Marc chuckled. “Honestly, I was expecting you to say someit’s not you, it’s mekinda bullshit whenever you grew a pair and talked to me.”
“Thought about it.” Chris exhaled, long and slow. “But I can’t look at you the same way anymore. It’s a fact. What’s the point of lying?” He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Good to know.” Marc tightened his lips to avoid grinning from ear to ear like a stupid fool in love. “To be honest, though, I didn’t expect you to react the way you did. The shit you said hurt.”
“Sorry.”
“I wanted to think it was just you, cornered and afraid of yourself, counterattacking to escape a reality that was too overwhelming to process,” Marc added.
Chris gaped like a fish for a couple of seconds. “I don’t think I’d have ever been able to put it into words, but yeah, that was mostly it.” He let out a relieved sigh. “I never meant to hurt you, Zimmer. I just… I didn’t know how to cope and accept everything I was feeling for—It’s still so confusing… Sorry.”
“It’s alright, Chris.” Marc offered a faint smile as warmth spread in his chest. “Stop apologizing. We’re good.”
They really were. The bassist didn’t need a lot more from his friend. Chris wasn’t one to recognize his mistakes and apologize easily. He was stubborn like that. So him approaching and opening up to him was everything Marc needed to know he didn’t hate him or the things they had done.
“No, it’s not alright. I said some horrible stuff, dude. I was scared, whatever, but it doesn’t give me the right to lash out the way I did when you were only trying to help me.”
“I know, but you’ve already apologized.”
“It’s not enough.”
“If you insist, I can think of a few things you could do to make your apologies that much more solid,” Marc said, separating his legs.
Chris’s face went pale.
“Too soon?” The bassist tittered.
“Too soon.” Chris flashed him a crooked, uncomfortable grin and jerked his wrist, which was still trapped in Marc’s grip. “Asshole.”
“Sorry.” Marc chuckled. “Look, Chris… I like you as a human, as a friend, and as a man. I think I’ve been pretty forward about that. But what we did… we can be friends and never do it again, okay? No harsh feelings,” he said, hoping for the opposite. “And whatever shit is going on in your head, just voice it. Either to Leah, me, or whoever you want. But don’t keep it inside. Don’t hide from the people who care about you. We’re not gonna think less of you if it turns out you’re not as straight as you thought. You should know that already.”
“What if I want to?”
“If you want what?”
“To do it again.” Chris’s blues shone with determination.
Marc let out a nervous snicker.
“I’m not saying I wanna do it, just that I didn’t completely hate it, and… Fuck, ignore me. I don’t know what I'm saying.” His face went from white to a soft shade of red. “I’ve never felt attracted to a man, but with you… I can’t deny there’s something.”
Marc curled both hands into fists, trying really fucking hard to not kiss those plump lips. Chris was admitting this was more than he’d ever expected, but stepping into his personal space and rushing things could make him go back into his shell.
“Like I said, I like you, Chris. You’re hot.” Marc smirked. “I’d gladly fuck you any time, if and when you’re ready for that.”
“Ugh!” The guitarist facepalmed himself.
“Getting shy now?”
“No, just—fuck! Shut up. Don’t say that kind of stuff.”
“What? That you’re hot? That I’d fuck you?”
“Yeah. All of that.”
“But it’s the truth!” Marc laughed.
“You want me to punch you?” Chris said, his face twisted in the cutest expression between flustered and annoyed. “Shut that fucking hole in your face, or else.”
