Validation (A Cricky Fan Fiction)(REWRITING.)

V

|MyFavouritePart|
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Ricky sat on the metal stool in the middle of the isle. His 'oh-so-2007' flip phone started buzzing in his pocket. He checked the caller I.D and saw it was his mother, she knew better than to call him during one of his shifts but it had to have been urgent.

"Mom, I'm at work. Can I call you back?"

"Oh no wait. I called for a reason."

Ricky tried his best to hang the small packages of nails with one hand, failing miserably. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder, continuing the conversation with his mother.

"Ray broke his foot, playing golf of all things."

"Oh shit, is he okay? Is he in a lot of pain?" Ricky grimaced.

"Who can tell with the man? He calls the paramedics for a blister. It means though, we won't be able to fly in for graduation."

Ricky's eyes dulled in colour as an overwhelming sadness coated him like thick paint. He dropped the package of nails back into the box as tears welled in his eyes.

"Really? I- I mean you could just come alone, you don't have to bring Ray." He pleaded, even though he knew there was no way to convince her.

"And leave Tiger Woods to defend himself? You do understand, don't you sweetie?"

"Uh, Yeah. I-uh-yeah, it's fine. I really have to go okay?"

"I love you, Ricky."

"I know, I love you too." He quickly replied, hanging up as quick as possible.

A few tears started to stray from his eyes, falling down his cheeks. To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He knew he shouldn't have expected anything less, that's just the way his mother was. He knew she loved her, she just loved herself and her partner more.

"Ricky?"

He heard his name being called from an isle or so away. Foot steps sounded close, he wiped his face, being thankful for not wearing foundation. He wasn't allowed to wear his usual heavy makeup at work, he was shocked they even let him get away with his contacts. He was also happy he wasn't wearing black liner like he always does, he always likes trying new things. He just happily thanked Kat Von D for waterproof red liner.

"Could you come help me in the back?" His colleague, Frank, said as he popped his head around the corner of a shelf.

"Oh uh yeah, I'll be there in a second."

He hung the last thing of nails and picked up the price labels. He walked around the isle, only to be greeted with Chris' hoodie covered torso. He jumped at the sudden collision and exclaimed 'bitch' in Russian. He didn't know where it came from, it just happened. (A/N; I'm pretty sure 'bitch' in Russian is сука, pronounced sooka. Correct me if I'm wrong)

"I thought it was you." He smiled.

"What the fuck." Ricky whispered under his breath.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Olson."

"Ricky. Just Ricky. Uh, you're in here." He said, so bewildered that someone so classy and high handed would even think about stopping in some run down piece of shit hardware store.

"I was in the area for business. I thought I'd just come and pick up a few things. Are you free?"

"Oh, yeah. What can I help you with?"

Chris returned his infamous smirk as Ricky stuttered and ran over his words.

"Do you stock cable ties?" He smiled.

"Cable ties? Oh, uh, yeah. W-would you like me to show you?"

"Lead the way, Mr. Olson."

"Just... Ricky."

Ricky lead him to the 5th isle, not far from where they originally were. Chris picked a pack of 100 ruby red cable ties. He so badly wanted to just take Ricky into the back and force him down onto his knees, pull on his hair, make a mess out of him. Not until he signed the contract.

"Is that it?" Ricky asked, his sweet voice knocking him out of his trance.

"Masking tape."

He lead him to the back wall where rolls of coloured masking tape sat on hooks.

"Are you redecorating?"

My god, you're so innocent. I want to destroy you.

"No."

"Well we have 2-inch and 1-inch. But the truly self respected handyman will have both in his toolbox."

Oh, I have both all right, times three.

"Of course he will."

"D-do you want anything else?" Ricky asked, looking up and taller man with doll eyes.

You, on your knees, begging for me.

"Uh, rope."

Ricky lead him to the last isle where all the rope tells hid.

"How much?"

Whatever length I can use to tie you up and use you.

"2 metres."

Ricky started to reel out the rope, counting the metres in his head. Chris silently awed at his concentration face. A stray hair fell from his bun, his eyebrows scrunched together a little and his tongue peaked out from his lip. He diverted his attention from Ricky to the wall of knots that had Ricky's name written in the corner.

"You tied all these?"

Ricky just nodded.

"That's impressive. Did you do Boy Scouts?"

"Uh, I did for about a month but I quit. Organised group activities aren't really my thing."

"Well, what's 'your thing'?"

"Uhh, guitar and books I guess." He dryly chuckled.

"You play guitar? How long?"

"Uh, around 12 years." He spoke, almost like it was nothing.

Ricky tied the rope into a nice little bundle and handed it to Chris.

"Rope, cable ties, masking tape. You're the complete serial killer."

The only thing I want to be killing is your ability to walk for a week.

"Thank you sincerely. Not today, though."