
"Who said I was worried?" Chris locks his phone. "The Doves never come this far. They track the Goats and try to capture one of them and fail and it repeats."
There had been more murders occurring recently, starting from Vancouver, bodies found in alleyways of New York ripped apart, heads being left on doorstops in Maine. Chris wasn't sure what was happening in the east side but it was getting closer and closer.
"Jack is involved. He'll go wherever the blood is."
Chris taps the top of the desk, smoothing the pad of his finger along the surface. It was disturbing, hearing about Dove sightings. Ever since Japan's CCG announced the discovery of the Aogiri Tree, a ghoul organization, the U.S seemed to be on edge about how to protect humans from Ghouls as well.
Old murder crimes were reopened and polished and weekly updates were posted to CCG's website in regards to newly discovered ghouls and a reward system on any helpful information. The U.S tried sectioning off states, setting up wards within larger cities but it was hard getting humans to join. They wanted to be protected, not to fight.
Regardless, sector 9, Philadelphia, unlike other parts Pennsylvania was relatively easy to live as a ghoul unlike sector 26, Atlanta, or sector 105, L.A. Chris had never met a Dove but he's heard enough about them from Mike and Emily to know he never wants to.
"I wonder why they're moving so close." Emily ponders. "The Goats never come this close unless they found something of interest."
"There's nothing in Philadelphia. It's Philadelphia."
"You say that about literally every state." Emily sighs. Chris opens his mouth to speak but his professor, Cathcart, is walking into the classroom, white hair slicked back, eyes steely and focused. He gives a friendly smile as he approaches his desk. Chris watches him setup, fingers tapping rapidly over the computer keyboard.
He liked Cathcart, liked his grandpa sense of humor and the knit sweaters he wore often but Chris would sometimes feel those cool brown eyes focus on him during a lecture, knowing and patient like a crocodile lying in wait. Chris didn't want trouble, he just wanted to graduate.
"Your teacher is you in ten years."
"Fuck, Em, he's like fifty eight."
Emily cocks an eyebrow at him. "As I said."
"You're so mean. I'm only 19." Chris pouts.
"You barely take care of yourself. You're going to look just like professor Papi when you hit 29." Emily giggles behind her hand.
A few more students file inside before Cathcart cuts on the projector, a man dressed in a Union uniform standing at attention. Chris can already feel the snore building in his throat. It wasn't that he disliked history but the inside of his eyelids were definitely more interesting.
Emily takes notes for him, studious even in classes that weren't hers. Chris watches her write, blinking slow and tired. She shoves the notebook in his face once class is finished, a sneer working its way onto her face. Emily calls him a bum, Chris agrees.
"Remember. You promised." Emily reminds him, trailing behind him into the hallway. "I'm serious, Chris. I don't want to force you to eat but don't fucking try me."
Chris has experienced that before, last winter when he was set on never eating a human again. Emily had kicked his apartment door in with wild blackened red eyes, silvery tentacles sprouting from the back of her waist like snakes.
"You moved next door to me for that reason. I get it. No bullshit." Chris sighs, scratching at the side of his nose. "I don't break promises, Em."
Emily rolls her eyes, "Right."
Chris holds the door to the stairs for her, Emily storming by with her hands locked across her chest. She spins on her heel, tapping impatiently, lips pinched into a thin line. Chris waits, door closing behind him. Footsteps sound from above them, stairs creaking as students hurry down them. Emily's expression softens.
"We're friends, Chris."
"Yeah, I know." Chris tells her, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He reaches out to touch her arm, eyes blinking up to watch kids stumble down the stairs. Emily steps away from him, fingers curled around the strap of her tote. She glares at a girl who tries to cut her off to the stairs. The girl freezes, stuttering out a weak "sorry".
Chris almost smiles, hooking his arm with Emily's. He tries to shoot the girl an apologetic look but Emily is tugging him down the stairs, expression dismissive and stoic. The silence between them is palpable, minutes of quiet thoughts passing through. Chris could call Emily his best friend and most days she's more understanding than Ashley and maybe it's because they grew up together, maybe it's because they were family and always had been.
