French Kiss (Skam - Chris Schistad x OC)

Rule N°8

Rule number eight: The quickest way to someone's heart is through their fourth and fifth rib. Or is it?

Chris remembered sitting down on his couch after somewhat cleaning his apartment. It was a couple hours ago and he was still in the same position. Maybe he was over thinking this whole ate thing, maybe it wasn't worth getting gray hair over it. He should definitely relax and let the flow guide him, just show up ten minutes late and strut in the room with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile on his lips. Yes, he vaguely recalled doing that numerous times back at Nissen and he even remembered that it worked nine times out of ten.

At the time it wasn't important for him to make a good impression as long as he made a lasting impression. Cleaning his entire living space just because a girl came over to eat pizza wouldn't even cross his mind and now he couldn't think of anything else but that stain of alcohol he couldn't get out of his couch's arm rest. Helen already knew what his apartment looked like so he couldn't entirely rearrange the space or anything drastic like replacing the entire fucking couch.

Again – over thinking. Surely she didn't even care or wouldn't even notice. They usually hung out by the fire escape stairs, sometimes less than dressed down, barely awake or almost asleep, a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, blinded by the first or last rays of the sun. Weird how a day would turn out either great or terrible depending on those moments. Waking up to Helen sitting by her window one story above him, eating her cereals and staring at the city in the early moments of the day, was the perfect example of what Chris considered a good start. Going to class sure was a pain, but at least he didn't have to eat his breakfast alone with William the cat.

That cat seriously started to get on his nerves – a bit like William the human piece of garbage who left him for his fucking scones and fish'n'chips. For instance right this moment, the cat sat by the edge of the kitchen window and stared at Chris' limb form slouched on the couch like a boneless mess, and he judged him from afar. That small ball of fur was giving him 'See what hot mess you've become?' glare, and at some point Chris gave up and stood up to open the window so William could go out and stop this little game of his. His cat giving him judgmental stares was the last thing Chris needed, he was already berating himself enough.

Helen would most certainly not arrive at his door with her arms full of pizza boxes, dressed to the nines and in heels. She would be in jeans and t-shirt, her hair would be tied back for practical reasons and her makeup probably off. And he would still be nervous about this evening. Hell, he should have waiting until tomorrow to ask her out. Andre's voice interrupted his thoughts to tell him that he would have chickened out if he hadn't done it at the library. Chris liked to think that his friend was wrong – even though he wasn't even there, his advice being a mere figment of Chris' imagination – and that he would have won over Helen at some point anyway.

Something he noticed a while ago was that he developed a tendency to simply wait and see. It was his new approach to nearly everything. It didn't sound like him at all to stay passive and wait for things to happen to him instead of making them happen. Andre said that he lost his fire. His parents thought he was depressed. Chris simply thought he has been a little off his game – for the last couple years.

A loud and rather abrupt knock of the door caused Chris to jerk forward and get ripped out of his thought. He was on his feet before his brain could process what was happening. The door flung open so quickly it scared the person who stood behind it – a person who was not his lovely upstairs neighbor but a person who had pizza in their arms.

"Ugh, Christoffer Schistad?" The boy asked. He looked barely fifteen and his hand shook a little as he handed over the pizza to Chris without even waiting for an answer.