Asymmetrical (Part four)

[pinkichan]

The ferocious energy that had been burning in Ryan’s veins, compelling him to scream and fight and ultimately push Jon away, fades fast. Ryan feels ill, maybe from Jon’s departure or maybe from not taking his meds. His stomach churns, like he might lose the dinner he ate less than two hours ago.

He doesn’t know what to do. Ryan hates being alone in normal circumstances, but being alone now … well, he hasn’t exactly been completely alone since before the hospital. The thought of calling Spencer comes first, but he doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to call Spencer and admit that he fucked up in choosing Jon or admit that he’s not fit to live with anyone but Spencer because Spencer is the only one who will put up with his shit and never leave out of some misplaced sense of loyalty and responsibility. Calling Spencer would be going back on his word, forgetting that he told Spencer to go and live, and Ryan doesn’t want to do that.

He can get by on his own for a while. He has money and can dial the number of take-out places for food. He doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t show up to group or doctor appointments - maybe they’ll contact Spencer, since he’s Ryan’s emergency contact, but that shouldn’t happen for a while.

Ryan’s knees wobble. He decides to take his medicine now. He grabs up the pills and pops them into his mouth, then goes for the water. His left hand forsakes him and a tremor runs through him. Ryan’s fingers jerk, which knocks the glass over, spilling the contents onto Ryan’s wood floor. He sighs and collects the cup, swallowing the pills down dry. He goes to the kitchen to refill his glass just for something to do.

The house is too quiet, too still, and Ryan breathes through the panic that comes at him suddenly. He goes to the kitchen and runs the tap. As he waits for the water to grow cold, he catches sight of something outside through the kitchen window. The window above the sink faces out to the driveway. Ryan can see the warm cherry color of a lit cigarette moving around the driveway.

Hope springs up inside of him. Ryan shuts off the water before he heads to the front door. He didn’t hear his own car start, but maybe Jon called a cab; maybe he’s waiting for it so he can get the fuck away from Ryan. Either way, Jon isn’t gone, so Ryan has time.

Ryan goes outside in his socks, the cement warm under his feet. He can see clearer now, the light from inside streaming out into the night because Ryan left his front door hanging open. The porch lights don’t work - Ryan’s never gotten around to changing the bulbs in them. With the new source of light, Ryan sees his own car still parked in the drive and Jon’s back facing him. Jon’s sitting on the hood of Ryan’s car, silver wisps of smoke rising around his head like signals.

Ryan pads down the drive, his heart quickening. The closer he draws to Jon, the more he realizes he doesn’t have a single idea of what he should say. Ryan reaches Jon’s side. Jon is smoking, staring out at the expanse of Echo Park that can be seen from the hill Ryan lives atop. It’s beautiful at night, one of the main reasons Ryan chose this place when he was house-hunting.

“You didn’t leave,” Ryan says. It isn’t a question - he’s just surprised. His voice is a soft whisper compared to what it was a handful of minutes ago. Jon pulls a drag from his cigarette and blows out the smoke to his right before he looks at Ryan. He looks sad, worn down. Jon’s legs are on the front grille of the car and his knees are almost to his chest, his arm draped across them, his other arm bringing the cigarette to his mouth.

“You really want me to?” Jon asks, taking another drag. The cigarette is mostly ash that Jon hasn’t flicked away yet.

Ryan touches at his bad arm through his shirt. He misses being able to hold on to his arm, lace his fingers together. He misses little things he never thought he would even notice. “No,” Ryan says sheepishly. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

Jon finally flicks away the ash of his cigarette. “They told me I could come back,” Jon says.

“What?”

“Brendon and Spencer,” Jon continues. “They told me I could join Panic again if I wanted to.”

“Oh.” It hurts to hear even if Ryan understands it. The pain buries itself completely in his chest. The thought of having Panic go on with three of the four former members … Ryan, who started it, left on the outside … it hurts. “Did you - ”

“I told them no. I didn’t want to do it without you.” Jon looks at Ryan, his dark eyes completely serious. “I told them I wanted to make music with you.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.” Jon’s mouth twitches. He looks disappointed, flicking his dying cigarette butt down on the ground. “I mean, thanks for thinking of me.”

“It’s not hard. I’m always thinking of you,” Jon says, his voice weak, tired. He rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I want what’s best for you.”

Ryan is touched. He knew Jon cared and he knew that Jon was one of his best friends, but post-accident, his relationships were shaken up. Ryan’s been trying to figure out where all the pieces fit again, seeing some of those pieces with new grooves and edges, for the first time.

“Come back inside?” Ryan says. It’s half a question and half a request. Jon looks at Ryan for a long moment before he slides off the hood of Ryan’s car and lands on the pavement.

“Okay.”

***

Things aren’t perfect the next morning. The two of them stumble around in a state of carefulness, walking around on eggshells, too afraid that one thing - the wrong word, a sore subject - could set off a chain reaction that has them fighting again.

They eat breakfast together. The morning is quiet. Really, the whole house is quiet, save for the gurgling of the coffee machine and the soft clink of their spoons hitting the bottom of their bowls. Cereal is hard for Ryan and his fingers fumble. He grows frustrated. It’s around now that he thinks he should be going back to physical therapy because he feels like he fell back a little in that aspect, his left hand growing fatigued much sooner than Ryan remembers, his fingers blind and thick in their movement.

