shifted_logs | (no subject)

Characters: Chris (

gotitwrong)
Location: Their flat.
Time: After this.
Summary: :| idk chris is traumatised always and forever
Warnings: ray and chris adventures

He almost enjoyed the walk home. It let him clear his head a little, try to put his thoughts in order, and figure out what he was going to do with Chris - as well as the body. Even though the div had tossed him back a grin and tried to sound like he was okay, he knew it was a bald faced lie.

It didn't help, either, that some paranoid part of his mind was eating away at him, saying he shouldn't have let Chris go off on his own, Chris was his responsibility, and he might get to the flat only to find Chris wasn't there. That maybe, maybe he had started just crying in the car and driven himself up a pole. And of course, it would be the fault of only one man: Ray Carling.

He scowled and hunched his shoulders. He didn't like those sorts of thoughts intruding on him, so when he finally got to their flat and saw the car parked, he couldn't help but grin. Of course Chris was fine. He shouldn't have even entertained the idea...

Ray jogged up the stairs and went to go in, only to find the doors locked. That was one thing Chris didn't usually do - especially when he had the keys. Ray sighed, and unsure if Chris was still in the shower or not, pulled out a pick. It wasn't the first time he had to pick the lock to his own door; though that was usually due to him forgetting the keys when he was still half drunk.

Threaded | Flat

Indeed, Chris was contented for now, much like a puppy finally given attention. In fact, he pretty much was a puppy overall but he didn't know that. All he knew was that the trauma of the day was pushed aside, at least for now, and that was all that mattered.

"Oh, yeah, that thing or whatever." Chris wasn't nearly as interested in it as he had been before. "Yeah, I'll clean up and get the set going. Probably order out, too. That all right?"

"Yeah, I can pick sommat up, since I'm gonna be out anyway." Not like anyone would notice black blood on his clothes. Dirt, maybe, but blood? They'd ignore it. Sometimes that little fact was a blessing.

Ray stretched, removed his arm from around Chris, moved his feet off the table, and shoved himself to his feet. "Where'd you put the keys? Had to pick the lock to get in, seein' as you had 'em," he said in a slightly teasing manner - an implication of 'you div, lockin' me out'. "And can't get anywhere without 'em. ...Or I can, but I don't fancy playin' a game of attachin' wires here and there for a few minutes."

Chris went and picked up the keys from where he had dropped them in his haste. He tossed them to Ray with a smile.

"All right, just bring back something good."

Ray caught the keys easily and shoved them in his pocket. "Nah, I'm gonna get somethin' that's complete shite just for me own amusement." He flashed Chris a grin before he left the flat, his mood sobering as soon as he began tromping down the stairs.

Within a handful of minutes, he was in his motor, engine sputtering and coughing - why he hadn't replaced the damn thing was a mystery to everyone, but now wasn't the time to think about that. Ray had business to attend to, and he got right on it. No point in wasting time.

When he finished the grim task, he stopped by somewhere to grab something for dinner like he said he would. Food in hand, keys in pocket, he jogged up the stairs and shifted his mood around to be the same good one he had when he had stepped out. Appearances had to be kept, even if he had dirt on his pants and shoes, more blood smeared on his clothes, and the like.

All he wanted was to give himself an air of this:

He had taken care of it. Whatever it was.

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