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technicolorpestilence · 4 years

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When Tomorrow Comes (Gregstophe)

Christophe wasn’t used to the silence. Gregory was never this quiet, the blond was always harping on animatedly about his causes and opinions on said causes, whether it be politics or other things Christophe couldn’t care less about. There were times when he wished for him to shut up, but now he was regretting such thoughts.

All he wanted was to hear him nag and pester him now. He would give just about anything to hear the Englishman say in that arrogant pompous undertone of his “you know, Christophe, you really should pay more attention to this stuff. It’s important.” Then launch into a long-winded lecture about how as mercenaries it was their job to be up to speed on current events going on in the world should the job require it.

Always prepared, always resourceful.

A lot of good that did him, Christophe thought bitterly.

He released a heavy sigh, rubbing at his weary eyes. The overhead lights were too damn bright, he couldn’t fathom how Gregory was able to sleep with them glaring down upon him. He sat back in his chair, wincing from the ache in his back. Why must hospitals make their chairs so damn unpleasant? Weren’t they supposed to make sure the patients' visitors were comfortable? This was the opposite of comfortable.

His fingers curled around his knees, digging into his cargo pants. He itched to hold a cigarette, to feel the burn of tobacco in his lungs, the smoke clouding his brain and numbing his senses. No, a simple cancer stick wouldn’t suffice, not with the current stress he was under. Make that a pack or two. Maybe a bottle on the side to curb his nerves.

He was quick to berate himself for having such a thought and being so weak. He had made an unspoken vow not to smoke. Gregory had always hated the smell and would complain about how it sticks to everything. Prissy bitch. His lips curled into a nostalgic smile at the memories where the Englishman would belittle him for the habit, citing all of the negative effects and how it would surely kill him. Christophe had just scoffed derisively and blew a cloud into his face, serving only to infuriate him further as he then proceeded to rant about the dangers of secondhand smoke.

Christophe decided then that if Gregory pulled through he would give up smoking for good; switch to those stupid e-cigarettes that tasted like cherries that all the teenagers seemed to be into like every other passing trend. Yes, he would willingly go against his own morals if it meant his blond returned to him. Anything for Gregory.

Instead, to sate the urge to smoke, he busied himself by petting the other man’s hair. Calloused fingers gently gliding over the soft golden curls, untangling them when they knotted around his fingers. It was just as much of a comfort to him as it was to the Brit. Gregory was still and made no move to intercede, in fact, he didn’t stir at all. Christophe gazed at his face as he slept; he looked peaceful despite the ugly abrasions and contusions marring his perfect skin. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering in the shell of his ear.

“Je t’aime, mon ange. Please wake up.”

He sighed, running a hand through his own hair, dishevelled and wild in contrast to Gregory’s neat and meticulously tamed curls. He’d taken the liberty of styling his beloved’s hair for him, brushing it daily since he could not. Heaven knows Gregory couldn’t stand looking like a mess, it was uncouth of a gentleman such as himself. He would gawk in mortified horror if he could see himself now; swathed in bandages with tubes and wires running through him to the various machines in the room. Not really a pleasant sight for the esteemed leader of La Resistance.

Christophe's hand found Gregory’s again, intertwining their fingers. He was careful not to disturb the bandages as he rubbed his thumb in a calming circular pattern over the skin. It felt so strange to hold his hand and not be met with the leathery material his signature gloves were made out of. He raised it to his lips and kissed the bruised knuckles. The skin was soft and smooth to the touch, perfect just like the rest of his fiancé.

Fiancé

His mind slipped back to the night Gregory proposed. It wasn’t the most ideal time to propose, thinking about it made his heartache rather than rejoice. He could remember everything so vividly with amazing clarity despite the shock he was in at the time. Dark blood soaking his shirt, Gregory trembling as he held him. The conviction in his cerulean eyes clouded with pain, barely clinging to consciousness as well as the lapels of Christophe’s jacket. Christophe was panicking and swearing up a storm, but Gregory was strangely calm considering his predicament.