"Heard you have a hot date?" Emily inquires.
"Man, Matt is giving out all the business." Chris mumbles, nodding his head. He had a date, tomorrow night, with Matt's roommate, Josh. Chris would like to say they met on ideal, romcom terms but it went more like Josh answering the door at 7am in nothing but the tightest pair of briefs Chris had ever seen and Chris staring way too hard and way too long before Matt arrived to save him from himself.
They barely had a conversation beyond Josh leaving for class, shooting a crooked smile Chris' way as they pass. But eventually Josh shoved a crinkled up sheet of paper into Chris' hands and said 'call me'. Matt laughed the entire time.
"He's hot." Emily mentions.
God yes. "Yeah. Matt wouldn't have ugly roommates."
"True, true." Emily agrees.
Jess is waiting outside Hilgbe, legs folded underneath her as she types on her phone. She's sitting on a bench, surrounded by different groups of people talking. A pair of dark sunglasses sit on her head, blonde hair braided back. Jess' nose twitches once they exit, immediately looking up, pale complexion brightening with a soft tint of pink.
Chris waves at her, releasing Emily's arm. Emily turns to him. They exchange a look. Jess smiles knowingly from where she sits, shooting finger guns at him.
"I'll keep it." Chris tells Emily. "Don't think first date would go that well if I'm chomping on his insides."
It's a bad joke, considering the glare Emily shoots him. He pats her shoulder.
"I'll keep it, ok?"
A look of doubt crosses Emily's face but she nods, lips twitching into a small smile. Emily makes her way over to Jess, Chris follows the line students making their way across the courtyard. He buys another coffee, sips it throughout the day when heads keep turning each time a vicious growl erupts from his stomach. His mind refuses to cooperate, half listening to lectures, half categorizing each major artery in his professor's body. Chris skips most of his classes, locking himself in bathroom stalls when he has to gnaw on his fingers to stop from yanking out someone's jugular. He bites to the bone, hand trembling from pain.
There is no comfort when his fingers heal back, slower than usual, crude stitches of cells melding back together.
Chris trudges home, nose buried in the neck of his turtle neck. His are nostrils flared, unable to stop the deep inhale that tickles at his tongue, his ribs, the watering sickness that fills his mouth when people are near. Emily was right. He's an idiot.
Chris calls Mike once he's back in his apartment, slumping down to the floor as his back hits the door, jaw clenched tight.
"Hey, man. Just got out of class." Mike answers, voice pleasant and deep.
"Because I'm afraid of Emily actually killing me-"
"God, if this is about what I think it is about, she will kill you." Mike muses.
"Mikeee." Chris groans.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just saying. I dated her." Mike laughs into the receiver. "Speaking of, I heard you have a date?"
"News travel fast." Chris sighs.
"Sure does. No wonder you're not putting this off as much. Want me to come with you? Why couldn't you find a nice ghoul girl? Hunt together. It's the hottest thing, man. Watching the blood and-"
"Fucking.. Jesus, Mike."Chris interrupts, kicking out his legs. "Just. Meet me there please?"
"I'm just sayin'," Mike snickers. "Nice to know I'm your first choice."
Honestly Mike was his only choice. He kept it simple, would comment on new video games coming out and ask how Matt was doing. Simple.
"Your ex-girlfriend watches me eat. It's creepy."
Mike laughs again.
"It's so she makes sure you swallow. My mom used to do it with me when I was.. 6? 7? Anyway. I'll meet you there at 9." Mike tells him. "I have class until 8:45. Will you make it? Cause I can-"
"Yeah, yeah that's fine." Chris rattles off absently. Mike huffs, sounding fond, before he mutters out a 'bye', leaving Chris to listen to the line fall dead, leaving Chris to mull over his life choices.
Not that this was a choice. He thumbs through unread text messages, listening to the silence of his apartment and the occasional gurgling noise he realizes is coming from him.
From: Washington
So. Tomorrow.
