𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳༉‧₊˚. ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʟʟ

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲.

CHRIS AND DELIA SAT IN A SMALL DINER IN THE HEART OF BELLTOWN,

both still half asleep due to falling asleep on the pull-out to cartoons they were previously watching. Delia awoke to Chris' arm draped over her face.

After finishing breakfast, they walked the few blocks to Delia's old place, mainly in silence save for her complaints about her old landlord and the whole situation.

The eviction notice was tacked up on the door along with a note reading, 'call me to open the door. Thanks.'

Delia read the note, tearing it off angrily. "Fuck that."

She took a bobby pin from her short hair and stuck it into the lock, twisting it until it opened with a satisfying click.

Chris stood aside, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to finish and laughing slightly at her struggle.

He looked around her place, the familiar and comforting smell of incense, her perfume, and weed welcomed them. Countless nights he'd drunkenly fallen asleep on her old sofa or the foot of her bed, played her albums worth of new songs. He'd miss it, though he knew it didn't matter where he was, anywhere Delia was, they could have those same experiences together.

She had obviously left in a hurry, books still open on the coffee table, products splayed out on the bathroom sink.

They both packed away her stuff, the books taking the longest. Prior to dropping out of UW, Delia was a Literature major, but even before she'd been passionate about her books and writings. When they'd met, right when her freshman year began, she'd told him what she was studying, and Chris had laughed. Though he quickly learned she was a lot smarter than she appeared.

It still didn't seem something that Delia would take interest in, but she had, and that showed with the four full boxes of books and notebooks they packed away.

Besides that, her clothing, and random objects there wasn't much else to load into the short bed of her pickup, as her landlord was always strict with what she decorated the place with.

Finally, the last box was loaded and the pair sat side by side on her tailgate, exhausted.

"I have a gift for you."

Chris narrowed his eyes at her, seeing her slightly mischievous smile. "What is it?" He questioned.

She reached inside her jacket pocket, revealing a crumpled brown bag that she placed in his hand.

He didn't need to open the bag to know what it was, due to the smell. "So you're actually doing this?" He grinned, though skeptical.

"Doing what? Being nice, giving you a gift?" She faked a scowl.

He shook his head. "No, you're always so kind to me." He said, sarcastically. "Nah, I mean you're not even smoking?"

She nodded. "I mean, might as well go full sober."

Chris laughed, not because he didn't take her statement seriously, but of the way she said something so significant like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Knowing Delia, it may have been.

"You know I'm happy for you." He decided to be serious for once. She gazed out onto the street as he spoke, not meeting his stare as he continued. "And proud. That you did that yourself."

"It's not a big deal." She responded in a slight mumble, looking up at him. She wasn't anything near soft-spoken, but this was a touchy subject. One she normally refrained from talking about.

Chris put his arm around her, in an almost playful way to lighten the mood. "It is."

Delia leaned into his side-hug, secretly appreciating his words. They stayed like that a bit longer before driving back to Chris' place, singing along to the radio together.

Chris sat on his bed with his acoustic, the guitar he preferred to write songs on most of the time. Delia sat on the opposite end, absorbed in her book, a collection of Sylvia Plath poems. She annotated it every now and then, her brows furrowing in concentration.

Chris found it funny how wrapped up in it she was, how important it seemed to her.

"What?" She looked up to meet his gaze, annoyed his stare had interrupted her reading.

"You nerd." He laughed, shaking his head.

"I've seen pictures of you in high school." Was all she said, returning to the book.

At this he laughed harder and went back to his playing, occasionally looking up at Delia, who each time was still concentrating on the poems in front of her. Most of the material he was working on was for Temple Of The Dog, as the recording would begin in the next month. He had started the project with Andy's old bandmates, as a tribute to him.

It was emotional to write the songs, as all he thought of was his old friend. He'd rather do it alone but didn't mind Delia being there, if anything, her presence was comforting.

"Please, mother mercy take me from this place, and the long-winded curses I hear in my head. The words never listen..." he sung, trailing off as he adjusted the next lyric in his notebook.

"I like that." She told him, mind still buried in her poetry.

He began to strum once again. "Thank you." He grimaced, clearly displeased with it.

She nodded in response, as he began to sing once more. He stopped, getting frustrated with how the song was sounding, putting the guitar down. Chris went into the kitchen, grabbing two beers, but remembered Delia's pledge to 'full soberness,' as she had put it, and grabbed a coke for her instead.

He sat beside her, handing her the coke and opening his beer. She put the book aside for once, sipping the soda.

"I can't figure out that song."

Delia took another slow sip of coke. "Don't rush it. Just leave it for a little if it's not working." She shrugged, like that was the obvious answer- which it was. "Besides, the records gonna be fucking great no matter what."

Chris shook his head, though he knew she was being completely honest with her words, so he couldn't accuse her of trying to make him feel better.

She still did make him feel better, as always.

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