Maybe he was exaggerating and his reaction had been completely out of proportion, but Viktor had been Marc’s entire life for almost a decade, and now all they had in front of their eyes was smoke.
Marcreclinedinthebooth he was sitting in. His brow furrowed, and he huffed when a few strands of hair got stuck in between the wooden slats, a sharp sensation pinching his scalp. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but during the last few weeks, the smallest thing had sent his irritation skyrocketing.
Marc winced as he leaned forward, hearing the hairs splitting. He closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh, basking in the southern rock softly playing in the background. Music once again soothing his racing heart.
After he’d left the apartment, he mindlessly started walking and walking, letting his relentless thoughts lead him. What was the point of being a couple if Viktor shut down Marc when he needed him the most?
“Here’s your beer and chicken wings,” the waitress said as she placed them on the table.
“Thanks.”
Unsure why, Marc had ended up downtown in the Irish pub where he and the guys hung out a lot—one of the few places still open. He wasn’t thirsty nor hungry, but sitting there without ordering anything made him feel like a creep.
“Yo, Zimmer!” Chris tossed when he approached, helmet in hand, while unzipping his motorbike jacket with the other.
“What are you doing here?” Marc asked, as surprised as he was confused.
“Well, you called sounding like a whiny little shit, so I figured I’d check on you,” he said, sitting across from him and gesturing for the waitress.
“I didn’t sound like a whiny little shit.”
“Okay, fine, you didn’t, but I knew something was off for you to call me so late asking if I was busy.”
“And you were.” Marc flashed him a mischievous grin.
“Yeah, but she has her own house.”
“Right.”
The waitress approached, interrupting them to take Chris’s order. Silence fell between them for the couple of minutes she took to come back with his pint.
Marc didn’t know how to start the conversation, especially because he didn’t want to be called out for being selfish. Viktor had valid reasons for acting up. He was suffering. But the bassist was feeling so lonesome… It wasn’t fair either.
“How’d you find me, anyway?” he asked while Chris gulped down his drink as if he hadn’t had a drop in years.
“I didn’t think you’d be wandering around in this weather, and there aren’t that many places open at this time on a Wednesday that you like.” The guitarist shrugged. “I tried the Cave first, but you weren’t there. So I came here.” He slanted his head, eyes plunged deep into Marc’s.
“I sure am predictable.” Marc let out a chuckle, sighing.
“Nah. But I know you well enough.”
“Thanks.”
Chris nodded, giving him a knowing look.
Words were unnecessary between them. Even in the beginning, when they barely knew each other, everything was so easy. The conversations. The jokes. He wasn’t sure why, but it was as if they had known each other forever.
“So, what is it? What happened?”
Marc huffed and took a long swig of his beer. “Vik’s leaving.”
“Huh?” Chris raised a brow.
“His mother fell and broke her hip, and he wants to be there for his family.”
“Understandable,” the guitarist said with the glass close to his lips before taking another sip.
He was loyal to a fault, but would call his friends out when they were in the wrong. The bassist loved that, but also wanted to punch him in the throat for being so flat-out honest right now, even though he probably understood his position, too.