Ryan sets down his spoon and flexes his hand, sighing uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asks, taking a drink of his coffee. He looks concerned. At this rate, Ryan would be happy to never see a look of concern on anyone else’s face for as long as he lives.

“My hand hurts.”

“Probably from slamming it on the dash last night,” Jon muses.

Ryan shrugs. “Probably, but I haven’t been doing my therapy exercises, either.”

Jon scoots back in his chair, the legs scraping against wooden floor. He comes to Ryan’s side. “Give me your hand,” Jon says. Ryan flushes but obliges. It’s no different than when Albert did this. Jon takes Ryan’s hand in both of his and squeezes the center of Ryan’s palm, making his fingers twitch and curl. Jon switches between watching Ryan’s hand and Ryan’s face. He works his short, strong fingers into Ryan’s hand, easing the tight muscles. “Feeling better?” Jon asks. Ryan feels Jon’s fingers brush over his tattoo.

Ryan nods and watches Jon’s fingers press into his skin, sweeping over the inked letters on Ryan’s wrist.

“Why haven’t you gone back to Chicago yet?” Ryan blurts out. It was not what he wanted to say. It comes out of nowhere, but he’s been thinking about it since last night. He’s seen Jon desperate for his hometown, aching to go back, and it seems impossible to him that Jon doesn’t want to spend a portion of the summer there.

Jon watches Ryan’s wrist. His eyes flicker, his cheeks flush. “You need me. I’m not done here.” Jon’s voice is quiet and heavy.

Ryan makes an uncomfortable noise. “So you do want to go home?”

Jon shifts on his knees on the floor before he looks up at Ryan. “What does it matter?”

“That’s not an answer,” Ryan says. “Are you staying here because you think I need a nurse and you’re playing the martyr?” His voice is rising and it’s too soon for another fight but if there was one goddamn thing Ryan thought he made clear was that he didn’t want anyone being self-sacrificial. He never wanted to become a burden to one of his closest friends.

Jon sighs deeply. “No, no, that’s - what even brought this on? I thought you understood what was happening here.”

“What I understand is that you’re trying to take care of me out of pity,” Ryan seethes. He grows angry so much faster these days; there’s no in-between. He blames it on his meds and his new cynical outlook on life - and how the whole fucking world is treating him like he needs his one hand to be held every step of the way.

“You do need help, Ryan, that much is true,” Jon says.

Ryan frowns. “Who says I need it from you?”

Hurt passes through Jon’s eyes. Ryan knows he needs to stop, but anger burns through his blood. He feels the urge to cut and tear and scream until everything around him is in tatters.

Jon stands up and brushes a hand through his hair. “Are you fucking testing me to see how far you can push before I throw in the towel, Ryan? Is that it? Because I’ve been pretty goddamn patient with you and - ”

“I don’t need anyone’s pity, Jon!” Ryan shouts. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I’m not something for you to fix.”

“You are my friend,” Jon stresses. He’s moved himself around to the other side of the table so that the expanse of their breakfast is separating them. “That’s why I want to help you.”

“I made a mistake asking you to stay here!” Ryan sneers. His voice shakes out of him, loud and echoing around the hollow space of his home. Jon doesn’t move - he doesn’t even flinch at Ryan’s raised voice. Jon stands there, solid like a stone, weathering all of Ryan’s words … chipping maybe, ebbing under Ryan’s voice, but never breaking altogether. “Go home, Jon!” Ryan shouts. Even as he says it, Ryan knows it’s dangerous. They’d only just patched up from the night before and now Ryan’s ripping off the bandage between them before the wound had a chance to really heal. As he talks, he knows that this is probably it - not everyone has the same temperance and tolerance for his outbursts. It could prove very easy to wind up pushing Jon too far this time.

The shoulder of Ryan’s bad arm aches painfully. Ryan curses the fact that his pain pills are in the cupboard in the kitchen, right next to where Jon's standing now, staring at him with hurt eyes. “Go back to Chicago! I don’t need you here.” Deep down, Ryan knows he doesn’t really mean what he’s saying. He doesn’t want Jon to leave. He just needs some space, just one second where Jon isn’t asking him what he needs or what he can do. Ryan just wants the two of them to be like they used to.

Jon sets down the coffee cup that he’d picked up sometime around Ryan’s shouting. He’s been calm every time Ryan yells at him, but now his body quakes slightly. He breathes out heavily, the sound like a hiss and a growl wrapped up low and dangerous in his throat.

“You need help,” Jon says, stern and quiet. Ryan’s stomach burns with bile and his half-eaten cereal. “That’s a fact.” Fuck Jon. That’s the last thing Ryan wants to hear right now.

“I fucking don’t need anyone. I have one good hand and I can take my pills and get myself food and fucking sleep. I don’t need you, so get out of my house! Go the fuck home! I know you don’t want to be here, not really. I’m just the world’s burden now, Jon. You think I want to be that? Just go.” Ryan’s words start fast, heated, but they fizzle and die halfway through.

