“No, don’t. I’ve been here all this time, putting up with your moody ass for months, I thought you’d needed time, and now—”
“That’s exactly why. This is unfair to you. I can’t seem to get a grip on myself. I’m mad at the world, you don’t deserve this… you’re taking the rap when this has nothing to do with you.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one deciding what’s fair for me and what’s not? I’m here for the good and the bad, but you won’t let me in. You don’t let me help you and it’s killing me. You’re the love of my life, Viktor. Can’t you see that?”
“All I want is for you to be happy.”
“I’m happy with you.” Marc’s tone was wavering between angry and pleading. Why was Viktor doing this to him? To them?
“I’m sorry. But I can’t do this anymore. Not to you. Just… continue fighting for your dreams and be happy, alright? I hope you can forgive me someday. I love you.”
“Viktor—”
Marc tried to call him again, but the line was cut off. He tried texting him, but his words didn’t get through. With each try, frustration grew, and so did the pressure clogging his chest. Outraged. Hurt. Disheartened. The bassist cried and threw his phone against the wall. He couldn’t believe this was it. That this was as far as they’d come.
Pressing his back to the wall, he’d let himself fall to the floor, tears tasting like a mix of helplessness and agony. Had he not done enough? Had he not been enough?
The horn of a car blaring behind Marc startled him back to the present. Clenching his jaw, he saw the white building illuminated with green lights a few meters in front of him. Those last words Viktor had said to him cut like a blade. That he’d blocked his calls and texts and never answered one of his desperate emails angered him, even to this day. It’d been a horrible way to sever such a long relationship and shatter all the hopes and dreams built together along with the future.
Why the fuck am I doing this again?The bassist asked himself once he stood at the entrance of the art gallery.
Closure.The word bounced in his mind.
What was that, anyway?
Marc shook his head. As glad as he was that Viktor was finally succeeding with his artwork, sounding as content as ever through his messages, he didn’t owe him anything. Besides, he’d already made peace with the pain his ex had caused him.Closure. That shit was overrated.
Sure, the bassist still got pissed when he thought about how he hadn’t been given a choice when things ended, but did it matter at this point? Although his relationship with Chris was unpredictable, he couldn’t ask for more out of life at the moment. His family was healthy. The stores and the band were doing great, too. He didn’t need this. Not anymore.
He was about to leave when a raspy voice that every cell in his body recognized called his name.
“Marc! I wasn’t sure you’d make it. So glad to see you here.”
The bassist stiffened, slowly turning around and coming face to face with Viktor. He was as handsome as he remembered. His hair was a little longer though, tied up in a man bun, but still with the undercut style. He had a perfectly groomed beard, something he rarely wore in the past, that enhanced the chestnut brown of his eyes.
“Hey,” Marc said, heart hammering hard against his ribs. He hadn’t been this nervous in ages.
“I just came out to make a call,” Viktor explained, shoving his phone into the pocket of his slacks as he approached. That was different. In the almost ten years they had been together, he’d never worn something like this, so classy. “Man, you look great. Thanks for coming.”
Marc stretched his hand out to him, but instead of shaking it, his ex thought that pulling him in for a tight hug was more appropriate.
What the fuck?
Although Viktor had lived in four different European countries and was quite open-minded, this wasn’t your common greeting. Not in Ukraine. Not in Germany. And certainly not between old acquaintances with a history who hadn’t seen or talked to each other in three and a half fucking years.
As if he’d read the bassist’s mind, or the tension in his body, Viktor put some distance between them.
“Sorry,” he apologized, hands still gripping his shoulders. “I’m just overstimulated today with the opening, and having you here… Fuck. It means more than I can say.”
Marc was speechless. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen this version of Viktor; so lively, energetic, and bright.
A flicker of resentment rose in the back of his mind. While he was happy with how things were going for him, the fact that this man was doing so well after having been a shadow of himself for a long year before they fell apart was irritating.
“I-It’s alright,” Marc stammered, swallowing his bitterness. He was better than that. “How are you?”
“Great.” Viktor let go of him and walked towards the building in front of them.
No chance to escape now, I guess, the bassist thought as he followed him together with awkwardness and discomfort—his new best friends.
