Chocolate Pudding
Chris sees himself for the first time a few days later, deep dark scars on his shoulder, spider webbed looking bruises collecting on different parts of his torso. He doesn't look like himself, eyes puffy, rimmed red and dull. Chris guesses it's better than being too pale and blue, six feet under in a box.
He's lost most of his appetite, nibbling on carrot sticks for majority of the time when he can actually stomach anything. They keep him doped up most days, when the phantom pains keep him crying for hours as he struggles with seeing the prosthetic as a detachable part of himself. Chris doesn't dream, doesn't have the nightmares he thought he would but Chris figures watching Josh wander away from him in a white room is just as bad.
August visits a lot, even after he's discharged, bringing Chris comic books to read and sneaking in a DS when the doctors aren't paying attention. Chris spends a lot of time playing Pokemon, leveling up in between physical therapy sessions with Dr. Ven. He named his Eevee, Josh, and it involves into a Sylveon.
Emily visits him later that week, after an exhausting physical therapy session. She doesn't bring up any uncomfortable conversations, quietly going over events in the town and how Thanksgiving break is coming up.
"You slept through Halloween. Congratulations you didn't have to go to a boring ass party this year." Emily says dryly.
Chris chuckles softly. "Didn't know you considered your own parties boring?"
Emily cocks an eyebrow at him. "When half the people I care about aren't there I tend to not give as many fucks."
Her words melt his insides. "How's Jess?"
"Uh, she's, uhm, good." Emily tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "We're kind of dating now."
"Oh wow. That's great, Em."
"Yeah." Emily smiles. "Things have been put in perspective."
Chris can understand that. He's been trying to figure out how to communicate with Josh beyond telepathy because clearly that wasn't working. Emily straightens, hands folded in her lap. She glances at the door, before turning to Chris, eyes glistening.
"You're the only reason I'm alive, Chris. The reason any of us in that room are alive."
"I dunno, Em. You were pretty brilliant." Chris says with a shrug.
Emily shakes her head. "A lot of luck."
"I couldn't of done it without you." Chris tells her. "You're the reason Josh came back. You're the reason that thing is gone, Em. I'm just the honorary chew toy."
"Yeah, well, that's a pretty important role too."
"That's my girl."
Emily curls her lips in disgust. "Ugh, Chris. Jesus, we were having a moment."
The next time Emily comes, she brings Jess and Mike, who drool over Chris' prosthetic with a borderline creepy level of interest. Sam comes the time after that, then Ashley, then Matt, until eventually they're all visiting together and crowding Chris' hospital room. Chris keeps looking at the door, expecting Beth or Hannah to walk in one day and join them but he only ever sees his dad or a doctor.
They discharge him once he's fully able to use the prosthetic, handing him a prescription for the nightmares he has sometimes and pain killers, August being overly enthusiastic the entire drive back home. Chris doesn't talk as much, but nods and listens to the chatter that prevents his mind from wandering. It's not until he's back in his room, standing in the doorway, staring at the bleak colors and usual arrangement of order that it kind of hits him.
Chris isn't sure how he's supposed to bounce back from what he's gone through, how any of them are supposed to come back from that. What was normal when you've seen hell and it looked like your best friend?
Chris tries and fails at developing a routine, a semblance of order but it ends up stressing him out so he plays video games, watches movies from a list Matt sent him a few days ago and tries not to think about how sometimes he wakes up on the floor, body drenched in cold sweat, panicky with a scream lodged in his throat.
Chris barely remembers his nightmares. He doesn't want to. But it's hard when the person you miss the most is involved with each fear, each conditioned horror that haunts your subconscious. Chris listens to Josh's voicemail afterwards sometimes, when his heart rate slows and he can actually close his eyes without tensing up. He'll listen quietly until falling asleep, secure with the fact that Josh will always sound the way he does in voicemails because he's human. He's Josh.
"So," Sam stumbles through his window. "I have the answer."
Chris is on the floor, legs folded underneath him. He's in the middle of an online 1v1 match on Tekken. Chris glances at her, then at his closed bedroom door. He tries not to laugh.