“I can’t!” Jon barks back. It’s a shock. Ryan feels a little like he’s been struck, even though Jon would never hit him. He hasn’t moved an inch from where he’s standing behind his chair, his hands wrapped tight around the wooden backing. It’s the first time he’s yelled at Ryan in years and the first time Ryan’s even heard him raise his voice since he got out of the hospital. Jon's shaking. He looks as bad as Ryan feels.

Ryan snorts. “What? You have a house and animals and a girlfriend. Get out of here, would you?”

“I can’t,” Jon repeats. He lowers his head, refusing to meet Ryan’s gaze. “There isn’t a place for me in Chicago anymore.”

Ryan clenches at the napkin next to his cereal bowl - clench and release, clench and release, over and over again. It reminds him of the minor physical therapy he’d had. It’s comforting in a way. “I don’t,” Ryan starts, but he stalls. He regrets yelling, but the anger is still there, coiled in his stomach. He doesn’t feel like forgiving Jon … not yet.

“I was going to propose,” Jon says quietly after nearly three minutes of straight silence.

Ryan shoots his head up. His body jerks of its own accord. His arm flies out and knocks his bowl of cereal over, sending it clattering to the floor and partially on his lap. “Shit!” He scoots back. Jon is already coming over despite their heated exchange. It’s like a reflex, practically an instinct by now, and Ryan hates that. Jon kneels on the floor and tries in vain to sop up the spilt milk, grabbing napkins off the table and setting them out on the floor. Ryan watches the liquid soak right through them. Jon gives up on the milk and picks up the bowl that thankfully didn’t break.

“You were … what?” Ryan asks, his voice coming out breathless. Milk and tiny bits of cereal stick to his pants and hand, but he doesn’t care, not right now. Jon doesn’t bother looking up from where he’s cleaning.

“I was going to propose to Cassie. I planned it out before the crash. I bought the ring and everything. It was all set, but then the accident happened and you needed someone. There was no way I wouldn’t come take care of you. Cassie said she was worried that I had been hurt in the accident, too. She wanted me to come home right after we found out that you’d live, but I told her no. She told me I needed to come home to help us. She said she spent far too long waiting for me and that she almost lost me. She wanted me to choose.”

Jon is calm as he explains. Ryan wonders when all of this happened. When he was in the hospital? When he was passed out on his meds and Jon wandered around his house, cooking and cleaning and drinking? Ryan can’t believe Jon kept this from him. He wonders if Spencer and Brendon know … if everyone except for him knows.

“What did you - ?” Ryan can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.

Jon sets Ryan’s bowl back on the table, but he stays on the floor, his head bowed. “I told her I couldn’t choose. There was no fucking way I could pick between you two.” Jon sighs and scratches at the back of his neck with his clean, milk-free hand. “So … she chose for me. She left me.” Jon does look up now, the remnants of sadness are still clinging to his face, burrowing in his eyes. All of this must have happened when Ryan was comatose. Ryan is self-involved, yes, but not enough to not see when Jon's falling apart right before him.

“There is no Chicago. I let her have the house and the pets until I’m settled, you know? She said she’d send me pictures of them, won’t keep them from me, so that’s - ”Jon’s voice sounds strained, like he’s seconds from bursting into tears. Ryan feels like shit. How did he screw up Jon's life just as badly as he wrecked his own? “That’s good,” Jon finally finishes. He pushes up from off the floor and goes to the kitchen. Ryan pretends not to notice his damp eyes and flushed face. Jon's seen him at his worst by now. He can’t say shit about seeing Jon cry.

“Is it okay if I help clean you off?” Jon asks when he returns from the kitchen with a damp rag. Ryan nods, no longer willing to fight. The heat and anger died away around the time Jon admitted to giving up his life in Chicago so that he could, for all intents and purposes, be Ryan’s aide.

Jon wipes off the visible milk and cereal remains, but the majority has sunk into the fabric of Ryan’s pants now. He shivers from the damp rag and Jon’s hands, and the cool milk against his skin.

“You need to change,” Jon says, his voice quiet. Ryan doesn’t know if Jon means change his clothes or his attitude, but either way, Ryan agrees.

The room is heavy. Ryan just nods dumbly; it’s all he can do. He feels like shit for broaching the subject, for forcing Jon to reopen a wound that he wasn’t ready to unearth. Ryan pushes off his seat and Jon scoots back to give him room to pass by.

Ryan can get his pants off on his own. They’re the comfortable track pants Jon got him. He slips right out of them without much resistance. After Ryan changes into a pair of sweatpants, the smallest size Jon could find but the material still bunches too big around Ryan’s waist, he sits on his bed - his bed is no longer on the floor. Jon had bought him a frame and built it himself in the two and a half weeks since Jon started staying with Ryan. The safety-pinned, empty sleeve of Ryan’s shirt is beginning to come loose. Jon hadn’t pinned it today. Ryan had tried his hand at it and obviously failed.

Ryan fingers the thin metal, attempting to fix it. It backfires and the pin slips from where it had been holding the fabric. The right sleeve of Ryan’s button down paisley - he was supposed to wear only t-shirts, but old fashion habits are hard to break - unfurls, long and empty. Ryan glances at the mirror hanging on the back of his door, catching sight of himself. He looks pathetic, sitting there alone with an empty sleeve and ignorant fingers.

