On the Fritz

Chapter 4 - Part 2

Fortunately, after he'd given it a little time, the situation boiled down to little more than a sticky, sour puddle left from Christian's never-ending frustration. Fritz made semi-funny jokes about the situation but otherwise didn't care, Rafael wasn't sure what to make of it, and most importantly, Thomas had yet to find out about it. Ignoring Christian, which Rafael always did, everything was keeping afloat nicely.

He invited Fritz over that weekend when neither one of his parents would be home for a while, with the sole intention of finding out what was going on in that head of his. Fritz happily showed up in the bright morning, his cheeks pink from running in the cold. His hockey boots were swinging from where they were tied to his schoolbag strap, his navy jacket was zipped to his throat, and his hands were dug into his pockets.

Fritz was smiling, and Rafael noticed it made him look his age. Now that his malicious air had diffused, he wondered how this boy ever made him bleed.

"Don't just stand there," Rafael said finally, and Fritz gave him a cheeky grin and kicked off his shoes before heading inside, but not before giving Rafael a quick and startlingly easy kiss on the cheek.

It was the brief touch of Fritz's lips to his skin that made it all came crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. Rafael froze up completely.

Immediately, dread exploded in his stomach like a firework – everything suddenly made sense. Too much sense.

He closed the door, turning to find Fritz scratching Sigourney between the ears and saying, "Good girl, good girl!". Rafael walked over to sit cautiously on the edge of the couch, and Sigourney bumbled over, bringing Fritz with her. Naturally, Fritz sat down beside him, but he sat so close the sides of their thighs pressed together.

Rafael waited for the scene to be over. Sigourney gave up quickly, giving his hand a wet lick and leaving to resume her nap. Fritz just sat patiently until something clearly made him a little too confident, and he snuggled his head into Rafael's shoulder.

"Fritz," Rafael said, his voice soft and low, the weight heavy against his neck.

"Yeah?"

Staying still like wild prey, Rafael asked, "Why do I feel like you're about to cuddle me?"

Fritz went rigid, awkwardly drew back, and looked up at Rafael with doe eyes. "What? Is cuddling a problem?"

"Yes," Rafael said to the television in the middle of his line of sight. He pushed up from the couch to cross the room, eventually stopping just shy of the lounge window that peered out into their back garden. "I'm not your boyfriend, dude." After he was met with silence, he glanced back to find Fritz staring at him, confused.

"You're not my boyfriend?" Fritz repeated. "This isn't ... we aren't dating?"

"No," Rafael confirmed to the window, before adding, "I'm using you for hook ups."

That last sentence stunned Fritz, leaving him sitting on the couch with his eyebrows pulled in and his gaze glued to the coffee table. Rafael felt a surge of power from this sight - there was something about seeing Fritz small, young, vulnerable. He'd spent years watching Fritz tower over him with a sneer, raising his fist just to watch him flinch, standing his ground no matter how much Rafael swore at him. Now it looked like he'd pulled the rug from under Fritz, and maybe it was cold, but Rafael was revelling in it.

"Just hook ups," Fritz repeated uselessly. "Right."

"I don't like you," Rafael said, his expression cold. "I'm not your boyfriend, and we aren't dating, we will never be dating, because I don't want to. I just want to make out with you, and I need you to promise that you'll stop trying to be my boyfriend and that you won't tell anybody. Because nobody can know, Fritz. I'm not getting murdered just so I can get off with you on the weekends."