Counting The Seconds

Shit Happens

Content warning for implied sexual coercion, depressive ideology, and descriptions of dissociation

(Chris POV)

It was pretty damn clear that guy didn't have a clue what he was doing with Luca's hair, and it definitely put me on edge. The relief that washed over me when Luca was happy with it- fuck. I would've been pissed if some amateur barber fucked up his hair because he couldn't be bothered to learn or ask for help.

Once he's all finished up, I get him back in the truck and settled. And- shit, it's already noon? When did THAT happen?

"Hey love, are you getting hungry?" I glance across to the other seat, just long enough to notice how zoned out he is.

"Hm? Oh, yeah."

"Okay, what would you like to eat?"

"Food-?"

I sigh. I should've known better than to ask him that, but I still had to try.

"Uh... we could get chicken nuggets!" he says with a voice and a little smile that tells me he thinks he's being helpful.

"Angel, every restaurant within a ten mile radius of us has chicken nuggets. Could you be a LITTLE more specific?"

"I mean probably not, I feel like chicken nuggets are pretty self explanatory? They're just. Chicken. In batter, and fried."

It takes everything in me not to bust out laughing at his unintentionally smart-ass response. "That isn't what I meant and you know it."

"It's chicken nuggets!! How specific do I need to be? We could go literally anywhere."

"That's the problem! We could go anywhere, so where would you like to go?" He shrugs in response to my question, and I finally give up and pull into a Wendy's.

I help him out of the truck once we're parked and settled, and get him inside. There's not many people, surprisingly enough, and we get through the ordering line pretty quickly. He runs off to get a table practically as soon as I finish paying.

"Bubba- you just can't stand still for ANYTHING, can you?" My tone has a slight hint of annoyance, and I try to remedy it halfway through the statement: I'm not actually upset with him, I just worry when he darts like that. He freezes and looks up at me, startled and anxious, and starts babbling an apology.

"I- I'm sorry... I didn't mean to be difficult or anything and."

"No, hush. I'm sorry, my love. That was silly of me to be upset about, huh?"
He nods slowly, but I'm not convinced he gets the point.

"Hey, look at me," I crouch down a little, so that we're at eye level with each other, and lightly tilt his chin up. "You did absolutely nothing wrong, Luca. You were excited, and not only that but you were trying to help. You did such a good job, my love. Thank you."

His face goes red, like my admittance of fault flustered him. He nods again, mumbling out a little 'okay' or something similar, and slides into the seat he picked out.

Fuck, I hope he actually understands what I said. He shouldn't feel so bad about expressing his excitement, his dad has given him shit about it for ages and he takes it to heart. If I'm ever in the same room as that man... Well, I would do things to him I won't put on paper.

Eventually he gets his food, and much to my relief actually finishes it. I mean, to be fair, it's only a kid's meal. But I think it might be the first thing I've seen him actually finish eating since I took over caring for him. I have to take wins where I can.

After lunch, and a nap for him on the way, we get to our next stop. The shopping plaza. My kryptonite. However, he needs some actual clothes, preferably ones I didn't pick out for him because this kid has his own sense of style I've NEVER understood. I wake him up gently, much against my will since he actually needs the sleep. He grabs my hand completely unprompted as we walk to the first store and my heart does a little flip as if he just kissed me and called me his, and I realize today is going to be a long fucking day, in the best way possible. It's unclear if we make it through this shopping trip without an... ahem, pit stop (read: fuck session) or two, given that he has a habit of showing off his outfits whenever he goes clothes shopping.

((Pov switch!!))

Shopping was not something I wanted to do today. If it was up to me, I would probably be having a mental breakdown right now. Peopling is not my forte, and shopping malls require a LOT of it. So I'm basically screwed. However, I have someone I can push the peopling off to this time! So... maybe that'll help? Something tells me we're about to find out. The first store we go into is one I've never even heard of, which is NOT a great start. It seems to have higher-end, fancier clothing, much akin to what Chris wears, so I don't even realize that we're shopping for me initially. I figured it was just a stop to get Chris some stuff. Much to my dismay, as I'm still taking in the different styles and things around me, I feel a tug in a specific direction, and sort of just follow without thinking. I'm pretty good at that, according to my old friends. IN this case though, It was just Chris on a mission, so it's fine. It feels weird, thinking so clearly today. The last few days have been such a dissociative blur, that the number of thoughts in my brain is almost overwhelming as it is.

He doesn't ask for my input much here, mostly telling me to reach out my arm or stand up straight as he presumably checks the size of things. My eyes wander, trying to find something to focus on, but absolutely nothing in this store catches my attention. It's all dark colors. Even the ties and dress shirts, there isn't a pattern or bright hue in sight. All I really do is follow directions, bouncing on my heels or spinning in circles until he has a collection of clothes and we head to the register.

I don't really want to know what the price is, so I just keep my head down and somewhat zone out until we leave this particular store.

We check out a few more stores, but most of them don't really stick out to me. They're just your run-of-the-mill trinket stores and such, as far as I can tell. Other than their prices being even higher than most places I've been. I don't really see a difference.

Finally, he leads me to a store much more my speed: a Hot Topic. I think he laughs as I practically dart around the store, but I more or less forget about him as I look at all the things. The dark lights are much easier on my eyes, and actually help me see better as I pick out clothes and accessories. Chris drifts around, occasionally pulling something off a rack or flipping over a container, but he seems much more unsure here, as if he's not sure what to do. It's a little funny to see compared to his usual in-charge personality. After I pick out a few tops and skirts and such, he takes it all the the counter to pay for this lot as well. I didn't pick out much compared to some of the other places we've been today, but he seems satisfied with the few things I did grab. Once we're out of the store, I begin to zone out again. Pretty much my default state, to be fair. The next couple minutes don't really register, until we're in a quiet room and I'm in his lap on the floor.
I'm in his lap on the floor?
When did that happen?

His hands are in my hair, his face is so close to me his arms are wrapped around my torso his lips are on mine I can't breathe Ican'tbreatheIcan'tbreathe.

I hear his voice. It's soft. And firm. And familiar. This is safe, this is my person. The one who's texted me through meltdowns and breakups and lost friends and-

It's gone. It's just Chris. I don't know what I thought was happening. His hands are still on me, but they feel softer and more worried than the previous desperate grabbing and pulling.

"Fuck! Shit. No- I- Luca? Baby- I'm sorry-" The stuttered, half-finished sentences bring me back to reality, mostly just because of how odd they were coming from someone who was usually so clear and put together. Cold hands touch my chin and cheeks, turning it slightly and forcing me to look him in the eyes. "Fuck. Are you okay? I didn't mean to screw you up, I'm sorry-"

A harsh laugh echos through the room, bouncing off the walls. I don't recognize it as my own at first.

"Yeah, you did mean to screw me. I'm fine, don't worry. But... ask next time."

His demeanor changes.

"Don't you ever tell me what to do." He stands up quickly and I'm left below him, hands on the ground, knees scuffed from sliding across the floor, a look of pure shock on my face. He storms out before I can even begin to think of how to respond. My hand comes away wet when I rub my burning eyes, my cheeks hot.

"Men really don't change, huh?"

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