He looks away from the mirror, too ashamed to go back out to the kitchen and talk to Jon. He’s surprised, too. The news circles around his brain like marbles caught in a loop. Ryan can’t bear the thought of going to face Jon, but Jon is no good at letting sleeping dogs lie or letting the pieces fall where they may, so he comes to Ryan instead of waiting for Ryan to come to him.

Jon leans in Ryan’s doorway, hip pushed out and arms braced above his head. His t-shirt rides up, and a slice of pale skin peeks out. “Ryan,” he says. Ryan keeps his head down, cheeks burning with embarrassment, his fingers curling and uncurling in a loose fist. “Ryan, look at me,” Jon says. “I have something important to ask you.”

Ryan looks to Jon, embarrassed for all of the things he had screamed at him, all of the things he said in the heat of the moment.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jon asks. “Really?”

“No,” Ryan says. He says it without thought or hesitation. He already knows the answer and offers it up before he can think on the question. “No, I don’t want you to leave. Do you want to leave?” He’s scared that Jon will go and leave him. It would make sense. Ryan feels like he’d deserve it after everything Jon has already put up with. Ryan told him to get out so many times that he can’t be upset if Jon decides to listen. “You could go back to Chicago if you wanted,” Ryan says. “She’d take you back, I bet. She has to.”

Jon sighs and walks the short distance from the doorway to the bed, taking a spot next to Ryan. “What if I don’t want to go back?” Jon’s voice is quiet, a deep rumble of a scared truth.

“What?” Ryan asks, “What? Of course you want to go back … it’s - she’s Cassie. You want to go back.”

Jon bites his lip, red between his teeth. “A part of me, when I was on the phone with her, wanted her to convince me to come back to Chicago … but what if a larger, more terrifying part of me was begging for her to give me a reason to stay here? It hurts. It still does. That was my life. I loved her, really fucking loved her, and I probably will always love her in a way, but Ryan, from the moment you got in the accident, I knew that I didn’t ever want to be anywhere else but with you.”

Jon looks at Ryan expectantly, like he’s waiting for Ryan to say something, but Ryan doesn’t know what to say. In all the time he’s known Jon, there’s always been Cassie, but now he’s giving her up so he can stay in a city he hates with Ryan, someone who can only seem to yell at him? It doesn’t make sense. He can see the light in Jon’s eyes diminish the longer Ryan waits to speak.

“Why, Jon? Why do you want to stay here with me? I’m not exactly a joy to be around lately.” He can’t figure it out. Jon is his friend, but this decision feels like more than that. It feels heavier, something more tangible.

“I thought you were going to die,” Jon says, his eyes open and blown with emotion, his feelings naked in his eyes. “I thought you’d die and I’d never see you again and that - that scared the shit out of me, scared me more than the thought of never seeing Chicago again.”

Jon reaches for Ryan’s hand, his fingers closing around Ryan’s wrist. Jon brings Ryan’s hand to his lap, fingers moving so both of his hands are cupping Ryan’s one. Jon’s thumbs sweep over Ryan’s hand, his eyes watching their joined hands.

“You don’t understand. I was awake after the accident. I was conscious when they pulled us out. The last thing I remember is seeing you being hefted on to a stretcher. It was the single most terrifying moment of my life. I went to you and you looked dead. I swear to God that I thought you were. I touched you, and when I drew my hand back, there was blood.” Jon looks at his hand, removing it from Ryan’s. His eyes spark, like he can still see the stains of Ryan’s blood on his hand. “I was dizzy and had a concussion, but I still remember the last thing I thought. I couldn’t remember the last thing I had said to you and I wondered … whatever it was, was it worthy of being my last words to you? I thought I might die, too, and I couldn’t remember the last thing I said. I just hoped it was enough.” Jon’s voice is tight. Ryan feels the choke of a slow panic wrapping around him, squeezing like a vice.

“Jon, I - I don’t want to hear - ”

“I know you don’t,” Jon says. He takes Ryan’s hand between his again. “But I have to tell you. Okay? You need to know. I woke up in the hospital, disoriented, and my mom was there, Ryan, and Cassie was there, but all I wanted to know was where you were. I almost lost you,” Jon’s voice cracks. It echoes around the room, seeping into Ryan’s skin and reverberating around his heart. “I almost lost you. I don’t ever want that to happen again. I won’t leave because I - ”

Jon goes silent. Ryan’s heart is beating in triple time, his hand twitching inside of Jon’s. He doesn’t know what’s happening here, but he knows it’s an important moment - one of those moments you think about years later and you remember every fucking second of it. Ryan’s had a lot of those moments: hearing Brendon sing, talking to Pete Wentz for the first time, splitting off from Panic, the accident, and now … well, whatever this is.

“You what?” Ryan asks, his voice a surprise to him, a quiet wisp of nothing. He needs Jon’s answer and he strains to hear Jon’s voice over the own rapid beating of his heart against his ribcage. Jon doesn’t answer Ryan. Instead, he leans over, his weight shifting the bed and making Ryan sink into the dip between them. Jon moves timid but quick. Ryan doesn’t even have time to close his eyes before Jon’s mouth brushes over his.

