𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳༉‧₊˚. ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʟʟ

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆-𝘁𝘄𝗼.

THE HOTEL ROOM WAS COLD,
Delia liked to pump the AC— as air conditioning was not a privilege she had in Seattle.

But she piled the blankets on her bed, so her feet and head sticking out from under the extra comforter remained icy cold while her body was perfectly warm.

Chris didn't agree with this method, but said nothing of it when he entered their room. He sat down his guitar, trying to make minimal noise as he assumed Delia was knocked out. He crashed into the other queen bed, not even bothering to unlace his boots. That's how tired he was, and was about to drift off when Delia called out to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Chris sat up, blinking in the dark.

Delia reached over to the bedside table and flicked on her painfully bright lamp, squinting at him. "Get over here." She paused. "I don't know how to turn the AC off. It's cold." That was a lie. Not that she even needed to lie to get Chris into her bed. The man would teleport to her bedsheets if possible.

So that's what he did, grumbling slightly to his tired self as he kicked off his boots and jeans, but inwardly grinning as he laid down next to her.

Delia shifted, now on her side, facing Chris. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, seeing the outline of her face and hair appear, contrasted by the faint glow from the window behind them.

He admired her barely visible figure, assuming her eyes were closed and she was drifting off once again.

But then she spoke the dreaded sentence he thought of out by the pool.

"How are the songs going?" Delia's voice was slow and soft, not wanting to keep him up but too curious not to ask.

He thought for a moment, even though the songs were essentially done, Chris thought they could always be better, and Delia being in his mind, in his hotel room didn't help the process as much as an almost-girlfriend or creative muse should have. He chose to tell the truth, too tired to brush it away and knowing she deserved to know how he felt about her, even though they showed it every day.

"I think I've gotta leave them where they are. Even though they could be better." He pauses. "I was just out there, by the pool. Just sitting there."

"I know. I was spying through the window."

At this, Chris laughs, shaking his head. "Really?" She nods. "I was thinking about you. I think I was trying to turn it into some sort of inspiration." He admits, trying to make out her face more clearly.

"And what'd you get?" She asks, amused to hear this.

"Not much."

Delia giggles into her pillow, then shifts closer to Chris. "I'm flattered. Even if I'm not a good enough muse."

Chris was quiet for a moment, thinking of what to say even though Delia's responses were predictable, he just had so much to say and wasn't sure if it could be conveyed in a joke. "It's not that. More like there's too much, I couldn't start."

"Writing about me?"

He nods and Delia continues, "if it makes you feel better, you made Sub Pop Rock City, and Fopp. And I would be thrilled if even a song like that was about me."

Chris grins, "is that a dig at Fopp?"

"Of course not. I just mean, you could make a song so unserious that even KCMU wouldn't play it and I would still cry if I heard it." Delia sat up, and reached over to flick on the lamp once more.

Chris's eyes were low lidded as they adjusted to the light again, the squint deepening as he laughed at her comment.

She spoke again, not waiting for his reply. "So what sort of thoughts are we talking?"

"Good ones. Distracting ones." Her gaze silently persuaded him to continue, and his exhaustion left no room for self-doubt about what he said next. "Just you, being here. The drive down. You reading in the passenger seat then falling asleep. How you've been in the room next to me for months and we still haven't said anything about what's going on."

Delia didn't interrupt. She wasn't surprised to hear this from Chris, he'd always been someone who overthinks, although she'd only ever noticed those sort of spirals when it had something to do with music. This had nothing to do with music.

"I know how you are Del, you don't like to talk about things like that. But I was thinking, earlier, what if that means you're gonna disappear sometime?" He paused for a moment, not wanting to ramble. "I don't mean like before, with rehab. I mean all the shit going on between us."

Chris wondered if whatever that shit was, was really as special as it seemed to him. He wondered if it simply felt that way because of the environment in which it progressed— when he was grieving his dear friend and exiting a long term relationship. But he did know he didn't want the thought of whatever they had fizzling out to distract him any longer.

"No... that's not gonna happen." Delia sat up a bit straighter in bed as she spoke. "You've known me long enough to see the lack of relationships I've been in, right?" She didn't like how that sounded, like she was pitifully single. It was true though, and she wanted to get the point across to Chris that she wouldn't have started anything with him if she was gonna desert it. She grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "You know you could've asked me like... 'what are we' about 6 months ago, right?"

"I think I could've asked you years ago." He said, quietly. Almost ashamed, too. Of course he stayed faithful to Susan in their relationship, but it'd be a lie to say he'd never looked at Delia how he did now, then.

"I was a mess years ago." She hesitated slightly, not wanting to seem overly cynical, even though it was what she felt. "And I'm a mess now, but I know I've done something right." Delia smiled as she criticized herself, as she often did.

Chris met her gaze, his expression less animated than hers. "Give yourself more credit." He squeezed her hand as he realized that his worrying about her feelings towards him really meant nothing. He now saw that whatever hesitation he may have felt from her came from her insecurity about being a 'mess.'

It was never about him and what he did or did not do. It didn't matter what Chris said to her, Delia was stubborn to the core and that made her shy away from deepening their relationship, because she couldn't let go of the idea that Chris was above her.
Her own mind rebelled against her, repeating the idea that by being involved romantically with her, Chris would only be dragged into whatever mess she contained.

•••

Even though there was much more to say, they were quiet for the following moments.

Delia ran several different strings of words through her head, what she could say to Chris to explain her thoughts but nothing really illustrated her true emotion.

One thing she didn't feel however was physical hesitation as she moved closer, leaving whatever hint of subtlety and insecurity behind.

She looked up into his eyes, studying his irises, trying to find any trace of hesitation but was met with some sort intensity instead.

It made her heart race embarrassingly fast, in a way that steady breathing couldn't fix. The only way the slamming in her chest subsided was by kissing him— and Delia did, albeit a little hasty at first.

Her anxiety was soothed more and more with each touch, and she smiled into Chris's lips and accepted the fact that every Holiday Inn was now ruined, (in a good way.)

She also figured that they'd better create a good, worthwhile memory to haunt the cigarette perfumed room.

•••