"I have a front door."
"Oh shut up." Sam snaps, swinging her leg inside. There's a book bag on her back, a tote full of flowers underneath her arm. Chris hears his character wipe out, distracted by all the shit she's pulling into his bedroom.
"What's that?" Chris gestures to the empty frames sitting on his bedroom floor.
"Uhm." Sam says. Chris stares at her.
"Remember the ransom note? My prom ask to Beth?"
Chris nods. "Have... Have you talked to her?"
"No." Sam answers simply. Her mouth twitches downward. "Do you know how to press flowers?"
"No."
"Well, bitch, you're gonna learn today." Sam smirks. She covers the ground in front of his closet with paper towels, fishing out a bright red flower with yellow trim. Chris doesn't know shit about flowers but he does know it's pretty.
"Come over here."
Chris shuffles over to her, video game forgotten. Sam presses the flower into the paper towel, folding another sheet over it. She pulls out a heavy looking magazine, opening to a random page before sliding the covered flower inside.
Sam lets Chris do the next one, a beautiful white flower with soft petals. He fumbles through her directions, glancing up at her with every slight movement. Sam smiles through most of it, passing flower after flower for Chris to cover and place inside a new magazine until her bag is empty and Chris' floor is covered in magazines.
"What now?" Chris asks.
"We should keep these in your attic. Check on them in two weeks."
Chris raspberries. "That's so far."
"Not like you're doing anything anyway." Sam counters, rolling her eyes. "Help me take these to your attic."
"My attic's scary, Sam."
Sam levels him with a look. "Are you kidding me?"
"Dude, seriously. It's scary."
"You faced a shadowy demon from literal hell and you're scared of your attic."
Chris raises an eyebrow at her. Sam clicks her tongue in annoyance before shoving his shoulder. Chris winces. Sam's eyebrows shoot up in alarm, mouth scrambling to apologize but Chris stops her with a laugh.
"I'm not made of glass, Sam." He's cried a lot the past three weeks but she doesn't have to know that. "Let's brave the attic. You and me, pal. You first though."
Sam bundles up most of the magazines in Chris' arm, hurrying him into the hallway as he struggles to look over the stack in his arms. Chris leads her down the hall, closer to his dad's room, staring up at the dangling string with a look of trepidation.
Sam reaches up to grasp it. She tugs once, twice until it pops open, ladder unfolding as it slides to the floor. A gust of wind whistles by them. Chris looks at her. Sam rolls her eyes. She climbs the ladder carefully, angling the magazines to where they balance on her arm. Chris hesitantly trails after her, unease settling in his stomach.
The attic is smaller than he remembers, smaller, more narrow and empty. Sam arranges the magazines on the floor, taking Chris' from his hands. He settles into the silence, the soft shuffle of paper fluttering against his ears. He doesn't know why he was scared of it before but it's been years since Chris has even considered coming up here, not since his mom died.
"You okay?" Sam asks quietly.
Chris swallows. "Um, yeah."
"I haven't talked to Beth or Hannah. They stopped answering my texts... I miss them. I miss Josh. I miss us. All of us, crowding into the kitchen on Saturday mornings and Melinda would complain that we were making too much noise but she'd always be smiling."
Sam stares down at the magazines. "I miss that, Chris. I lost my best friend and my girlfriend all in one day. You... You're all I have."
Chris missed that too. "Why did we make these?"
"If they won't answer texts, maybe they'll answer mail." Sam responds easily. "Do.. Do you think they will?"
"Yeah, Sam."
Chris doesn't go to school for the rest of the semester, mulling through thanksgiving with a constant stomach ache as August decorated for Christmas. He takes his exams on a Saturday morning under the lazy eye of one of the counsellors, wandering empty halls until he decides to go home.
Chris thinks occasionally the universe has some obstruct plan, some distant idea of how things should go because there's no other way to explain why he runs into Hannah on his journey back to the front office. Chris freezes, sleeves of his pullover rolled up to his elbows, prosthetic exposed in the harsh school lighting.