Ryan has never kissed a boy, never even contemplated kissing Jon, especially not now - not when he can’t find a reason for other people to even want to be around him, let alone want him in a romantic sense. Their mouths meet in a soft press, Jon’s stubble-rough mouth scratching lightly against Ryan’s. He can’t think, can’t breathe. Jon’s hand comes up to cup Ryan’s cheek, his thick fingers brushing against Ryan’s cheekbone, warm and instrument-rough. It startles Ryan. Suddenly, they’re kissing. Ryan had somehow gotten it in his head that this was a part of him that he left behind, that no one would ever touch him like this again … that he’d never be loved again.

Ryan gasps, and time suddenly thrown into fast-forward, catching up with them. He’s just now realizing what’s happening to him, what they’re doing. Jon pulls back. Ryan is almost afraid to look at him. Jon is biting his lip again, teeth worrying the skin that Ryan now knows the feel of.

“I’m - I shouldn’t have. I’m - ” Jon stammers and sighs before he’s gone from the bed, backing away. He’s gone from the room before Ryan can even think of what to say. He hears the door to the guest bedroom snap shut. Ryan is at least grateful that Jon didn’t leave the house.

He touches at his mouth, his lips warm from Jon’s, his body tingling pleasantly with an excitement that Ryan was sure died the night of the crash. Ryan’s spent so much time focusing on the negatives of his body, on all of the things it can no longer do, that he forgot about all of the things that are still possible for him.

Ryan leaves his room, his body wracked with nerves. He moves more on autopilot than anything else. They kissed. He and Jon kissed and they can’t - Ryan doesn’t want to run away from that or sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He needs to know what just happened and what it means.

He stops outside the guest bedroom. Even from outside the closed door, he can hear the sharp twang of an acoustic being played. If Ryan thought that seeing his instruments hurt, hearing them is ten times worse, like his heart has been pulled from him and held out of his reach. His instruments go on without him … the music goes on without him. It’s all leaving him behind.

Ryan bites back his nerves and knocks on the door. The wavering, lonely notes cease, but Jon doesn’t open the door. Ryan tries the handle - it’s locked. He knocks again.

“Jon, open up.”

Jon doesn’t open the door. Ryan tries the handle again - to no avail. Ryan sets his forehead against the door, his hand touching cool wood. “Jon, what you said … that’s true for me, too. You’ve been there in my mind, always just beneath the surface, always just there but never breaking through. I want you to break through,” Ryan speaks carefully to the door, hoping Jon can actually hear him.

The door opens so suddenly that Ryan almost topples into the room. Jon’s arm shoots out and catches Ryan at his left shoulder, a solid stopper in the doorway, preventing Ryan from falling. Jon’s face darkens. “Don’t say that because you feel like you have to.”

Ryan touches at Jon’s elbow. “I’m not. Don’t kiss me because you’re sad and lonely.”

Jon’s hand on his shoulder turns and cups it, his fingers extending to brush Ryan’s collarbone. “I’m not. Do you honestly believe I’d do this much for just anyone? I followed you out of Panic and into this new life. I’m here. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone, Ryan … only you.”

“There was always the thought of you, but I had Keltie and then Z and you always had her. I never thought it could be any way else.” Ryan’s hand creeps up Jon’s forearm, resting over his bicep. Jon’s body is so strong, muscle and strength where Ryan has bones and ink. Ryan touches Jon’s right arm, a finer, sculpted mirror of his own. “Ever since I met you, there’s been something there. I just never thought we’d get the chance to - ”

Ryan’s words die on the tip of his tongue because Jon’s mouth finds his again. The kiss is less innocent this time, more desperate and wanting. Jon’s mouth is damp. He crowds into Ryan’s space, leaning into Ryan, their mouths caught in a sweet kiss. Ryan opens his mouth against Jon’s, their lips meeting in crashing waves, soft pulls together and slick breaks apart. The only sound between them is the sound of their mouths meeting and breaking.

Heat pools inside of Ryan, filling him like someone had cracked his body open and poured liquid lava inside, his body flaring to life under Jon’s mouth and hands. Jon tangles his fingers in the heavy curls at the nape of Ryan’s neck, his thumb stroking down the back of Ryan’s neck, touching where hair meets skin. Ryan sighs into the touch. He longs for two hands now more than ever so that he can touch Jon too, touch him in all of these new ways. Ryan can’t wait for his one hand to do all of the work.

Jon breaks the kiss and sets his forehead against Ryan’s. His mouth slides across Ryan’s cheek, resting there, and Ryan can feel the soft hiss of Jon’s breath.

“What are we doing?” Jon asks against Ryan’s skin.

Ryan closes his eyes and shakes his head lightly, wisps of Jon’s hair brushing his face. “I don’t know.”

“Should we stop?”

Ryan bites his lip and cautiously seeks Jon’s mouth again, finding the corner and kissing him clumsily. “I don’t want to. I haven’t felt anything in so long.”

Jon’s hands creep across Ryan’s body, down his shoulders, one hand trailing down Ryan’s left arm and the other skipping the procedure at the right and going right for running down his side, tracing faint outlines of Ryan’s ribcage before settling at Ryan’s hip, spreading warm and comfortably possessive.

