fight this fatal attraction (cricky)

5

"Nice place," Ricky says as he walks into to Chris' small but well-lived apartment.

The walls were painted a deep purple, Christmas lights strung against the walls and a variety of lamps lit the living room, casting an ambient glow. Bookshelves were stacked with records, CD's and an impressive collection of horror movies and figurines, and various artwork and posters were proudly displayed in frames.

"Thanks. I mean, it's not much," Chris shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, the rest of the cliche phrase 'but it's home' left implied.

"Are you kidding? It's awesome," Ricky smiles, and Chris ducks his head, smiling too.

"Uh, well anyway, make yourself comfortable," Chris indicates towards the sofa, heading to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Please."

Chris nods and heads into the kitchen, turning on the kettle to boil. His thoughts race as he begins to fix their drinks: is it weird to invite a guy you only barely know into your home? To be so concerned for their well being so soon into the friendship? Chris doesn't know, but despite the confusing nerves he has around Ricky, it still feels right.

When he walks back through, Ricky's sitting on the couch, fiddling with the loose threads on the sleeves of his hoodie, and he looks grateful when Chris hands him the mug of coffee, and Chris sits next to him. He still has some slight smudges of eyeliner around his eyes, remnants of it on his hands from where he'd tried to wipe it away. Chris' heart pangs. 

"Sorry," Ricky begins, and Chris looks at him eyebrows furrowed. "About, y'know, making a scene and being a hassle and everything."

"Dude, no way. If anything, the guys should be sorry," Chris says reassuringly. "They've annoying dicks about you ever since-"

Chris cuts his sentence short, not wanting to explain the whole Chris apparently having a crush on Ricky thing, and takes a sip of his coffee instead, ignoring Ricky's inquiring gaze.

"Anyway, uh-" Chris says, picking up the remote to turn on the TV across from them. "Wanna watch a movie?"

/

They collectively chose Sleepy Hollow, and they comfortably sit in silence for the first ten or so minutes of the movie. Chris enjoys Ricky's introverted nature, and is surprised at how easy it is for them to sit with each other quietly, no need for stilted words that run the danger of becoming awkward. Chris likes when conversation has meaning, not small talk shit. 

"When I was a kid, I used to watch this movie every night to help me sleep," Ricky speaks quietly, and Chris turns his head to watch him speak. "So now it's like a comfort for me to put in on whenever I feel overwhelmed and want to relax. Kinda stupid huh?"

Ricky chuckles and Chris shakes his head.

"No, not at all. Plus it's one of my favorite movies too, I was glad when you choose it," Chris responds, then hesitates. "So, uh, are you okay? Now, I mean? After-"

"Yeah," Ricky nods, cutting Chris off, then sighs biting his lip. "Well, kinda. I just feel like an idiot mostly. It's just that, I don't know - I've just been through a lot recently and got overwhelmed. I'm sorry."

Chris turns his body so he's fully facing Ricky, meanwhile Ricky's looking down, and Chris figures by now it must be a nervous habit to fiddle with his hands. Without even thinking, Chris puts his own hand over Ricky's to stop his fidgeting. It works, because Ricky immediately freezes, looking up at Chris with his blue eyes widened in surprise. Chris yanks his hand back like he's been burned, heart thudding and swallowing and stuttering nervously.

"Shit, I didn't, uh, I didn't mean t-" Chris rambles, and he can feeling his face turn red.

Ricky thankfully smiles softly, laughing slightly. 

"It's okay."

Chris nods and swallows. The image of his tattooed hand over Ricky's smaller ones plays in his mind, and he briefly imagines linking their fingers together, stroking a thumb over Ricky's knuckle, before he throws away those thoughts. 

There's a beat of silence before Chris talks again.

"What do you mean by 'been through a lot recently'?" The question tumbles from his lips before he can get a chance to stop himself.

Ricky bites on the inside of his cheek, as if he's pondering whether to answer. Or whether to answer truthfully.

"It's - it's a lot to get into, but basically, my parents kicked me out of their house after I came out to them. I stayed in Seattle for a while, couch surfing and trying to keep myself in college, but I just couldn't live there anymore, you know? Too many shitty memories attached now, I guess. I saved up money and moved to Scranton, wanting to live somewhere slightly smaller rather than feeling so insignificant in such a big city that I didn't feel any connection to."

Ricky shrugs, looking at Chris and smiling self-deprecatingly.

"There's more than that, but those are just the footnotes."

Chris doesn't know how to respond, but he does know that he feels sorry for Ricky right now, and his odd urge to protect Ricky from any shit has only grown stronger. Ricky must sense Chris' lack of words, so he chuckles.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything or tell me you're sorry or whatever."

"But I am sorry though. You don't deserve to go through anything like that."

Even though Ricky tries to hide his face with his hair, Chris notices that Ricky's eyes are shiny with unshed tears, emphasized by the lights hanging around the room, and the reflection of the bulbs make it look like his blue orbs are glittering. The hue from the TV screen makes his pale skin look like porcelain, and Chris can't help his eyes from glinting down towards his lips that are bitten pink.

Suddenly Ricky closes the distance between them, lips pressing against Chris', soft and warm besides the cold metal of his lip rings. Chris' brows furrow and his heart is beating dangerously fast inside of his chest, threatening escape, and his pulse rushes through him like waves in his veins. 

But he can't. Fuck, he can't do this. Chris cares about him and has feelings for him and thinks he's beautiful but he just - can't. He's scared. Chris doesn't what he hates himself more for; letting himself kiss Ricky in the first place, or for pushing him away.

"Ricky," Chris tries to say sternly, but he's out of breath and his voice is shaking. "I'm not - I don't like you like that."

Chris watches through pained eyes at the way Ricky's expression shifts from shock, to humiliation, to hurt. Ricky hurriedly gets up, apologizing over and over, and Chris doesn't even say anything as Ricky leaves, his cowardice taking over.

The door slams, and Chris is left alone.