“Tophe...” he wheezed, his breaths shallow and laboured. “If we...make it out of here...I want you to marry me...”

His robust voice wavered, taking on an almost desperate plea as he looked up into Christophe’s face, his eyes growing heavier. Christophe could only see a glimpse of blue beneath the thick lashes.

“Will you...marry me...?”

He used the remainder of his declining energy on that question. Dramatic bastard. It was a rather bold and daring move, fitting for someone as spontaneous as the blond. Christophe was sure the blood loss had just made him delirious, albeit he couldn’t find it in himself to turn him down, not when he looked so fragile and pale. He could only kiss his forehead and mutter his response, “Oui.” Gregory smiled faintly, satisfied with his answer before he succumbed to the pain and exhaustion, going limp in his arms.

He refused to leave his side since, cussing out the paramedics as they pried him out of his arms, fighting tooth and nail for a seat beside him in the ambulance. He simply sat and waited diligently, clinging to Gregory’s hand and reassuring the blond that he wasn’t going anywhere. The uncomfortable backbreaking chairs became his bed, he didn’t shower (not that he had much prior to the incident) if anyone tried to get him to leave they would be met with a perpetually pissed off Frenchman and possibly a shovel to the face. By now the staff knew to leave him be, apprehensively going about their duties as cold eyes challenged them, following their every move when they came in to check Gregory’s vitals or change his bandages.

Simply put, he was a wreck both emotionally and physically. How dare Gregory do this to him, didn’t that idiot know how much he meant to him? He was his rock, his anchor, the only person who could keep him grounded when he was spiralling out of control. The only person he dared let close enough to see through the walls he had built around himself and with one well-placed kick sent them crashing down like a house of cards. He couldn’t imagine living without him, it was impossible. If Gregory died then he would die along with him.

Damn that cocksucking bastard for trying to take the only good thing in his life from him. He’d already taken everything else, wasn’t that enough? Why Gregory too? Was this a harsh reminder that he was taking him for granted? Fuck if he knew. He didn’t understand anything about the man upstairs, nor did he understand Gregory’s faith in him.

Stupid blond, damn him for going off and getting himself hurt. Christophe knew his recklessness would be the death of them both someday. As he sat and pleaded for the Brit to come back to him he couldn’t silence the nagging thought that it should’ve been himself instead. Gregory was an idealist, an activist, he was going to make history one day. What was he? A cynical nihilist who only believed in the spitfire sun he orbited that was his fiancé. He hadn’t contributed anything to the world, he was expendable. Let Satan take him instead because surely God wouldn’t, not that he would want to live in his so-called paradise. Fuck him.

“Goddamnit, bête. Wake up. I get you need your beauty sleep, but this is ridiculous. Besides, you’re pretty enough, you don’t need the extra hours,” he mumbled as an afterthought.

Silence

He didn’t expect an answer. He’d grown accustomed to holding one-sided conversations in this room. The monotonous blip of the heart monitor reminded him that he wasn’t just shouting at empty space. He still had an audience. Gregory was still there. That was all the motivation he needed to keep going. He would wait like the loyal partner he was. He would wait until the end of the earth for him.

Christophe gently stroked the Englishman’s cheek, fingers tracing jagged edges of small gashes bestowed upon pale skin. He started to hum; it was a familiar melody; one he had heard Gregory sing on many occasions when he rallied the troops.

“You see the distant flames that bellow in the night. You fight in all our names for what you know is right, and when you all get shot and cannot carry on, though you die, La Resistance lives on...”

He affectionately smoothed back the blond’s hair so it was no longer in his face, continuing the anthem with the hope that the other man could hear it. His voice was surprisingly soft and gentle, a stark contrast to his usual aggressive and standoffish demeanour. Only a rare few had gotten the privilege of hearing him sing, Gregory being one of them. The Brit adored his voice and would often ask him to sing for him. Sometimes they would sing together in perfect harmony. It was a breathtaking sight. Their own little infinity where nothing else mattered but each other.