“I want to be here for you in every way,” Jon tells him. He never knew just how deeply Jon meant it. He didn’t know this was possible between them and how badly he’s always wanted it, and how relieved he is to have Jon in this way now.

It’s a bit of a whiplash to have been fighting with Jon these last few days, just a handful of minutes ago, and now to be embracing him, kissing him. It’s scary how natural it feels, how right. Jon turns them so that he’s facing the doorway and Ryan’s back is facing the bed. Ryan never took note of what was inside the room. The thoughts of the music left him the second Jon opened up.

He doesn’t look now, but he’s aware of the acoustic resting on the floor near a chair where Jon must’ve been sitting when Ryan was talking, the keyboard shoved in the corner, the Epiphone and Gibson left abandoned in the room where Jon sleeps.

Jon kisses Ryan again, less urgent and sweeter. He backs Ryan up until Ryan’s knees hit the edge of the guest bed. Ryan buckles and sits at the edge of the bed.

Jon is still standing. His mouth is red and his eyes are blown dark with the beginnings of emotions that Ryan wants to own and know. Jon folds himself down and forward and leans in to kiss Ryan quickly. They’re on the same level. Jon sinks to his knees in front of Ryan.

“Let me - can I do something just for you?” Jon asks. Ryan isn’t so naive that he doesn’t get what Jon means when Jon is on his knees looking at him like that. Ryan feels a little panicked, but he nods. He can’t - he doesn’t know what he wants. It’s not like his sex drive has disappeared completely, but it’s diminished, wrapped up in so many other factors. Ryan has always hated his body and that’s only worsened now. He doesn’t want someone to touch him if he feels less than alright with himself.

He trusts Jon, though. He might be rushing things, but he deserves a little pleasure - this has been a long time coming. Ryan nods and Jon mimics the action, resting both his hands on Ryan’s knees.

Jon licks his lips. Ryan’s body thrums to life with the promise of what’s to come. Ryan reaches out and touches at Jon’s mouth. Jon catches Ryan’s fingers in a kiss, lavishing attention there. Ryan’s only wearing sweatpants and Jon urges him to stand up so he can get them down. Jon pulls them down so that they bunch up at Ryan’s knees.

Ryan isn’t hard, really, but Jon doesn’t seem deterred by that. He doesn’t go right for Ryan’s cock. Instead, he runs his fingers up Ryan’s thighs, tracing the skin there lightly, as if he were the one lacking touch and craving skin under his palms. Ryan doesn’t know what to do with his hand. Currently, it’s resting against the rumpled sheets on Jon’s bed. Ryan sits there, exposed for Jon, waiting.

Jon’s fingertips are electric against Ryan’s skin. He brushes lightly, but Ryan can feel everything. Jon’s hands move from Ryan’s thighs upwards, creeping a path against Ryan’s skin until he strokes a finger along the base of Ryan’s semi-hard dick.

Ryan shivers and lets out a small noise of approval. Jon hums and shifts on his knees, drawing closer. He pulls back and glances at Ryan before he licks his hand, messy and wet, and he moves back to Ryan, wrapping his damp hand around Ryan’s cock.

Ryan gasps. He can’t even remember the last time he had sex. It feels like an eternity, like a different person’s memories. He hasn’t touched himself in all this time, hasn’t let anyone else touch him. His cock sparks and jerks in Jon’s hand.

Jon is breathing harder than Ryan is. From this angle, Ryan can’t tell if he’s hard or not, but he’s betting that Jon is, which makes him feel good. He can still turn someone on. Jon strokes him ungodly slow, his hand squeezing just a little, and Ryan groans at the thought that this is probably the way Jon warms himself up.

Jon’s fingers swirl over the head of Ryan’s dick, rubbing over the slit. Ryan bows his head and cries out softly. He’s afraid to be too loud or like it too much in case it’s over before it really begins. Jon bends himself forward and holds Ryan’s cock at the base as he licks at the slit of Ryan’s dick. That draws a moan from Ryan, his cock twitching in Jon’s hand, growing fuller, harder, but still not full. Ryan doesn’t know why - he’s turned on and it’s been long enough that he thinks it should be.

Jon’s tongue presses flat against the head of Ryan’s dick. Ryan’s hand tangles in the sheet. He’s thankful that Jon is so persistent. He’s jerking Ryan off and licking sloppily around the head. Ryan’s hips rise up to meet him. He thinks Jon might finally be tired of waiting. He squeezes the base of Ryan’s dick before quickly sucking Ryan into his mouth.

Jon doesn’t take it all at once. Ryan’s half-sure that Jon’s never even sucked cock before, everything either a guess or a play at mimicking what Jon enjoys or has had happen to him. He tries to take too much of Ryan down at once and chokes a little, pulling back and off to cough. Ryan’s not fully hard, but even then, he’s a lot to take.

Jon tries again, slower now, only taking in the head, sucking light and careful. Ryan shudders and groans, his hand flying to Jon’s shoulder without thinking, his fingers digging into Jon’s t-shirt. Jon takes that as encouragement and hums around Ryan’s cock. Ryan pants a little, his body flushing all over.

