There was a soft clink of porcelain as you sat a teacup on the trestle table. You'd boiled some peppermint tea for your lover. Christopher had been drinking all night, luckily not at the bar. He hadn't been roaming the streets of London as much since he found you. But that didn't stop him from cracking open a bottle of wine in the comfort of the Marlowe Estate.

"Christopher," you coaxed, brushing his hair back. Puffy blue eyes fluttered open to look up at you. He was half-asleep on the sette, his clothes rumpled and hair a mess.

"Useless," he grumbled, eyes starting to close again. His words seemed to hit him, though, because his eyes snapped open again. "Not you, darling. You're not useless, never."

The pleading look in his sapphire eyes almost made you laugh. Christopher would walk across broken glass if it made you smile. Although you suspected the tortured poet would walk across broken glass just to feel something.

"I don't feel real," Christopher blurted, tongue still loose from last night's drink. "Everything feels pointless and my head always. It feels like I'm worthless to all and if there is a God he's cruel because..."

Christopher didn't finish his thought. His eyes got all glossy and he suddenly reached for the teacup. He always asked for that specific teacup. You had brought the set with you when he asked you to move into the manor, and that particular cup had been chipped by his clumsy hands. You had laughed so hard at the sight of Christopher trying to carry the whole tea set on his own. It was his most cherished memory.