fight this fatal attraction (cricky)

8

Chris sighed as he stared at his laptop screen, opening his messenger that he used to use to talk to Ricky with, looking back at their old conversations together. For the past few days Ricky hasn't been online, even though Chris has kept on messaging him, relentlessly trying to put things right.

He texts Ricky too and tries to call him to no avail. He figures Ricky probably has his number blocked, which sends a pang of hurt through Chris.

Chris has been slacking on music lately, but while sitting at his desk, he grabs his notepad, jotting down some lyrics; "paralyzed by the envy of the night, i am lost without you here".

/

Chris wakes up with his face pressed against paper, sticking to his skin as he lifted his head and was greeted by the far too bright sunlight peeking through his window and making him squint his burning eyes. He checks his clock and he's only gotten 3 hours sleep. Chris doesn't drink and never has, but with the way his head aches and his eyes feel heavy he wonders if this is what being hungover feels like. 

Chris' life has been pretty stressful the past few days and he's been neglecting essential things, like getting enough sleep. First, there's Ricky, but as well as that their bass player suddenly quit, a move no-one was surprised by however was still extremely inconvenient.

He checks his phone, a text message from Balz reading: "any luck?"

Chris snorts. When has he ever had any luck?

He realizes he's fallen asleep without switching off his laptop, still running and plugged in, and still on the messenger page. However, Chris has to blink himself awake at what he sees.

rickyxhorror: fine. we can talk. im still hurt, and mad, and humiliated, but fuck it. everyone deserves a second chance. you can come over to my place.

Chris re-reads and scans over the message, heart thudding in his ears. Ricky's typing makes him sounds blunt, but Chris doesn't care, and is just happy for the chance to talk to Ricky again. He writes down the address on the one of the pages of his notebook, and tucks it away in his pocket. 

He gets up and looks in the mirror, grimacing at what he sees, eyebrow-less and pale, dark circles evident under his eyes. I should probably fix that, Chris thinks, picking up his makeup bag.

/

Ricky paces around his shitty apartment, frantically cleaning and trying to make the place presentable. He had only moved in recently and the place was still littered with cardboard boxes, various things scribbled on the front in Sharpie - "books", "DVD's", "clothes", so he at least knows where to find things. 

Ricky's suddenly self-conscious of the place, knowing that it isn't exactly in the greatest area of Scranton (which Ricky gathered rather quickly judging by the needles and ziplock bangs that sometimes dwell littered on the staircase and in the hallways, as well as the drunken words that are sometimes thrown at him as he walks his way home), and as much as he's upset with Chris right now, the feelings for him are still there, and Chris' opinion is one that means a lot to him. He doesn't want Chris to judge him for his current state of living.

He hears a knock at the door, and Ricky's heart skips a beat in his chest. He swallows nervously and takes a breath, fixing his hair as it's a nervous habit of his.

Ricky walks over to where the knocking came from and opens the door, slowly and hesitantly, and he's greeted by Chris' tall figure in front of him, biting on his lip rings and brown, kohl lined eyes big with worry, like a kicked puppy. Ricky's initially cold demeanour melts at the sight. 

"Hey," Ricky states, and Chris gives a tight smile in response.

"Hi," Chris responds. "Look, Ricky-"

Ricky opens the door wider and indicates for Chris to come in.

"We'll talk inside, Chris."

Chris nods, closing his mouth, and steps inside.

Ricky walks over to his kitchen, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the worn coffee table. The surface is crowded with half-empty mugs of coffee, black and cold. There's an ashtray filled with crushed cigarette butts buried in gray ash, and a pack of smokes and a lighter sit beside it. Ricky pulls out a smoke, igniting the end, then inhales.  Yeah, he realizes he should cut down, but it's a bad habit when he's stressed or anxious or miserable - and lately he's been all three.

Chris awkwardly lingers in the door way, but then Ricky tells him to sit, which he does.

"Ricky, I'm really fucking sorry for how I acted...that night," Chris sighs, and Ricky wants to quell the flush that rises on his pale skin when he thinks of the memory, and the embarrassment he felt in that moment. He takes another drag of his cigarette to hide his face.

"When I realized how much I fucked up and how much I hurt you I felt like shit. I don't want to confuse you or send you mixed signals, and I especially don't want you to cut me out. So, I-I'm gonna be honest with you."

Ricky stubs out his smoke, looking at Chris. He seems nervous, as he sighs heavily as if preparing himself for something. Ricky peers at him intrigued.

"I have feeling for you, Ricky," Chris admits, and Ricky freezes, mouth dropping open slightly in shock and his pulse racing in his ears.

"W-what?" Ricky says. "Chris, I swear, if this is some kind of jok-"

Before Ricky can even blink, Chris shifts so he can lean over him, and his words are muffled by Chris' mouth pressing against his, big hand against the back of Ricky's head to draw him closer. Ricky's palms brace against Chris' chest, fingers curling in the material of his soft t-shirt to cling on, like he's afraid he'll pull back again.

Except Chris doesn't pull back, and instead he deepens the kiss further, delving into Ricky's mouth and Ricky can't help the small moan that he releases. He feels Chris grin against his mouth and Ricky flushes.

Chris pulls back slowly, keeping their faces close while Ricky looks at him with wide eyes.

"Nah, it's not a joke, Ricky," Chris says, chuckling, lips slightly swollen from kissing. "I really do like you, and I've kind of wanted to do that to you since I first saw you."

Ricky grins, biting his lip rings and ducking his head, chest swelling with happiness. Chris tips his head up and kisses him gently this time.

"So, do you forgive me?"

Ricky nods, laughing, and curls his arms around Chris' shoulders to pull him closer.

"Yeah, I do."