Jon pulls back after a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ryan groans at the loss and opens his eyes. “Why’d you stop?” Ryan asks breathlessly.

Jon looks up at him, confusion and frustration clear on his face. “Ryan, you’re not - you’re not getting hard.”

Ryan breathes fast and looks down at his own lap. He isn’t hard, still barely halfway there. It doesn’t make sense - he’s turned on, feels on edge already, and nothing’s even happened to him yet. His body doesn’t seem to be cooperating. Jon looks put-out, like he thinks this is his fault, like he thinks that Ryan isn’t attracted to him.

“It’s not you,” Ryan says, trying his best to assure Jon of the truth. “I like what you’re doing. I’m - I’m turned on. I don’t … this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

Jon touches at his own mouth. Ryan’s cock twitches with a valiant effort to get hard, but it doesn’t happen. Even though Ryan would like Jon to keep trying, he knows that the mood has long since passed.

“Maybe it’s too soon?” Jon asks. “I shouldn’t be - I’m rushing you before you’re ready.”

“I told you I wanted to try. You didn’t rush anything.”

“Stand up so I can pull your pants up,” Jon says. He sounds so frustrated. Ryan feels foolish, but he stands and lets Jon pull his sweatpants up, covering his half-hard dick. Jon gets up and sits next to Ryan on the guest bed. The whole day almost feels like a feverish dream. From learning of Jon’s news to having Jon trying to blow him, nothing feels real. Everything feels fast but not too fast for Ryan because something Jon had said earlier got to him. He knows that what he might not have a lot of is time. He and Jon have never been the most patient of people.

Jon kisses Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan can feel the heat of his mouth through the fabric of his shirt. “Why don’t I give you your medicine now?” Jon asks.

“Okay.” Just because they’ve decided to do whatever it is they’re doing it doesn’t mean all the other parts just magically go away. Jon is still the one taking care of him, but now there’s an affectionate curve to the actions. Ryan gets his pills with a kiss and a cup of water. Jon comes back to the bed, sitting again next to Ryan.

“You should take a nap with me,” Jon says. The day is creeping into late afternoon territory. Ryan does feel like he’s been up longer than just a few hours. He blames it on the fighting, but a nap sounds good and sleeping with Jon sounds even better.

“My room?” Ryan asks. He’s ignored in favor of Jon pulling him down onto the bed.

“Here,” Jon says. “Stay here.”

“My shirt,” Ryan says. “It’s uncomfortable.”

“That’s why I told you to wear the t-shirts,” Jon says, but it’s fond and not annoyed. He leans over Ryan and undoes the buttons around his neck. Before, where Ryan might feel like a child, he now feels that Jon’s doing it in an affectionate way, undressing him like he would if Ryan had two arms. Jon strips Ryan’s shirt and Ryan lets Jon turn him on his side, good arm down to the mattress. Jon slides up behind him, spooning him, his face to the back of Ryan’s neck and his hand tentatively brushing the back of Ryan’s arm, the spot where Ryan’s Q tattoo still lives.

“I always forget you have these ones,” Jon says. Ryan closes his eyes, enjoying Jon’s finger tracing the outline of the tattoo.

“It narrowly escaped the accident. Tom Waits wasn’t so lucky.”

It’s the first time Ryan’s able to make a joke of his accident, of his situation, and he startles himself at that. Jon goes quiet, but Ryan doesn’t worry about it once he feels the cold press of the tip of Jon’s nose against the back of his neck. Jon kisses the back of his neck and his hand inches up to rest on Ryan’s bad arm. He falls asleep to the even sound of Jon breathing behind him and the warm blanket of air spreading against the back of his neck.

***

When Ryan wakes up, the world is soft and warm. The summer is coming in full force in L.A. and the guest bedroom is stuffy and hot. Jon’s body is like a furnace behind Ryan. Somehow, Ryan is on his stomach and Jon is laying half on top of him. Ryan doesn’t struggle or move. He doesn’t want to. He’d rather be overheated and feel Jon’s heart beating against his back than be cool.

From Ryan’s position on the bed, he can see his prized Epiphone. He longs to touch it. Even if he can’t play, he wants to slide his fingers along the strings; he wants to feel the weight. He wants to do it on his own.

Ryan is pulled from his thoughts by Jon stirring. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sleeping. There’s no clock in the room. Jon yawns and sighs. Ryan feels when he wakes up, propping himself up over Ryan.

“You okay down there?” Jon murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” Jon asks. He settles down at Ryan’s side again. Ryan wants to turn and look at him, but he can’t pull his gaze away from the guitar before him.

“Music,” Ryan says. “I miss it more and more every day.”

Jon threads his fingers in Ryan’s hair. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe we should get outta here.”

Ryan turns hard and fumbles around the mattress, rolling into the dip created by Jon’s elbow planted into the mattress. Ryan’s warm body is tucked against Jon’s. “And go where?” Ryan asks into Jon’s t-shirt-covered chest.

“Anywhere. Let’s just get out of L.A., out of California.”

Ryan rolls on his back. “Out of California?”

“Yeah. It’d be good, I think. Let’s go where no one knows us at all.”