Hannah stares back at him, beautiful and radiant despite the soft bags under her eyes. She's in a pullover Chris recognizes as Josh's and a pair of sweats, hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. There's a folder tucked under her arm.
Chris finds his voice. "Hey."
"Hey." Hannah shifts her weight nervously. She glances at the entrance to the front office then back to Chris, gaze tracing over Chris' prosthetic. Her face softens, eyes flickering back up to Chris. Chris fumbles for something to say, the silence stretching between them. Questions like 'how are you' and 'how's Josh' burning the tip of his tongue. Hannah beats him to it, ducking her head almost shyly.
"I have a meeting.. So.. Um, I gotta.."
"Yeah," Chris nods slowly. "I get it."
That earns him a brilliant, grateful smile, Hannah giving Chris a lingering look before disappearing into the front office. Chris stares down at his shoes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and conflicted and he fights the urge to chase after her because it's been so long, too long and Sam is making frames out of the flowers they pressed. Flowers to send to Beth and Hannah and Josh.
Chris forces himself to leave, to walk out to his car, dragging his feet the entire way. He doesn't cry when he starts up his car, but it feels like he should. His dad isn't home when Chris returns, hasn't been around as much in general because jobs are a thing and unfortunately the world doesn't stop turning for anyone so Chris sits on the kitchen counter feeling numb and tries to ignore the longing ache in his chest. He missed Josh.
Chris gathers the frames Sam has already made that sit in his closet, packing them into his car with little difficulty. He drives to the post office instead of the dumpster like he considered. Chris labels each box with sharpie, purposely leaving the return address blank. The attendant glances at the boxes, then at Chris, before looking down at Chris' arm. She clears her throat, pointedly turning away and rings him up.
"They should get there by tomorrow. Considering it's the same area code."
Chris nods. "Okay."
"Might I ask what it is?"
"Just pressed flowers." Chris answers simply.
Her face perks up with interest, a small smile forming on her face as she places them on a conveyor belt. The attendant clicks a button, the rolling pins coming to life. Chris watches the boxes disappear around the corner, 1, 2, 3.
"I'm sure they'll like them."
Chris hopes so. It's the only thing he holds onto for the next couple of days. Sam sends him overly friendly messages about how he should visit her at her new job in the square because she has dogs who are big and fluffy and some that are small with thin fur. Chris doesn't know how she got a job or why but he figures people have different ways of coping.
Chris doesn't go. But he does enjoy each picture of poodles and Saint Bernard's and Akitas she sends his way. Instead he stays home, tries his hand at pressing flowers despite the unhelpful advice of Google. Chris ends up with a sketch pad full of them, colored imprints left behind as they wilt and die. Chris begins to put leaves in as well, bits of grass or a feather he stumbles across as he walks his neighborhood.
His dad walks with him sometimes, quiet and attentive to whatever Chris decides to talk about. Chris tells him about how he saw Hannah at school a few weeks ago and the attic full of dead flowers that are meant for her and her siblings. How he misses Josh and dreams about him and how it all hurts. August just pats him lightly on the back and tells him it'll be okay. Chris wasn't sure if it would be. It's not how he expected his first, actual relationship to end through blood and missing limbs but they haven't really ended it.
He doesn't know how this shit works but he sends another batch of framed flowers after Sam finds out about the first shipment. She had called sappy but there was a certain fondness in her voice that encourages him.
"Did you send the rest?" Sam asks, a loud bark sounding from somewhere behind her. Chris nods despite the fact that she can't see him, phone wedged in between his face and shoulder as he fights Scarlet on the TV screen. She falls to the ground, twitching sporadically as Chris attacks her with a pole.
"Yeah." Chris grits out, watching as she leaps to her feet, screeching loudly with wide spread arms. "Look, Sam. I gotta go this boss is kicking my ass."
"What are you playing?"
"Homecoming." Chris hisses, dodging an attack. "Shit, fuck, shit."
"I'll come by later. That okay?"
"Uh huh." Chris mumbles, barely catching Sam's by before he drops his phone to the floor, mashing buttons as he runs across the rustic grated platform. Scarlet is in her second form now, skittering after him with sharp teeth. Chris tries not to imagine how this was essentially how his life was not to long go. Just Chris didn't run, he threw himself into a similar set of sharp teeth.
