|| bloodflowers ||

// JC

Chris leaves again on a Wednesday.

JC doesn't know the exact time, but he knows it's late-- a scatter of fading stars across the sky, pale like ghosts, the air still and silent, burning silver-green in the back of his throat when he breathes. Someplace inside, he feels like 3am. That lost hour where there's nothing he recognises, yet everything is strangely familiar.

The witching hour, he thinks, when people slip down and away and through your fingers. Even when you're holding on so tightly your fingertips bloom bright with blood, they twist and they shift and they just go.

***

// Chris

"I have to go."

It was all he'd said, all he could say, all he knew. Just that he had to, before whatever was left turned into nothing more than empty words. Promises made, not yet broken, but soon.

Soon.

JC had watched him throw clothes into a suitcase- Chris still doesn't even know what he'd grabbed- and stayed silent. Just watching, curled in on himself, bruise-sharp angles and smudge-shadowed eyes.

"I can't make you stay," he'd said, finally. It hadn't been a question.

Chris let out the breath he'd been holding, then turned and walked away without looking back.

||

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