I have to reschedule.
"Color me disappointed." Chris mumbles to himself, heaving a sigh. He pockets his phone, pushing his glasses up to his forehead as he fights back a groan. His fingers twitch, digging sharply into the side of his face. Chris tries to breathe. It comes out as this raspy, exhausted noise.
Chris isn't sure if it's the anticipation of going to Etcetera or if it's because it's really been too long since he's eaten, but he finds himself outside, wandering the streets once the sun has set. It's nearly 8, which made an hour of waiting, and if Chris wasn't such an awkward shit he'd go to Etcetera himself.
The sidewalks are empty, most people avoiding staying out after dark ever since the first American ghoul was discovered nearly five years ago. It was funny watching the government scramble to take back every press release in regards to ghouls, every claim that it was just a foreign thing. But ghouls have been lurking in the history books for a while, have been hunting and feeding and every missing person was most likely digested.
Chris ends up in an area he barely recognizes, tall brownstones lining the sidewalk, blue and brick or brown and stone. Trash litters the ground, tin cans knocked over. A TV plays loudly from an open window, loud laughing a voices moving in and out as Chris walks farther away. He checks his phone.
From: Beetlejuise
They let us out early.
I'm heading there now.
Chris nearly fist pumps the air. He hurries to type back, smiling widely, as he swipes at his phone. Chris pauses on the sidewalk, inhaling deeply. He tenses up. His stomach clenches, saliva swelling along his tongue, nose twitching and he smells it.
Blood.
Chris' lips tremble around a whine, heart rate spiking as the smell grows stronger and stronger, legs moving without his mind to stop it. The dulled clatter of his phone falling is a distant noise in his ear, eyes darting around to find the source. It's coming from behind a small business building named Franklin's Insurance.
A faint whimper thunders in his ear, soft begging drowning inside Chris' mind like a siren's call. His legs move faster, thoughts jumbling and colliding and he rounds the corner. The scent grows stronger, soothing and sweet and-
Chris' mouth falls open, eyes locked on the dirtied face of a sobbing young man, who is pushing himself backwards, backwards from a tall, lean woman. He looks painfully familiar, cheeks red, bruised, bottom lip busted and trembling as he tries to move but Chris' chaotic mind isn't placing him. The woman turns to Chris, sclera black, red veins running along her skin, irises scarlet and burning.
There's a dull, rustic blue kagune emerging from her lower black, twitching sporadically as it snakes towards the man.
Bikaku, classification: tailbone; coccyx.
It twists around his ankle, yanking roughly. Chris winces, hearing the quiet drag of nails along the cement, hearing the loud pounding of that man's heart in his chest.
"What's going on?" Chris hears himself saying. He doesn't know why he does, usually prides himself on not being around when other ghouls are hunting or feeding or anything dead human related but this human was alive, alive and staring in horror at the woman, teeth chattering loudly.
"We can share, sweetie. You look like you need it." The woman giggles, curly black hair falling into her face. She smirks devilishly, licking the tips of her fingers as she drags the man closer. Chris cringes at the sound of hands slapping the cement, the frantic cry that presses into the air.
"N-No, please, f-fuck, no, no." The man whimpers helplessly, nails cracking and breaking along the concrete. "N-No, no, please no."
It shakes Chris to his core, the smell of blood and imminent death weighing heavily in the air. Chris should leave, should call Mike and forget about this night. Realistically, Chris isn't sure he could take her even if he did decide to play hero, his mom's voice ringing in his head:
The snake is captured by the bird, the bird is killed by the bear, the bear is bitten by the spider, the spider is eaten by the snake.
The woman's kagune tracks back, swirling, fluid and graceful like a cat's tail, the glint in her eyes eager. She stares at Chris curiously, body thin and frail and Chris knows she hasn't had the best month either.
The man shuffles back, fear etched onto his face, blood seeping from a deep cut in his thigh. He stares at Chris, wide eyed, hard jaw clenched tight in pain. There's a look in his eyes, the vague registration of recognition. A sharp 'tsk' resounds in the air, her kagune whipping through the air to jerk the man towards her. He goes screaming, voice broken and hoarse.
