Young Writers Society

I've been meaning to post this for a while. More Chase! Enjoy~

Chapter Three: A Serious Phone-call (Part One)

Chase stood under the shower, letting the water pelt him in the face. He'd given Eric his old clothes and was in the bathroom, trying to get the squished-in banana peel out of his hair. It was only partially working. He'd have to wash it with shampoo again. At least he'd gotten most of it out, and all the blood.

"So," Eric called out over the sound of running water. He stood on the other side of the glass shower screen, looking at the pistol. Chase had seen him pull it out of his pocket just before he'd closed the glass door. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He spent a long moment thinking about that, trying to recall the last thing he was doing. "I was in my mother's office," he called back, tilting his face up into the spray to get the last of the blood off his face. It had been caked down the side of his face, hidden by his hair. He tilted his head forward so he could work on the banana peel more. "I was reading her diary."

Eric was silent for a long moment after that, so Chase leaned over to pull the glass door open. His boyfriend look at him and sighed. "That's where we found the blood. We had it tested to make sure," he said, gaze dropping to the bagged pistol. "It was yours. That's why we were worried."

Chase chuckled and slanted him a look. "Yeah, I could tell. Ten calls and nearly two-hundred messages." He sobered up and retreated to the shower. "You better call my sister and tell her you found me." He closed the door and ducked under the water, drowning out Eric's reply and the phone-call he made a moment later. He didn't want to hear Hazel rant about how he was a horrible brother yet again. Chase sighed and shut the water off. He listened to Eric say goodbye to his sister before opening the glass door. "Well?"

His boyfriend sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Chase watched the other man as he pushed off the bathroom cabinet. "She's not happy, but she says you're safe, at least." Eric dragged his fingers through his hair, turning towards the door. "Come on. I get the feeling that you're starving."

"Yeah," he muttered, following Eric out into the hall. "You could say that."

Chase was starving, but he couldn't quite understand the hunger. The sensation felt like it was intensified by a hundred. He'd never felt quite this hungry before, and he'd gone longer without food. Running the family business had made him forgetful a few times. Plus, it sent his stress through the roof. No one liked to discuss business with an openly genderqueer CEO. And that was the least of his worries. He'd had a dozen death threats in the mail before the end of the week after he'd been seen in a local restaurant with Eric.

In the kitchen, Eric set about making food. Omelettes were Chase's favourite. He sat at the bench in Eric's kitchen, watching his boyfriend cook. "So, want to tell me why you lied to Hazel?" Eric asked, turning to fix Chase with a sly look.

"Um," he said, glancing away from the other man. "I don't know..."

"You don't know?" His boyfriend turned away from the stove, raising an eyebrow. "I guess being shot in the head would do that..."

Chase glared at Eric. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

He sighed, rolling his eyes at Eric. His boyfriend turned back to the stove. Chase stared at his boyfriend and fiddled with a fork while Eric moved about the kitchen. Eric's apartment was small, but not tiny. Chase certainly never felt claustrophobic in it. It sat on the third floor above one of the many small stores in Northbridge.

"Here," Eric said, turning to place a plate in front of him. He peered down at Chase for a moment, obviously taking him in now that they were in Eric's well-lit kitchen. "You look tired, Chase. Maybe you should take a nap?"

Chase shook his head, pulling the plating towards him with his left hand. He dug into the mess of egg, bacon and cheese, barely chewing before he swallowed the food. He was starving, and the omelette was making his mouth water, but something was wrong.

"That good, huh?" his boyfriend asked, turning back to the stove. Chase barely paid him much attention as he stuffed his face.

It was when he was about halfway through that the nausea started. Chase had to stop eating, the fork clattering to the bench-top. He put a hand over his mouth as he pushed the plate back, fighting back the sudden urge to violently throw up.

"Chase?" Eric called, concerned. He couldn't look up, couldn't stop looking at the food Eric had made him. "What's wrong?"

Chase pushed his stool back, knocking it over in the process as he bolted for the bathroom. He only just made it in time. Bile, made of food and dark liquid, was what he threw up into the toilet. He knew Eric had followed him; the other man was standing outside the bathroom door. How he had managed to close and lock it before reached the toilet Chase didn't know. He was just glad he'd made it.

Eric knocked on the door. "Chase, are you okay?"

He took a moment to gain his composure--and to make sure he wasn't going to throw up again--before wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and standing up again. Chase unlocked the door and moved to the sink. Eric cracked open the door as he turned the tap on. "I think I am now," he told his boyfriend, glancing towards the other man's reflection in the mirror.

"That was certainly an...explosive reaction," Eric told him, leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed. "Definitely not what I was expecting. What happened?"

"I don't know," Chase muttered, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. "That was weird. I'm starving, yet food makes me throw up? I don't get it."

Eric looked thoughtful for a moment, uncrossing one arm only to tap a finger against his lips. "Maybe the eggs were off?" he suggested, pushing off the doorjamb. "I did forget to check them."

"Maybe." he replied, gaze dropping to watch his hands as he washed them. He turned the tap off a moment later and reached for a towel. Chase heard Eric move behind him and then the toilet flushed. "I'm still hungry."

"Let's try some liquid first, then," Eric said, joining him at the sink. Chase waited patiently after wiping his hands for Eric to wash his. Hands dry, they left the bathroom together and went back to the kitchen. "So, what'll it be?"

"I think I need a drink," Chase muttered sitting back down at the kitchen bench. Eric had removed the plate, most likely when he'd made a dash for the loo, and it was now being replaced with glasses and a bottle of scotch. "Thanks."

"You look like you need one."

Eric joined Chase on his side of the bench, sitting beside him on a stool. They left the stool he'd knocked over earlier on the floor. Chase would pick it up later. "I don't get it, Eric," he whispered, watching his boyfriend pour them both drinks. "What is wrong with me?"

His boyfriend heaved a sigh. "There is nothing wrong with you, Chase," Eric told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It was probably just the eggs."

"Yeah, alright," Chase said, "I'll take your word for it."

"But," Eric stressed, making Chase look towards him. "If you're sick or something, well. It might be a good idea to go see that doctor."

"We'll see how I feel in the morning." Chase stood and put his glass down. "I think I might just go take that nap now. Goodnight, Eric. Don't take too long." He gave his boyfriend a peck on the lips before heading off down the hall and into the bedroom. Chase was asleep before his head hit the pillows.