Christophe cycled through a few more of Gregory’s favourite songs from musicals he knew he liked. His voice faltered slightly, yet he pushed back the tears and carried on. Gregory needed him to be strong for him, he would not bow to his own emotions. He wouldn’t break down knowing his beloved was fighting just as hard as he was. He would not grieve him because he was still there. Gregory had been through worse before, he always came out on top. Christophe didn’t doubt that he would again—not for a second.

He willed him to open his eyes and grace him with their beauty, to give him that cocky confident smile that both infuriated him and made his heart skip a beat. He ended up dozing off with his head on his fiancé's chest, drowning out the shrill beeping of machines with the steady drum of the heartbeat in his ears as well as Gregory’s breathing.

~~~~~~~~

He was reading a passage from War and Peace; one of Gregory’s favourite novels when the blond finally began to stir. His hand twitched in the Frenchman’s, giving it a small squeeze. Christophe immediately froze, abandoning the chapter in favour of watching Gregory’s face. His finely trimmed brows furrowed as he emitted a groan, cerulean eyes slowly but surely fluttering open to meet his own.

“Tophe…?”

Christophe’s face lit up at the sight of the half-lidded eyes eyeing him drowsily. His heart nearly leaped from his chest upon hearing his name spoken by the beautiful rich accent he never thought he would have the pleasure of hearing again. Granted, it was cracked and horribly strained, but it was him. He was alive.

Christophe’s lip trembled as he choked back a sob. He could feel the cool dampness on his cheeks from the tears he knew were falling unabashedly. He didn’t care however, making no move to wipe them away as he smiled at the groggy revolutionary. His first real genuine smile in days, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead and chuckling softly.

“Salut, Sleeping Beauty.”

#south park #sp gregstophe #gregory of yardale #christophe delorne #sp gregory #ze mole #gregstophe #my writing #long post #gregstophe hours #should I post the doc instead? probably but will I? nah

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christophe-delorne · 5 years

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Gregstophe Week: Day 7

SADNESS // RAINSTORM // PROFESSION CHANGE AU

TITLE: Yellow Dahlias

WARNINGS: None. Just fluff.

AGE: Late 20s

NOTES: Later than usual posting this, decided to be lazy today. What kind of fanfiction writer would I be if I didn't write a Flowershop AU?

Every day for three years now, Christophe was always outside his flower shop at five am on the dot. From what Gregory could tell, the Frenchman kept to a schedule, while Gregory could respect that, it was almost a little concerning. It made him wonder if Christophe ever did something that strayed away from the usual daily task. Gregory was always one to be punctual, but he made time to do something fun and new every so often. When he watched his shop neighbor day to day, there was always a pattern. No one came to visit him other than customers, he never seemed to take social calls either. Gregory was lucky to even manage to snag Christophe's number and only because they needed it to look out for each other's shops in case of an emergency.

Gregory would be lying if he hadn't thought about texting Christophe just to be social, he wanted to know more about the mysterious flower shop owner who worked beside him. However, he never had the courage to make that first text, Christophe wasn't one to even hold conversations in person, would he be any different through technology? Gregory didn't want to ruin their cordial relationship by being too nosy or overbearing towards Christophe. What they had right now was decent enough, Gregory had seen Christophe with a temper and he didn't want it directed at him. He let out a sigh, the longer time went on, the more frustrated he got. He was going to drive himself mad at this rate, he should find some sort of hobby or a date to take his mind off the Frenchman.

He recalled his dinner with his friend Estella last night, they had tried dating a while back but it didn't really work out. Still though, they remained close friends and Gregory had hoped hanging out with her would take his mind off things. It hadn't and Estella had easily taken notice. She had always been perceptive about people close to her, which was why she had noticed Gregory didn't have his heart in their previous relationship and broke it off. She had tried her best to encourage Gregory to make a move, to reach out and test the waters. The idea made for a fairly sleepless night for Gregory. Usually he was good when it came to dealing with stress, it came with owning any sort of shop and his bakery was no exception from constantly stressing him out.

