| Chace Crawford - Standalone - Seasons change
||[Aug. 8th, 2009|11:51 pm]
[Comments are welcomed and screened]
Spans the five days after this decision.
After Mark had left the room, and after Chace had received his ass chewing from management for leaving a client, he'd spent the next two days in what could only be described as a dazed fog. When Adam had arrived back, Chace spent some time with his friend, explaining that he wasn't sure when he'd be able to call or see him again but that everything was fine and, regardless of what Adam might hear, it's what he wants.
The last hours in Texas, as well as the flight back to LA, are some of the quietest moments Chace has ever spent. His mind seems to be going a million miles an hour while everything around him appears to be moving in slow motion. He knows what awaits him as he steps off the plane in LA - something he won't be doing alone again - then hails a cab to take him home.
Chace has never been the type of person that "collects" things. But there are items around his place - a yoga mat, kitchen items, and some pictures of his family and himself when he was young - as well as his furniture, take up the space in his place. The one thing that will be hard to get rid of is his motorcycle. Get rid of. "Damn, 's really happening. He bought me." Chace speaks out loud as he begins to make something to eat, looking around as he does. "You agreed and he did and now you are and this is really real." He pauses in the making of the sandwich; will he be allowed to eat when he wants?
Moving to the living area, Chace drops to the couch, staring at the wall as he eats. In two days time this will be gone and he'll be making the call but, in the meantime, he's got a fuckton to do - convince his head he's not insane is at the very top of that list. There are just times when you know that something's right, even if it scares the breath from you. "Well, no time like the fucking present, huh Chace." Pushing to stand, Chace begins to make phone calls as he goes about the apartment.
Over the next two days, Chace contacts the Salvation Army, cries more than just a few times as he packs things away and fills out paperwork at the LA Citadel, and slowly but surely gets rid of the things that he owns. He tells himself as he goes about the days and nights that they're just things, but as the man comes to pick up Chace's motorcycle, well that's harder than he expected. "Yeah, I know it's a steal, man. I'm the fucker that's selling it to ya, remember?" Maybe the guy's just too fucking dumb to own the bike, but Chace knows his hours are narrowing and that's one of the last things to go. Taking the money he really wants to reach out and smack the guy as he hears him chuckle. "Just take the damn thing and go before I change my fucking mind." Right, you know you can't.
Just as the bank closes, Chace leaves its front doors, more than just a little paranoid as he tucks the envelope holding every bit of cash he has into the inside pocket of the bag that's slung over his shoulder. It's done. Checking and savings both closed out. "Damn, it's really done, I'm really gonna be his." There's a hint of a crooked grin as he slips into the taxi then makes his way back to the apartment for the last night there. "Hey, stop here," he says pointing, "need food for the night." His phone has just enough time on it to call Mark once he lands and is tucked into his bag at the apartment, so there would be no ordering delivery that night.
Paying the cab driver, Chace steps out and makes his way into the apartment, staring at he empty rooms. The only thing left is his bed and enough items to shower that night and the bed will be picked up tomorrow. "Damn. It's really happening." That idea just keeps playing over in his head as he tucks the cash into his small, carry-on duffel bag. There isn't much in the thing other than his paperwork - driver's license, social security card, birth certificate, and passport - and a clean shirt. His other carry-on contains his photo albums and person affects that he's kept through his life. "Wonder where he'll put you," he says as he runs a finger over the binding then closes the suitcase and makes his way to shower, knowing this is his last night in LA.
There was no sleeping that night and as he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he hopes against everything he'll be able to sleep on the flight - though he's not counting on it since the nerves don't seem to be ebbing at all. They'd come to pick up the last of the furniture and, as he stares into the completely empty apartment, he smiles. "You've wanted this for years, now it's happening." With a quick glance at his watch, Chace grabs his bags, leaves the keys on the kitchen counter then heads down to the waiting cab. "Later LA. Maybe."
He's not sure when, but at some point during the flight, he actually sleeps, and as he steps from the airplane and makes his way into the terminal, his stomach couldn't be in any more knots than if he's just been gut-punched. Stepping outside, Chace dials the number he's been given and waits. "I've just landed."