Chapter Six

The next morning, Richie felt good. He wasn’t sure why he was in a good mood, but he was. He bounced out of bed and found Lance cooking omelets in the kitchen.

“Something smells good,” Richie said and sat down at the table after grabbing a bottle of water.

“You want one? These are both for me,” Lance teased. 

Richie smirked. “Sure,” he said as he moved to the fridge and removed the juice container. It felt different to have Lance cooking since typically he was the one who cooked and was in school to become a chef.

Lance quickly prepared the mixings for another omelet as Richie poured the juice. “You’re getting pretty good at that,” Richie said as he slid a glass to Lance and sipped his own.

“Well, I do live with a master chef,” he said with the arch of a brow. Richie’s heart skipped a beat as Lance smiled and lifted the glass to his lips. Suddenly, it was as if everything in the room slowed and there was no sound other than his breathing. It felt like someone had their hands cupped over his ears, muffling everything but his ragged breathing. Richie’s eyes watched the way Lance’s lips connected to the glass and the way his throat worked as he swallowed the juice. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach, tightening almost painfully.

That wasn’t the only thing suddenly growing tight. He was seriously going to have to get control of these strange sexual urges. His eyes widened as he sat on the stool behind the bar. He blinked, and everything came rushing back. Sound snapped back into place. Somewhere outside their apartment window, a horn blared and a dog barked.

What the hell?

Richie looked up and found Lance staring at him puzzled. Trying to shrug it off, he shook his head. “Sorry, man, I must have zoned out.”

Lance’s mouth tugged down in a slightly concerned frown. “Are you okay? You kind of look flushed?”

Richie swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and gulped his juice. His mouth felt like the Sahara all of a sudden. Finally, he placed the empty glass on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Guess I’m still a little wiped out. Having flashbacks and shit. You know how that is. But on the good side of things, I slept like the dead last night.”

“Same here,” Lance said as he scooped Richie’s omelets out onto a plate. Both men grabbed their breakfast and juice and walked to the table.

“So, what're your plans for the day?” Lance asked as he watched Richie bite into his food. He tried to focus on what his friend was saying but found his eyes drawn to his lips. Lance’s nostrils flared slightly as he watched Richie’s tongue dart out and lick cheese away from his lips.

Inwardly, he groaned. They were finally in a good place—neither having sex for a while. Lance was relieved when Richie had made the decision, but that also meant that he didn’t stand a chance—not that he did in the first place.

“This is pretty freaking awesome,” Richie said, pulling Lance from his wayward thoughts.

Lance felt heat creep into his cheeks. “You really think so?” he asked as he stood and began to gather the dishes. Richie’s hand shot out and covered Lance’s. For a moment, everything was silent as the two stared at each other.

Then Richie gave him a casual smile, obviously not feeling the attraction he was feeling. “Yeah, maybe you should do the cooking from now on.” Richie almost winked at Lance but stopped. He cleared his throat and got up. “I got the cleanup. It’s only fair.”

“You don’t have to,” Lance murmured, breaking eye contact and looking down at the dirty dishes.

“No, seriously, I insist. You cooked and I’ll clean up.”

“It wasn’t that good,” Lance joked.

“Are you kidding me? The butter… damn, I love shit cooked in butter.” Richie made a moaning sound and the silverware that was in Lance’s hands clattered loudly to the table, bouncing off onto the floor.

“Shit,” Lance muttered as he knelt to retrieve the silverware.

Richie tilted his head to the side. “Are you okay? You seem a bit… I don’t know, jumpy?” Richie needed to get away from his roommate soon before he did something stupid.

Richie shrugged off the awkward moment by walking over to the sink and depositing the plates into the soapy water.

Get a hold of yourself, he told himself. If he didn’t get a serious grip on his emotions—and hormones—he was going to screw everything up. Taking a deep breath, he turned back around to find Lance standing beside the table staring down at his phone. The sun’s rays shone through the window, bathing his torso in a golden light. Lance never really cared for wearing shirts and in that moment, Richie had never been more grateful for that.

“What’s wrong?” Richie asked, finally finding his voice.

“My professor wants to see me this afternoon.”

“Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

Richie shrugged and tossed his phone to the table. “It’s probably nothing. Anyhow, what classes do you have today?” He asked as he walked over to the sink and plunged his hands into the soapy water.

He washed the dish and placed it in the other sink and Lance began to rinse. “Don’t really have big plans. My class was canceled today because of some chemistry explosion in the lab next to our class. So, I’m pretty much free.”

“Wanna play some ball a little bit later? We’ve not hit the courts in a while.”

Lance shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

“Awesome. Meet you down there about three then?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The remainder of the morning was spent with easy conversation. Lance was dwelling on the little extra pep in Richie’s step and wondering if not having sex was really making him that happy or if there was something more to it. He hadn’t missed the look in his friend’s eyes when their hands had touched while they’d done dishes together, or the way he’d caught Richie staring at him from the corner of his eyes.

Hope bloomed in Lance’s chest, but before it could get too far, he pushed it back down. There was no use in getting his hopes up. Richie was textbook straight—especially raised with a strict Catholic background. He couldn’t let himself think of the possibilities, where there were no possibilities to be found.

Thinking about the ‘what ifs’ only made things worse. He couldn’t dwell on his feelings for Richie, because if he did—and something happened—he could run the risk of losing him altogether. And that was something he just couldn’t let happen. Though both of those options sucked beyond measure, the option of staying friends was the one that was the best, and even if it killed him, that was the option he’d stick with.