There is a soft knock on Chris's front door. By the time he got there, no stood on the other side, almost ding dong ditch. Just a small package left behind, a box with a bat drawn on the lid. Inside was some fudge cookies, and a small bottle of whiskey. As well as a note. 'Hope you have been well. Try and take it easy now and then. Sincerely, Your Friend Darck'
What?
Eyes flutter open with a deep yawn, arms stretched out above his head as bulking form rises from the couch. Chris’ approach to the door is slow and sluggish, body and mind both heavy with sleep. It’d been a much needed nap, lulled into a comfortable afternoon slumber by music playing somewhere in the background. The rapping at his door pulled him back to a wakeful state. At any other time this might have startled him; visitors never coming by unannounced, his address unknown to anyone he did not trust.
As it is, he is too tired to find any of the energy needed to worry. Even so, he is cautious when opening the door out of habit, the lone package raising suspicion when he sees it sit there on his doorstep. If not for that familiar drawing ( a trademark signature his brain long since learned to trust,) he might not have touched the box at all.
Shaking the momentary hesitation, he bends to retrieve his gift. A brow rises as he gazes at the goodies quizzically, shaking his head with a soft sigh and a light smile. The box gets tucked away under his arm so he can read the note as he steps back inside, the smile that had already began to show itself growing, easing away some of the tired lines that were so firmly etched onto his features nowadays. He appreciates it more than he can say.
“You really thought alcohol was a good gift?”Don’t worry, he’s lightheartedly mocking.
