Sparks

Twelve

"Chris? I know something is bothering you."

The band was working in the studio, trying to develop new songs, which required communication and open-mindedness. However, it had become evident from early that morning that Chris was doing everything he could to avoid his ex-boyfriend. Why, only Chris knew for sure.

"I'm fine, Jonny. Just tired," the singer lied.

Despite his vow to never again talk to the man who brought him constant pain, he simply couldn't bring himself to. The man's green eyes, the ones that brought constant mourning and sorrow to the singer, were too irresistible, too innocent, too beautiful to cease contact with.

"No, there's something more," Jonny said, seeing how deeply Chris' pain went. His usually sparkling, ocean-colored eyes were now unusually gray, like a sun that was hidden behind a constant sheet of clouds. "Please talk to me. I hate to see you like this."

Chris looked up, and saw the sincerity behind Jonny's words. He knew that the man with the green eyes cared. He knew from the day he had landed on Earth that this man was different than anybody else. He was special. That was what hurt. The fact that he loved a man he could never be with. At least, not anymore.

"I'm fine."

Chris stood up then, not willing to carry out a conversation with the man he loved. He'd rather die than talk to him at the moment, it seemed.

He walked out of the small studio then. The small flat that had once been Chris' home, the place that had been a refuge for Chris for years. The neighbors allowed them to practice and write there without any trouble at all, and the whole band was grateful for it. However, when Chris walked out, he wasn't expecting to come back.

"Chris? Chris!" Will called after him. The blue-eyed man continued to walk out of the apartment building and back to his own house. He walked away from Will, from his music, and mostly, away from Jonny.

Will chased him down and when he finally caught up, he didn't say anything. Chris kept walking. "Chris! Where are you going?" The drummer asked.

Chris shook his head. "Home."

"Why? We still have three more hours of work scheduled!"

"I don't care about that right now. I need some space, Will."

Will sighed, then nodded. "Is this about Jonny?"

Chris winced at the mention of his ex-boyfriend. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Look, whatever it is, I can help you. I can talk to you, I can give you advice, and you know I'll support you no matter what, mate."

"I know."

"Then please talk to me! What's wrong?"

Chris stopped walking for a moment and considered his options for a moment. If he told Will what was on his mind, one of a few things could happen. The president of Ollama could find out and kill them all, then and there. Will could tell Jonny and end up back together with his true love. Word could get back to Gwenyth and she could tell the media that Chris Martin cheated on her with a bloke. Worst of all, Chris' secret could jeopardize the life of his unborn child, and if his child was in danger, so was everyone else he cared about.

"I can't, Will. I'm sorry."

Before any tears could fall, Chris ran away from his friend and locked the door to his apartment. Gwen looked up at him, concern in her gaze. "Chris? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for hours!"

Chris sighed. "I wasn't. I'm just not having a very good day is all, love." The word slipped off his tongue, as he was used to saying it to his wife at this point, even if it was somewhat of a lie.

"Alright, hon. Do you want some tea?"

"That'd be amazing."

Gwen smiled as she got up and made her husband some tea, having some trouble in her state of pregnancy. Chris offered to help, out of habit, but didn't argue when she told him she could do it herself.

"Here you go, hon." She gave Chris his tea and pecked him on the cheek.

He thanked her and went back into their room, where he set the tea on the night stand and groaned, his face in the pillow on the bed.

Life would have been so much different if his father had decided not to accept that mission to Earth. I could end it all, he thought, looking to the pill bottles sitting on the shelf in the bedroom.

Stop it, he scolded himself. He knew that too many people needed him right now. His child. Gwenyth. Jonny. Will, Guy, and Phil. And his father.

He thought of his father. Despite having been killed when Chris was only seven, he could still remember the detailed outline of the man's face. His square jaw, and his protruding forehead, always creased with worry lines. His lips were always drawn in a straight line, and his eyes, similar in color to Chris', seemed to always be watching for something unknown.

Chris sighed and got up to use the bathroom.

When he looked in the mirror, he saw someone who was broken. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and he looked as if he had gotten into a bad accident.

You look like a walking disaster, his brain told him. The guys would be so much better off without you.

He tried to shake the thought from his head but failed to do so. Kill yourself, his brain said. Crying again, and not being able to control his body, Chris grabbed his razor from his spot on the shelf.

Stop being stupid! He cried out to his mind. Don't do this!

Sobbing, his body gained back just enough control to stop himself from slitting his wrists completely open, but he had still made a cut, like an angsty teenager, as he dripped blood onto his bathroom sink.

Horrified, he quickly wet a rag and wrapped it around his cut.

What have you done? He asked himself. Oh, what would dear Jonny think?

Rather than imagining, he quickly plopped himself back on his bed, the rag still around his left arm, and fell asleep without warning.

~Author's Note~
Have a depressing chapter. You're welcome.