No Roots |Virgato|

Chapter 1: No Roots

Warning: There is some drug use in this fic, which I'm really not a fan of. I really don't like drugs and I don't like to think about the boys doing drugs, but this story is just so well written and I really love it and the storyline is beautiful so I just had to do an adaptation for it.

"I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground"

Chris opened the driver's side door to his battered old Range Rover, throwing his plastic bag full of paracetamol, bread, and whiskey into the passenger seat. He had to stop at a dingy gas station just outside of town, knowing that he would need more gas if he was going to get much further. His car kick started, the engine growling along with Christopher's empty stomach, his old radio coming to life and playing an 80's rock mixtape he had made before he'd left.

Living on the road was Christopher's life, traveling from city to city every few months, pickpocketing on the way so he could scrape up enough money for a deposit for a cheap apartment, even if it did mean he had to share it with six other strangers living the same way he did. He was traveling to New York after securing a job in a downtown bar, his friend from high school, Richard, telling him that they had a vacancy. Richard knew Chris inside and out despite the fact Chris tries to cut ties with everyone, weaseling his way back into Christopher's life way too often for his liking. Lighting his cigarette at a red light, Chris ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He wasn't sure why he agreed to the job in New York, knowing full well that it would mean having to socialize with Richard and his friends. Something that Chris wasn't too fond of was socialization. He would rather sit on his own and get lost in his thoughts, dreaming about all the beautiful places around the world that he is yet to visit, but remain on his bucket list.

After nearly three hours of driving and several Aerosmith albums down, Chris arrived in New York in the early evening, pulling up in front of the bar he would be working out. The place looked seedy, the sort of place guys go to when they're having an affair with a younger guy while his wife waits at home. Chris rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets, checking he still had another pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pushed open the heavy front door, a live band playing some classic rock filling his ears and the smell of damp wood floating into his nostrils. Before he even had a chance to scope the place out, Richard came bounding over and dragged Chris into an over friendly hug.

"Holy shit bro! You actually came?!" the curly haired boy enthused in Christopher's ear.

"Yeah, man. I told you it was about time we saw each other again!" Chris lied, simply using Richard as a place to stay does not count as a reunion of old friends.

"You look great, Chris!" Richard smiled while reaching up to ruffle Christopher's hair, "You still look about 16 though."

"Fuck off, you know I've got a baby face," Chris frowned, gently pushing Richard's shoulder, earning a smile from the other boy. "You look good, too, though Rich," he said, quickly falling back into the routine of pet names and pulling him into another hug.

"Anyway, enough of all this soppy shit," Richard says, pushing Chris off of him. "Let's show you the ropes," Richard beams, encouraging Chris to follow him to the staff room by the side of the bar.

When Chris and Richard walk into the staff room, Chris is overwhelmed by the stench of weed and beer, soon locating the source as a black haired boy and two girls sharing a joint on the bean bags in the corner of the room. The three heads look up slowly, eyes reddened and smiling, while the black haired boy waves enthusiastically at Chris as though he recognizes him, despite the fact that he definitely doesn't.

"Guys, this is Christopher, my buddy from school who's moved to New York for a bit," Richard says, shoving Chris forward into the middle of the room by pushing his lower back, "He's fucking sick at mixing drinks, so you guys need to get your act together so he doesn't show us up." Chris blushes but tries to play if off by shrugging his shoulders as though he's no big deal, saying, "I'm really not that good," in reply.