The art of living together - To friendship spin-off
#7: The morning after
Author: Ligeia
Fandom: Richy Guitar
Characters: Richy/Igor, Richy/OFC
Rating: PG
Category: Romance/Angst
Summary: Richard felt like the biggest arsehole on earth.
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. Richy Guitar and all related characters were originally created by Michael Laux. I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Richard had been standing in front of the door for a good five minutes.
He had woken up rather early; the girl - he didn't even remember her name, for fuck's sake - had just mumbled something about closing the door and went on sleeping. And so he had left and wandered around aimlessly for a while, then entered a bar and got himself a coffee, the only thing he could afford since he was out of money again. He had sat down in a corner and stared at the steaming cup. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to confront Igor. He hadn't done anything wrong, they were free to shag whomever they liked and, besides, Igor had been flirting the whole night with that arty friend of his. He shouldn't feel guilty. Yet, for some damn reason, he did.
After the girl at the bar asked him if he would like something else for the third time, he got up and headed home. And now he was standing right in front of his door, fidgeting and not daring to go in. He only made up his mind when he heard someone walking up the stairs; the last person he wanted to meet was the old lady from the third floor: she was really sweet and always gave Igor and him cake and biscuits when she baked, but boy, was she nosy.
Everything was quiet inside.
'See, you were fretting like a schoolgirl, while he's probably still asleep in his bohemian friend's bed,' he thought bitterly as he walked into the bedroom and saw the still pristine bed. He took off his jacket and threw it onto the duvet, not wanting to see it so tidy. He turned around and almost jumped out of his skin as he saw Igor standing in the doorframe. His friend was still wearing the clothes from the previous night, had traces of eyeliner smudged around his eyes and looked as if he hadn't slept a wink.
"Er. Hi," Richard mumbled stupidly. Dammit, why was the sight of his friend affecting him so much?
"Arsehole."
Well, that came as a surprise. "What?"
"I hope she was at least a great fuck."
Richard felt like a small boy caught stealing sweets. "What are you talking about?"
Igor snorted. "Sheesh Richard, do you think I'm stupid? I'm talking about that girl you left with last night."
"That's none of your business," Richard replied sharply. He hated being caught red-handed. "But if you want to know, yes, she was amazing. I had one hell of a night." And kept thinking of you the whole time, he mentally added.
The drummer narrowed his eyes. "Good to know she was worth ditching your mate for."
"Well, what about you then? You'd been flirting with that friend of yours all night. And I'm free to do all the girls I want anyway, stop acting like a jealous boyfriend."
"She's the one who got us playing there in the first place, the least I could do was being nice to her. And she was there with her boyfriend anyway." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Of course you're free to do whatever and whomever you like. It's just... You could've told me. I was looking forward to celebrating with you. That was our first proper concert." He sighed. "Even Hans left with some girl, but I don't really care about him."
Richard felt his stomach clench. He was an idiot.
Igor rubbed a hand over his face. He looked exhausted. "Whatever, I'll just try to get some sleep."
"Did you stay up all night?" Waiting for me?
The drummer shrugged. "Yeah, I couldn't really sleep, too much adrenaline or something. I could've used a fuck too."
Richard felt like the biggest arsehole on earth.
"I... I'll just go then, don't want to disturb you."
He grabbed his jacket and walked past him. He stopped just outside the bedroom and turned round. Igor was standing there with sagged shoulders and his head hanging down. It was a miserable sight. Richard wanted to walk up to him and hug him, tell him he was sorry for being such a bastard, kiss him and bring him to bed, lie down with him and hold him until he had fallen asleep. But he couldn't make himself do any of those things.
He left the flat without looking back, not really knowing how he would keep himself busy for the following hours.
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November 2009