"C'mon, honey, a girl's time is valuable." The woman says but she's distracted, focus directed to the scrambling human. Chris is surprised he's still fighting, Chris is surprised he's still standing here.
Chris takes a step back, then another, noticing the flicker of disappointment crossing the woman's face. He spins around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders pinched tightly together. He tries to relax, movements sluggish and slow, mouth salivating as the smell follows him, like an appetizer, the teaser before the main course.
Chris shakes his head from those thoughts, grinding his teeth together. He can hear that woman giggling, the soft slice of flesh tearing, the man's broken voice. The "please, please, please" sounding in Chris' head like a soft lull. He tries to ignore the sound, chewing on his bottom lip until it bleeds. He should visit Matt's afterward Etcetera, watch a movie with him and his-
Chris' stomach lurches, eyes widening slightly as he realizes where he recognizes the man from. Matt's apartment. Josh. A gasp lodges its way into his throat, a flurry of quick smiles and slight waves forming in his memory.
"Shit." Chris mutters. "Shit. Shit. Fuck."
He heads back, trying to ignore the sadistic words rolling off the woman's tongue, the stuttering, choked begs. It's harder to ignore the smell of blood, it burns along his throat, stomach cramping and yearning and he shouldn't be saving anyone right now.
The woman is straddling Josh's waist, delicate fingers wrapped around his throat, kagune curling and uncurling. Her voice is loving, tender as she speaks and Chris thinks maybe she's waited too long too to eat because she hardly registers Chris' presence the second time.
Josh's eyes are squeezed shut, skin pale, smeared red. Chris' fingers twitch, cringing at how hard his stomach twists up at the sight. He blinks furiously, weakly tugging his glasses off as he tries to concentrate. His mind blanks, kagune sliding underneath his sweater, pale and white, glossy like the sky on a rainy day. It's painful, skin ripping open like an old wound. He could only manage two, thoughts too far gone, tentacle cutting soundlessly through the air.
Rinkaku, classification: waist; scaled tentacle.
The woman stills, dropping the man's head with a wet gasp, a dark red stain blossoming along the back of her shirt. She glances down, watching with a muted cry as her chest splits open, splatters of red dripping onto the man's chest, staining her chin. She was weak, Chris thinks, weak and hungry.
"Ooh. Oooh." The woman moans, tossing her head back. Her eyes roll towards him, pain and anger etching across the paling skin of her face.
"Sorry." Chris manages, watching her shoulders part, dribbles of red and bone separating as his kagunes split inside her body, the right one curving along her jaw, through her nose as the left tugs and pulls slowly. She doesn't scream but Josh does, barely, the weakened, raspy cry of a dying dog.
Chris collapses to his knees, senses overwhelmed, the dark stains of blood grinding along his mind like sandpaper. She smells different than Josh, body separated from the waist up, split into drooling pools of red. His kagune is still inside her, slowly dragging her twitching body towards him.
Josh clamors away, elbows scraping roughly against cement, legs kicking for purchase. He hurries back until his back hits the dumpster, breathing raggedly. Familiar grey eyes dart back and forth between the limp body and Chris.
"A-Are you.." He doesn't finish, bottom lip trembling.
Chris can't find his voice, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He wants to tell him to leave, to get the fuck out of here because this day definitely wasn't going how Chris wanted. His stomach grumbles, lips parting without thought.
The woman's body lies in front of him, skin already beginning to regenerate, cells slowly moving to mend. Her eyes fixate on him. Chris glances back at Josh, listening to the rabid beat of his heart. It's a nice sound, a pleasant lovely noise.
Chris shouldn't think that, shouldn't be thinking that at all. He shakes his head, digging his nails into the tops of his knees. It's hard. To think. A jumbled crawl of need inching along his spine and into every pore, every nerve. He should've stayed home.
The woman tries to speak, Chris digs his kagune through her spine. Josh whimpers softly. Chris' skin prickles at the sound, absently licking his lips, mind honing in on one solid thought.
