Like storms and the calm in between. One can’t exist without the other. Whoever says love shouldn’t hurt is lying. Love brings growth, transformation, a new rebirth of the soul and parts of yourself that weren’t there before. Good or bad, change is always scary and painful. Even after it’s all said and done, just the idea of your loved ones getting harmed, of having them far from you, of not being there when they need you, of losing them, hurts.
Although loving one of his best friends was a silent torture, the dark side of this unspeakable and powerful emotion was an agony Marc gladly embraced.
Biting his bottom lip as he bent down to grab another beer, he glanced at Chris, who was cracking up at a dirty joke a member of the Aussie band had just told them. His heart leaped, urging him to risk it all and break the boundaries keeping them apart. He’d already made peace with his feelings. Assumed this was as much as he got. Was more than okay with it. So, why the hell were all these thoughts and emotions relentlessly assaulting him again?
“What?” Chris asked, stopping in the middle of scratching his neck when he turned to him. His eyes, those inviting, hooded eyes with all the shades of blue coloring them, locked on his.
“Nothing.” The bassist leaned back in his chair.
“I know I’m pretty. If you wanna fuck, just ask.” The guitarist smirked.
Marc froze with a can in his hands, long hair tickling his forearms as he turned his head to look at his friend. The guitarist’s gaze was glassy from all the booze and smoking, but the mischievous, daring spark that lit in it for a second seemed deliberate.
Then Chris cackled like the idiot he was, and Marc rolled his eyes.
“You gotta stop throwing those propositions around or someone might take you up on them one day,” he said, getting a brow wiggle and a ridiculously wide grin in return. “Stop being so cocky.” He stuck two fingers in Chris’s nose and pulled up.
Instead of getting pissed off—he hated that—the dickhead just laughed and slapped his hand away. “No need to get so flustered, baby.” Chris batted his eyelashes while cracking open another beer. “We can arrange something one day.” He winked at him with a lopsided smile.
The fuck?
It wasn’t that Marc was losing his shit or was lonely and needy. It was this jerk. It was Chris being so fucking bold that had stirred all the feelings he’d locked away years before. He didn’t want to give too much credibility to the shadows his desire created, but something he couldn’t grasp in his friend’s behavior felt like it shifted the air between them.Fucking tornado of a human being.
Maybe he was doing it unconsciously, but there was a ringing in the back of Marc’s head telling him that Chris was testing the waters.
Reclining on his beach chair as he took a swig of his drink, the guitarist eased out of his laughter with a sigh and a chuckle, returning to his conversation with the Aussies as if nothing had happened.
Then again, for him, it probably meant nothing. But for Marc, it was getting particularly difficult to be around Chris and not be honest about his emotions.
After Viktor had left Germany and months later broke up with him, he’d spent weeks in denial;Chris is just a friend. I can’t have gotten over my first love so fast. I’m just confused by how much attention he’s paying to me… and whatever bullshit lies one could come up with.
Eventually, he’d given in, admitting to himself that the way he looked at him—warmth spreading in his chest whenever he was anywhere near the guitarist—wasn’t normal. It wasn’t only physical attraction. It was more. Much more. Because as terrifying as it was to accept it, Chris had crawled under his skin and made himself a home in his bones. Marc wanted to have sex with him and cuddle afterwards. Kiss him. Caress him. Spend cold, rainy nights wrapped in a fluffy blanket on the couch watching movies. He wanted to tell him how proud he was of him. And above all, he wanted to make him happy.
None of this made sense; suffering in silence, holding on to a person who would never love him back. He didn’t regret it, though. Even with this invisible wall between them, Chris made him feel alive.
A part of him wished he could reset his mind and heart, but he was just a man with limited reserves of energy left to fight against the force that Chris was.
It was his bad boy looks. His talent. His humor. How he stared his fears in the face and charged against them without giving them a second thought. The way he loved Betty and Wilma, Marc’s rats, and always bought them all the treats. The way his eyes glowed when someone offered him gummy bears. The way his nose slightly crinkled when he laughed. His creative mind. The intense, annoying, and impulsive side of him. The thoughtful and supportive one that not everyone got to see.
Just like now.
Marc smiled to himself.
Although Chris was being subtle, still interacting with the Aussies and all, he was keeping an eye on his best friend. Leah had walked across the circle they were in and sat beside Søren. The tension between those two was palpable from their seats. Here he was, though, ready to spring into action if needed. That was the type of person the guitarist was—impulsively going to the extreme to keep you safe. Not that he had homicidal tendencies, but seeing the murderous looks he had given some dudes when they’d crossed certain lines with Leah was enough to know.
They lived for their banter, yet the way they lifted, loved, and protected each other was so rare.
There were many examples Marc could use to explain it. Like that one night a dude had walked towards Chris like a raging bull because he was talking with his girl was probably the most remarkable one. He’d punched him, throwing him against a wall, a couple of people and glasses going down with him. None of the guys from Buried Alive’s crew had processed what was happening when Leah, who did the unthinkable to go unnoticed most of the time, shoved the dude’s chest.
Of course, he hadn’t moved an inch, yet whatever she’d said made him shrink on the spot. It was amazing to see her grow like that, even if it was solely to defend her friend.
The same had happened the other way around, but it wasn’t as impressive when six-three Chris shielded five-four Leah.
Suddenly, her face twisted, and Chris stiffened. Marc had no idea what she and Søren were talking about, but as her body deflated and her shoulders slumped, the guitarist faked a yawn.
“Jesus, fuck… I’m dead. I think I’m gonna head to bed.” He stretched on his chair, leaving a half-empty can on the floor at the same time Leah walked away. “See you tomorrow, guys,” he said when he got up, giving Marc a knowing look.
“Sleep well, princess!” one of the Aussie twins shouted as he strode towards their bus in the same direction she had gone.