This morning, getting out of bed had been rough, little sleep and now facing down the day of seeing Christophe again after everything he'd talked about with Estella, he was and wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day.He'd just go through the routine again with Christophe. He'd say good morning to Christophe, who would be sweeping the sidewalk in front of their stores and then for the rest of the day Gregory would be staring out the front window, waiting for another glimpse of Christophe. Estella was right, he was just a lovesick puppy at this point. Why couldn't it have been with someone more approachable instead of someone who'd shut down any conversation before they even had a proper start.

Gregory toyed with the keys in his pants pocket, while it was summer, he still preferred to wear pants since he worked mainly indoors anyways, shorts just seemed unprofessional in this setting. Though at least he wore something different every day, not too uptight, but still looking like he cared about his appearance. Unlike Christophe, who's wardrobe seemed to consist of maybe a few shirts and a couple of pants, all in need of replacing. He was certain his neighbor wasn't poor, he'd seen customers come and go and Chris had cornered off that bit of the market by being the only flowershop in town. It fit Christophe though, he never seemed to care about appearances, certainly he was grouchy and closed off, but he did his work well.

His shop finally came into view as he rounded the block's corner, the sun was already up since it was summer, not glaringly but the sky had a soft glow to it. By now Christophe should've been out front as usual, so it was a bit of a surprise when he saw an empty sidewalk. It made him stop and look around as if Chris would be somewhere within sight, but nothing. It was concerning to see, Chris had never missed a day off work ever since they've known each other. Had something happened? As far as Gregory knew, Chris lived alone, so if something did happen, no one would know. Gregory pulled out his phone to check to see if he received any messages, but there were no notifications.

Tucking his phone away, he went up to the flower shop's door, the closed sign was still up. So Christophe hadn't come in yet, so he had to still be at home. Though it made him wonder if he was okay, if he had no one to care for him, Gregory had to step up and be that person. Before he could back down like a coward, he pulled his phone back out and pulled up the messenger. He paused though as his mind scrambled on what he should say. He didn't want to sound like a worrywart pestering the man, something casual and not too invasive. They were just acquaintances, nothing more despite Gregory's wishes. It wouldn't be too weird if he checked in though, right?

Hey, its Gregory, you weren't outside your shop, so I'm just checking in to see if you're okay and if you need me to keep an eye on the shop for the day.

There, simple as that. Though it still made his heart hammer in his chest, nervously standing there, waiting for a reply. He should go in his own store and get things ready for the morning crowd, but his feet were stuck in place. He wouldn't be able to concentrate anyways while waiting for a reply, making him look like an absolute fool for being so hung up on one simple reply. Then, his phone chimed and a text bubble popped up, making his heart feel like it was about to leap from his chest from excitement. He always knew he'd been one for the dramatics.

i'm not comin in today, sick.

Gregory should've expected this, the brief message, Christophe wasn't one for long winded conversations, even in text. The knowledge that Christophe was sick was worrying, Christophe usually didn't let even a cold keep him down. So being sick and not coming to work sounded like it was pretty severe despite Christophe not elaborating on how exactly he was sick, but Gregory knew enough about the stubborn Frenchman to know he wasn't the type to ask for help. He could be lying in his bed alone, too weak to get up and take care of himself. The thought alone made Gregory frown and his hand tighten on his phone.

I'm coming over to help you then, what's your address?

i'm fine

If you were fine, you'd be at work, now come on, tell me.

