[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/vcyTlTu.pngg[/img][/center][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]𝕄: 𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥. 𝟙𝟜, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝕎𝕚𝕤𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕕   / /   ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕞: ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕧𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟   / /  ~𝟙𝟟𝟚𝟝[/color][/center][hr]
[color=9e0039]"Striker Team... are you there?"

"I repeat... Callan, Sander, are you two alrig-... Ah shit!"[/color]

His instincts reacted before his conscious thoughts could, squeezing the air out of his chest until the sheer physical necessity of breathing forced an inhale. The constriction was worst around his lower torso, right below the ribs, and the prickling tightened there like a sandpaper rope where every sensation moved just as his mind pinpointed a place for him to clutch with his arms.

He hadn't been looking out the broken window nearby because he saw too many scenarios of jagged glass puncturing his flesh and too few things he wanted to see outside. What would he do without Sander now that he had placed so much of his hopes on red eyes and a warm presence? He didn't know if he had the strength to start from scratch a third time. He put too much of himself into every person who would care, and it didn't need to feel equal as long as they didn't leave, but every failure was that much more of his paltry strength gone to waste and his reservoirs were running dry.

Even now he hadn't recovered from the mire of conflicting emotions that was Alvin letting him go. 

And if he had to let go of Sander, he wasn't sure if he'd--

"[color=a2d9ce]We're FINE! Stay focused![/color]"

At least he hadn't been standing when the message came through on the cuffs or he would have collapsed from relief. His hands were shaking as they clutched at Sander's loose jacket, still warm around his shoulders despite the cloudy sky and the glancing rain that was now almost completely gone.

He wanted to say something back, but Callan's last order had made clear they couldn't afford the distraction of his minor problems. So Christmas stayed seated on the water-stained sofa in that simple, two-story house where portraits and mantel decor had fallen across the hardwood flooring. A coffee table in front of him had been pushed askew and on it rested a half-empty teacup sitting on a cheap, plastic saucer stamped with flowers where the coloring was printed just outside the borders. He had been watching it for the past several minutes, trying to force the pink and purple petals into the lines with just his eyes in a futile endeavor that he persisted at regardless.

He was good at doing useless things like that and staring at the screens of handheld consoles, staring at a daydream in the sky or on the wall, and pretending everything he was measured up to others.

Ernie and Zoe had left him to his own devices as one kept watch and the other scoured the house for anything useful, but he doubted it was because they trusted him. More that they trusted him to not do anything without their explicit acknowledgment. They weren't wrong, but the suspicion only cemented how pathetic he was.

The tiny things he would never admit trickled into his awareness as the flowers' colors remained stubbornly misplaced and his mind looked for alternatives to distract itself: he hadn't cared as much about Callan's well-being as Sander's; he had only felt relieved because Callan had confirmed [i]both[/i] of them were all right. If she were in front of him, he would have apologized for that. 

Shivering despite Ernie's puffer jacket on his lap and Sander's blue hoodie hanging large around his shoulders, Christmas didn't notice the weight of an unseen footstep that creaked a floorboard near the fireplace.