He wanted to have the talk he was sensing coming his way, but there was something about the jokes and mundane conversations they’d been having until now that made him feel safer. He wanted to get out of this spiral they were stuck in, but didn’t want to leave the comfort of the unknown. If they didn’t speak about it, the fantasy would remain.
“Have you been talking to Erik?” That was all he could say.
“What?” Chris frowned. “No. Why?”
“Nothing.” Marc waved dismissively.The fucking coincidence!
Chris sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the starry sky. “How did we get here?”
There we go.
It sounded like a rhetorical question, so Marc didn’t answer. Instead, he mimicked his friend and reclined. The waning, crescent moon was looking gorgeous.
“I’m sorry,” Chris rasped.
Marc clenched his jaw as his heart climbed up his throat. The words lingering in the air between them wrapped around him like a soft blanket. How foolish of him to feel equally cured and devastated for such a simple confession.
“I’ve been thinking about this, about us, our friendship, and the band these days,” Chris continued after a few silent minutes. Marc didn’t dare to look at him, but he was definitely listening. The buses’ engines and the cicadas’ buzzing became white noise in the background. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved, the things I said… I was so confused. I only wanted to hurt you.”
With his head still resting on the back of the chair, Marc turned his face towards Chris. “And you’re not anymore?”
“What?” The guitarist’s eyes glowed with apprehension.
“You said ‘I was confused’. You’re not anymore?”
Chris twisted his mouth. “I am, but it’s different.”
“How?” Marc raised a brow, the blood pulsing harder in his veins.
“I-I…” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I think I might… like you?”
Marc would be lying if he said his heart hadn’t just bruised itself against his ribs, but he didn’t want to let it show. Not now that he had Chris right where he’d always wanted him, voluntarily stepping out of his comfort zone.
“You’re asking me?”
“No, I-I’m just—I’m still not sure what this is.” Chris rubbed a palm over his face, leaning both elbows on his knees. “What happened between us didn’t feel wrong, but it did, somehow. It was baffling, to put it mildly. Strange and good. How the fuck is that even possible?” he babbled, the mess of thoughts and distress flowing as if they'd been bottled up for years. “This is all so new to me. I-I’m… I’ve never been with a guy before, you know?” he clipped, annoyance clear in his tone when he cupped his own nape and tightened his fingers.
The energies inside the bassist turned into a darker shade.
Funny how seeing his friend—the man he craved—so vulnerable and raw flared up the urge to play with him. Like a cat with its prey. It was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. The simple admission of Chris liking him, of Marc having been the only dude he’d been with, and that their interaction was confusing enough to make him reconsider his own sexuality, made him proud.
He was kind by nature, always trying to help and make everyone comfortable around him. But the dormant monster inside of him was feasting on this side of Chris he rarely saw.
Marc put on a lopsided grin. “I know.”
“You’re an asshole,” Chris spat as he stood.
He firmly grabbed his wrist. “Sit down.”
“I was trying to apologize and here you are, mocking me.” Chris huffed, doing as he was told.
“I’m not mocking you.”
“Then what the fuck was that smirk?”
“Nothing. It’s just that”—Marc propped his elbow on the chair’s arm and leaned in closer to Chris—“you being such a mess is cute.”
“Stop it and don’t call me cute.” He huffed again, looking to the other side.