After a moment of no response, Gregory thought maybe pressing had been a bad idea and he'd chased Christophe off. Finally, a message came through, revealing where Christophe lived. It wasn't surprising that Chris lived nearby, it wouldn't be much of a walk to the small apartment complex. Though Gregory wanted to pick up a few things before heading over, so he sent a reply that he'd be there soon before tucking his phone away. Being up this early, the grocery store was fairly empty, just employees restocking the shelves. It made it easier for Gregory to pick up some typical care package things. Medicine, soup, tissues. He wasn't sure what Chris had, but he would come prepared for anything.

The apartment complex was nondescript, nice but nothing fancy, a old building that was kept lovingly so nothing was falling apart. Gregory had assumed the worse, with Christophe's lack of care, he might've lived in some sort of dump. It was a relief that he wasn't though, Gregory would've had a fit if it'd been true. Juggling the large paper bag of groceries, he pressed the button to the elevator, taking him up to the third floor where Christophe indicated he lived. While it wasn't the more sophisticated type of decor his own apartment complex had, it was more down to earth, a homey, well lived in sort of vibe.. Looking at the numbers on the doors, he made his way down the hall until he found the right one, raising a hand to press the doorbell. He hated the idea of forcing Christophe to get up and answer, but he didn't have a key.

Gregory could hear a bit of shuffling inside, waiting patiently for the door to unlock and crack open. Light from the hall spilled into the dark apartment, making Chris visible wince. He looked pale, even with his darker skin tone. The Frenchman squinted against the harsh light, letting his eyes adjust before he could properly identify that it was Gregory. The door opened wider, Christophe already shuffling back into the studio apartment to nearly collapse on the bed. It seemed he didn't even have the strength to pretend he was alright, another concerning point considering Christophe held tightly to his pride.

Gregory moved over to the little kitchen, setting the bag on the counter so he could get to work on making Chris something to eat, who knows if he ate anything last night as there was no evidence of dishes in the sink. He paused though when he took note of a vase of flowers, possible a half a dozen yellow ones. He wasn't an expert on flowers, so he wasn't certain what they meant, but they stood out in the otherwise Spartan apartment. He stared at them longer than he intended, had someone sent them to him? That'd be an odd thing to do considering Chris was a florist, so maybe Chris had brought them home for himself.

Curious, he reached out, there was a yellow ribbon tied around the vase, just beneath the lip, a decoration that held a little cardboard note. He squinted a little, having trouble reading when the only light was from the small light under the cabinets, but there was definite scribbling on there. He moved the vase a little, directing the cardboard note a little more into the light so he could read the cursive a little better.

To: Gregory From: Chris

"I meant to give them to you today." Christophe voice made Gregory jump a little, he hadn't even heard Christophe move. He'd been so wrapped up in his suddenly very chaotic thoughts, he hadn't been paying attention. Gregory whirled around faster than he intended so he could face Christophe, a bit of red staining his cheeks from the embarrassment of being caught snooping.

"Beg your pardon?" Had he heard Christophe right? Christophe didn't seem to look away, his expression schooled so Gregory could get a read on him. Even while ill, Christophe appeared to remain stubbornly closed off. Though his once gruff voice sounded weaker than usual, pulling a bit at Gregory's need to care for him.

"I said they're for you. They're Dahlia's. They remind me of you." Christophe explained a little more as if he figured Gregory was simply too dense to understand flowers. Gregory looked back to the flowers, they'd been carefully arranged. It was amazing how such a rough edged person could create something so beautiful, but as long as Gregory had known Christophe, that had always been the case. "Guess the surprise is ruined. They're still yours if you want them."

"I'd love to have them." Gregory quickly stated, but he knew in his heart he wanted more than just the flowers. They were a olive branch, reaching out for Gregory to take so that he could finally get what he wanted to truly love. Christophe.

#gregstophe #gregstopheweek #south park #gregory #christophe #fanfiction #the mole #ze mole #gregory of yardale #au #alternate universe #flowershop #fanfic

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