Let me stand next to your fire. [Narrative]
The last month had been stressful. Obviously. Cris knew that he wasn't the only one who was feeling the effects of it, and was aware that he likely had some of the least of it placed on his own shoulders, via his job. It wasn't as though anyone suspected the children of being moles for Black, after all. But things were heavy in their own ways; his boyfriend was clearly feeling the effects of something happening, which meant that Cris was as well. The children were all out of sorts because of their parents. His department was tense because of all the screening they were having to do. In general, Cris was not the sort that did well under that kind of emotional pressure, although the ways that it could come out were varied.
Recently, it had meant burying himself in his work. Not just with the Agency, but the actual research that he worked on as well. He'd been spending most of his time at various academic libraries, or at home working on his computer and with his own personal library. Unless Bastian pulled him away from it, of course -- any messages like the ones he'd received where his friend needed someone or wanted to see him were of course indulged. But then it was back to working on papers and trying to keep his mind on the psychology of children, rather than the paranoia of the office atmosphere.
When Cris worked, he tended to shut everything else out. Falling into that zone could last for days or weeks, eating sporadically, sleeping odd hours, seeming distracted when not working. His mind was constantly running, unable to stop thinking about what he was writing on, the case studies that he was looking at. Bastian'd had to make sure he was catching dinner a few times in the last week, which Cris had been grateful for; one of those unexpected perks of having someone connected to you. Bastian hadn't been over tonight though, and Cris was found in his small study again, working at his computer. He wasn't sure what time it was, or how long he'd been working, but eventually his eyes started to drift. Not for the first time, he found himself falling asleep at his desk.
He woke up to the smell of smoke. Not from a cigarette. It was odd, and pulled him awake a bit -- but if there was a fire, his alarm would go off, right? It felt like half a moment later to his mostly-unconscious mind, but suddenly that smell was practically choking him. Coughing, he jerked back up, only to see thick black smoke rolling into the room. Where was the goddamned alarm? His study had no windows to the outside, no other door but the one that the smoke was coming from. He moved to it quickly, about to shut it the rest of the way, when he felt someone on the other side grab the knob and yank it shut. There was a metallic sound from the other side, and when Cris tried to open it again, it wouldn't budge. Bringing an hand up over his mouth and nose as he started to cough, he looked around for something to jam underneath the door to block the smoke that was now coming in that way. He could already feel the beginnings of heat from the other side. He moved back to the corner of the study, pulling out his phone and sending a message as more coughing started.
Pulling out his phone, he listened for a dial tone but heard nothing. He switched to the Agency network instead and typed up a quick message, hoping someone was awake and actually paying attention to the journals right now.