They had texted. Marc had sent him a few memes during the first days after the most awkward, silent flight back home, and Chris had just shrugged everything off with a‘haha’or a simple‘that’s a funny one’. That was about it. He hadn’t answered back with offensive stickers or engaged in a ridiculous battle of crude images that should certainly be banned.
They had also hung out together with Leah and some other people they knew from their usual bar last Saturday. And honestly, he was pissed off at the guitarist’s nonchalance and the distance he’d purposely kept between them, looking and running away every time Marc had tried to approach him to talk, as if they were only putting up with each other because they had friends in common. So Marc didn’t feel like reaching out to try to understand why he was giving him the cold shoulder anymore.
Even if for him thistransitionhad been fairly easy, he got it; accepting a new part of yourself was bewildering. Especially for someone like Chris, who needed to have everything under control and after twenty-eight years of life, was realizing he was more lost than ever before.
Marc was willing to give him time to adapt and lend him a hand so he didn’t feel so scared of his desires. He was patient and understanding, but didn’t like to be tossed in such ridiculous back and forth. It was draining.
Fuck him.
With that prospect in mind, irritated and completely uninterested in going out by himself—even if he knew he would bump into lots of acquaintances at The Cave—the bassist took a shower and plopped on the couch. A calm movie night was ahead of him, and honestly, he was thrilled. For some, time alone was scary. For him, it was peace for the soul. Marc loved his friends and was an extroverted person, but from time to time, this solitude was all he needed.
Besides, he had Betty and Wilma. They were currently eating, but they were the sweetest, always looking for cuddles and making all these cute gestures with their little hands. He adored his rodents more than most humans.
Bored of going through the list of thriller movies on Netflix that didn’t seem appealing, he was just about to grab a beer and get his rats out of the cage to put them on his stomach while he watchedZodiacfor the thousandth time, when the doorbell rang.
“The fuck?” Marc grumbled, getting up from his uncomfortable comfy position. Unless they had mental powers, his dinner couldn’t be here already because he’d opened the restaurant app five minutes before he got lost in a sea of movies and hadn’t ordered anything yet.
Sighing, he dragged his feet to the entrance. As he opened, his heart drowned.
“What are you doing here?” Marc asked, not even trying to sound nice as he itched to close the door again.
“I’m bringing you free beer and this is how you greet me? Rude.” Chris grinned, a pack of his favorite wheat ale in one hand and his black helmet in the other.
“What did you expect?” Marc countered. “Also, how the hell did you get into the building?”
“One of your neighbors was going out. So… you’re not letting me in?”
Marc huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood his ground in the middle of the threshold. “What do you want?”
“If you have company, you can say so, and I’ll leave. No need to be a twat.” Chris rolled his eyes.
“I’m alone, but I don’t see why I should let you in.”
“Seriously, dude?”
“Yeah. I’m tired of this game you have going on. I’m not something you can use and throw in the trash as you please just because you’re confused as fuck,dude.”
“Can we not do this here?” Chris motioned with his occupied hands to the corridor.
“What? You afraid of people knowing you like dick?” Marc pushed, slanting his head in a condescending gesture.
Chris winced. “No, but I’d like to talk to you and I don’t think this is the place for it.”
“Talk about what? How nice is the weather these days? How you keep denying you’re into men? Or how you keep coming to me and then running away like a fucking coward? Or about how shitty you’re making me feel for all of it?”
Marc didn’t use to be this harsh and usually hid his emotions better, but he was hurt. He’d been fine for the last few years, holding on to his secret love for Chris. But this? This blowing hot and cold, giving him what he wanted and then taking it away? It was plain cruel.
The guitarist’s expression twisted into a sad scowl. “Yeah, I’d like to talk about all that because I know I haven’t acted in the best way.”
“To put it mildly.” Marc stepped aside to let him in.
Weak fucking ball sack, he said to himself.
As he closed the door behind them, Chris left his helmet on the coffee table, dropped his backpack beside the couch, and went directly to the kitchen. He ripped the pack of beers, put the bottles in the fridge and, still without saying a word, grabbed two of the ones Marc already had in there, handing him one after cracking them open.
“So,” the guitarist started.
“So,” he parroted, raising a brow and staring at him from the other side of the peninsula.
