“Yeah.”
“You’re doomed, bro.”
“Why?”
“Because just seeing his name gave you cartoon heart eyes.” She offered that loving look only she knew how to deliver. So warm and cozy that the ache in his chest turned into a speck amongst all the other things he was feeling. “You have to sit and talk with him seriously. If you continue like this, you’re gonna end up really hurt.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No, but what else can I do? I’m not ready to let go.”
“Ah…” Sophia sighed, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “You belong in the Romanticism era, Marco Polo...”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Freedom is the dream you dream while putting thought in chains again.”
“What?”
“That poem by Giacomo Leopardi reminds me of you.”
“Okay, you’re getting geeky and cheesy. Stop it.”
“But it’s true.” She lifted a shoulder, booping Arya on the nose. “You’re willing to risk your sanity for a man that doesn’t seem brave enough to do the same.”
“Well, he needed to do a lot of accepting and healing these past few months, and I’m in no rush. I can wait.”
“What if it never happens?”
Marc’s heart tripped. It was something he’d considered, of course. Chris was a tough nut to crack regarding emotions. Even he admitted that. But it hurt more hearing someone else saying it.
“It would hurt like hell. But I’d continue with my life while leaving a big part of me behind,” Marc quipped.
“You beautiful, tortured soul…” Sophia whispered, raising her head to look him in the eye. “I hope you find what you’re looking for in him. But if you don’t, you’ll still be the best fucking person alive.”
“Thanks, sis.” He tightened his arm around her. “I love you, too.”
November15th,2017
Munich, Germany
Lunch breaks were boring as fuck. Chris didn’t have enough time to go back home and return before his next client, and since Marc wasn’t around, he just sat in his studio to eat alone. So here he was, drawing—more like mindlessly sketching. But he was restless and wasn’t enjoying his solitude like he used to.
Anxiety. That was one of the few emotions he recognized easily. As much as he’d tried to ignore the pressure squeezing his lungs and the reason he was feeling like this, he couldn’t. Not without lying to himself. He had told Marc to meet Viktor so he could get the closure he didn’t have the chance to get when they broke up. But knowing they were seeing each other the next day made him nervous. What else could he have done, though? He wanted the best for his friend. And it wasn’t like he owned him, anyway.
However, Viktor—that stunning blond with a thick Eastern accent and enigmatic eyes—was a threat to their sexy arrangement. He could change it all for them. It was a fact. He’d been part of Marc for a long time, shared with him a third of his life, and everyone knows that where there was fire, ashes remain.
If they got back together, Chris doubted him being a toy in their bedroom games would be a possibility, no matter what the bassist said. Those two weren’t polyamorous, and Chris and Marc were bandmates. They saw each other almost daily. Not to mention the obvious attraction between them.
Yeah, no way that shit would work out nicely for anyone.
Sprawled on his couch, blankly looking at the doodle scattered across the page, the guitarist felt like the vertex of a very obtuse, dysfunctional triangle. He wanted to text Marc to get some more information out of him, but what was the point?
The bassist had been the same with him since day one, maybe a little more affectionate after that night Chris had fallen asleep hugging him from behind. Other than that, he had shown no signs that anything was different between them, or that he was interested in Viktor. Hell, he’d even answered all the weird questions he had thrown at him. What else was left to ask?
Chris dropped his notebook and pen on the table and grabbed his phone. He couldn’t help but smile when he opened his WhatsApp and went to the last bit of his conversation with Marc from the day before.