Chris eventually beats her, cursing loudly a few minutes afterwards in his victory. His heart beats loudly in his chest, a wide smile spread across his face as he falls back happily. Alex Shepherd was safely back in Scarlet's plain, grey bedroom, just as Chris was safely back in Devil's Kettle. The monster was gone. They were safe. Safe. Safe.
Chris opens his eyes, the slow moving ceiling fan circling above him. He swallows thickly, reaching over to touch where his skin met synthetic felt. Chris sighs, sitting up slowly. He leans against his bed, staring down at the artificial limb nestled against his skin. Chris curls the fingers, flexes them, rotates the wrist and does it all again until he feels more okay.
The window clicks, wind rushing inside as its pushed open. Chris doesn't bother to look back, figuring it's Sam crawling through. She had taken to climbing the side of his house after the first time, avoiding any uncomfortable conversations with August. Chris understood. He also found it hilarious.
"Did you know they have veggie pizza rolls? Crazy right?" Chris says, taking the controller in hand. "I bought a bunch for you so you should eat them all if... you.."
The words die in his throat, head partially turned to the window. Chris drops the controller, eyes widening a fraction as he stares at who is sitting on his window ledge.
"You're doing it again. The staring thing." Josh says softly, eyes downcast. There's a private smile on his face. He's dressed plainly in a white, grey spotted t-shirt, a dark flannel cuffed to the elbows, jeans fitted to his legs, rolled up around a pair of dirty converses. Chris takes it all in slowly, the way Josh's hand reaches up to comb through his wild dark hair, the hesitant way Josh glances around the room.
Josh stares back at him, eyes tired, the ghost of a smile on his face. He laces his fingers together, setting them in his lap. Considering their previous encounter, Josh looks good, looks painfully attractive despite the fading scar on his face. It's fairly discolored, a few shades darker than Josh's skin tone but healed, barely visible. The bags under his eyes aren't as prominent, body still too thin, a bit taller but it's not encased in shadows or hidden underneath a white mask. It's Josh.
Chris is on his feet before he realizes, crossing the distance between them. He catches a glimpse of Josh's startled expression before he's wrapping his arms around Josh's neck, throat clogged with every word he's wanted to say for the past couple of months. They wilt and die with every shaky breath he takes. A warm hand rest on his shoulder, the other curled around his side, pressing him impossibly close. Josh sighs against him, burying his face into the crook of Chris' neck.
"Is this real?" Chris asks quietly.
"Yeah, Cochise." Josh answers.
Chris exhales shakily, staring out at the street. Josh's car sits across the street as it usually would. Josh is in his arms. Josh is here.
"Fuck." Chris whimpers, eyes sliding closed as a few years escape. "Fuck, fuck."
Josh hushes him softly, fingers coming to rest in Chris' hair as a soft cry escapes his lips.
"It's okay, Chris. I'm here." Josh whispers softly when Chris' shoulders shake. The tears refuse to stop, pouring out as the reality of the situation hits him. Josh holds him close, shifting his weight to support both of them when Chris' knees buckle. They stand there for a moment, wrapped tight up in each other, neither speaking, no sounds aside from Chris' soft sobbing.
Josh eventually moves them to Chris' bed, chuckling softly when Chris doesn't want to dislodge himself from Josh's form because this might be some sick dream. Which wouldn't surprise Chris given his minds track record. But Josh is still there when Chris opens his eyes after he lets go, Josh is still there, lying on his side beside Chris, quietly wiping away tears.
"I love you." Chris tells him.
Josh's eyes water. He cracks a crooked smile, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the other's mouth. Chris sighs into it, grasping the front of Josh's shirt with trembling hands. Josh doesn't taste like Big Red or Mt Dew, doesn't taste like winter. He tastes like wintergreen gum and pizza and home.
"I love you. I love you." Chris says again and again, lips brushing against Josh's and they're kissing again.
"I love you too, Cochise."