He should eat, he should eat, he should..
It tastes different, different than what his mom used to serve him on a plate, spongy, firm like tofu but it's the same, in between teeth, ground into bits and pieces that fill the hollow out pit deep inside him. It's the same savory, wholesome taste, warm and fine like duck, rolling along his tongue in waves of decadent flavors.
There's a muffled noise in his ear, something like a scream, drowned out under the crunch of bones. Chris coughs, throat coated thick with copper, elbow deep in intestines and broken bone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Chris isn't sure how far gone he was but his eyes are closed, stomach purring at how full it is. He doesn't remember closing them, doesn't remember much beyond crunch, chew, swallow. Chris doesn't want to know whose skin is underneath his palm, cold and wet.
Josh is quiet. Oh god. Oh god.
He forces his eyes open, heart crawling into his throat as he sees the woman's remains, lifeless, broken, clothes torn to shreds around what's left of her. There's blood on his jeans, his jacket soaked red.
"Ah, fuck." Chris swears quietly, frantically clamoring to his feet. Fuck. Fuck. This was bad. This was so damn- The sound of trash hitting the ground startles Chris, kagune whipping out instantly.
Josh stares at him, wide eyed, using the cool metal of the dumpster to hold himself up. He eyes Chris' warily, face caked with dirt and tears, terror quaking through his tiny body. A car door slams shut, causing Chris to tense up, the hurried panicked voices of people moving towards them.
"Fuck." Chris swears softly. "F-Fuck, I'm so sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry."
The voices are getting closer. Chris glances at Josh one last time, takes in the blood and scars and leaves, hurriedly climbing the back wall to Franklin's Insurance. He doesn't stick around, the high shrieks of a woman haunting his mind until he gets home.
Chris uses his bedroom window instead of the front door, immediately stripping off his clothes as he hurries into the shower. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Josh saw him.
Emily was going to kill him.
Chris calls Matt after, hair dripping wet, skin scrubbed raw. Matt doesn't answer. He debates calling Emily, calling Ashley or Mike, his phone blowing up with panicked text messages.
"Shit, dude, where are you?" Mike hisses angrily. "It's been an hour. I saw police cars zooming by me on the street."
"I fucked up." Chris rushes to say.
Mike doesn't say anything for a moment.
"Chris.. What.. What happened? What did you do?"
"Josh saw me, Mike. Matt's roommate saw me. He fucking-"
"Whoah, whoah. Slow down, bro." Mike says softly, tone soothing. "Take it easy. What happened?"
"I was.. I was walking and I could smell- I ate her. I ate someone, Mike, in front of my fucking date."
Mike whistles, "Ah shit, Chris. Shit."
"What do I do?" Chris' voice goes high, nearly hysterical, hand shaking around his phone.
"I'll call Matt and Emily. We'll figure.. We'll figure this out." Mike sighs heavily. "Don't leave."
Chris stays locked in his apartment for a few days, Emily's motherly tone destroying all his desire to ever leave again. He reads Ashley's blog for updates, any mention of what happened that night but none of it is mentioned. The only recent discussion is in regards to Jack Fessenden, the ghoul investigator who took down Makkapitew, potentially coming to Philadelphia.
It's nerve racking, waiting for news, waiting for a sign for Chris to get the fuck out of Philly. He plays video games online with Mike, who is surprisingly good at cheering him up. Ashley calls but he doesn't answer, knowing she's going to rip his ass a new one.
A knock comes to his apartment door, his computer ringing from Jess' recent IM about dropping by. Chris should've checked the peephole, should've asked who it was or thrown himself out a window but Chris opens the door without much thought, eyes going wide and large as he stares.
Josh stares back, deep bags resting under dull grey eyes, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Chris can see fading finger-shaped bruises decorating his neck, a dark scab crusting over a corner of his lip, scars healing dark red and nasty. White gauze peaks out from under the neck of his tank top.
"Hey," Josh says softly. "Can I come in?"