Ryan doesn’t think there is such a place. There are people scattered everywhere who know his name, his face, and his story. “We could go to Chicago,” Ryan suggests.

Jon’s face crumples. “Were you even listening to me?”

“You said you wanted your pets, that she’d let you have them when you’re settled. Well, you’re settled with me. Why don’t we go and get them?” Jon thinks, his head tipped down and soft waves of curls falling in his face. “Unless you don’t want to see her yet,” Ryan adds quickly. The words lodge in his throat. Maybe he fucked up here.

“Well, it won’t be easy, but I do miss Dylan, Clovergirl, and Marley. Maybe we should … we can stay with Tom and visit Andy … ” Jon sounds like he’s really considering it. Ryan rubs his hand over his face and smiles. Getting out of L.A. does sound good. Chicago was never his city, but it is Jon’s, and Jon has done so much that Ryan can give this back to him.

“Let’s go,” Ryan says.

“There are preparations to be made. What about your group meetings and physical therapy? Your appointments?”

“They’ll still be here when I get back,” Ryan says. He does have an appointment for group tomorrow that he should go to, but he’d rather skip town and fly to Chicago.

“I’ll look into it,” Jon says.

“Is it warm there?” Ryan asks.

“Chicago in the springtime?” Jon asks. Ryan nods. “You bet it is. Anyway, you want to get some lunch?”

Ryan smiles. “Yeah, I do.”

***

Ryan’s house feels different now. His perspective has changed. He doesn’t know where the lines are drawn with Jon. They didn’t say they were dating and no one confessed an undying love. They just want to be together right now, falling asleep together in bed, kissing between pills and meals. Ryan feels a piece of normalcy fall into place. He never pictured this, but it still feels normal; in some strange sense, it’s the most normal thing in his life at the moment.

Ryan doesn’t ask what they are. He’s never needed labels and that hasn’t changed. He’s content to be with Jon and worry about the details later. Ryan goes to group and thinks about asking the group about sex, if it was hard for them, but Sam is there and he’s telling Ryan silly knock-knock jokes that have Sam cracking up before he can even get to the punch line, so Ryan doesn’t ask about sex. He does tell Mark about Chicago as the meeting is wrapping up, though.

“You’re not going alone, are you?” Mark asks.

“Ah, no, with my … friend, Jon.”

Mark hums and nods. “Well, good! Traveling is always helpful in clearing your head.” Ryan sighs in relief. They can’t make him stay, but he’s glad to be encouraged to go.

“I booked tickets for next week,” Jon says on the way back to Ryan’s place after group is over. “We’re leaving next Thursday.”

“We have to tell Spencer … in person,” Ryan says.

“We’ll do it on Sunday at dinner,” Jon says. “I wanted to ask, though. Traveling is going to be harder than it used to be. There’s going to be a lot of people and … I want to make sure you’re going to be alright. I mean, you thought about that, didn’t you?”

Ryan opens his mouth to answer, but Jon’s cell phone cuts him off. They’re at a stop light. Jon fishes his phone from his pocket before he answers it, mouthing “Will” at Ryan.

“Hey, Will! What’s up?” Jon asks brightly.

Ryan ponders what Jon asked him. He hadn’t thought of it until now. There will be people, fellow fliers and airport workers, maybe even fans that might just be traveling, and they’ll all see Ryan … Ryan minus his arm. It’s not something Ryan can hide from forever, so he swallows and nods with resolve, even though Jon is focused on his conversation with Will.

“Yeah, we’re going back to Ryan’s place right now. Hang on … let me ask him.”

Jon looks over at Ryan. “Will and the Nicks want to come over to visit you.”

“Tell them they can,” Ryan decides. He misses his band and wants them to be together. They’re missing Andy, who went back to Chicago after he was patched up in the hospital, but it’s close enough to the full set that Ryan feels hopeful.

Jon goes back to his conversation with Will. After they hang up, Jon turns back to Ryan.

“About what you asked earlier,” Ryan says. “I’ll be okay. I’ll wear my jacket and maybe no one will notice.” It’s a wishful, naïve thought, but it calms Ryan enough to go through with the plan.

Jon nods and smiles, turning off onto the entrance to Echo Park.

***

Will and the Nicks show up after lunch. It’s strange, seeing them after such a traumatic experience. There’s a bond between all of them now, something they all managed to live through - that’s something that can’t fade with time. It’s something Ryan doesn’t have with anyone else but the Young Veins.

Will hugs Jon first and then comes around to where Ryan’s sitting, stooping down to hug him, too, squeezing gently. “How do you feel, Ross?” Will asks as he pulls back.

Ryan shrugs. “Getting a little better every day.”

Will’s eyes flicker over Ryan’s pinned sleeve. He wears his dress shirts out in public, unwilling to wear t-shirts and sweatpants around anyone other than Jon or Spencer and Brendon. They had all been there post-accident and have seen Ryan without his arm, but he figures that once is enough. If it were the other way around, it’d take Ryan time, too.

Nick Murray - who they always called Nicholas when both of the Nicks are together just because it’s easier - and Nick White shuffle over and they, too, hug Jon and Ryan. It feels a little like Ryan is the center of attention, which he hates. Jon is there to deflect some of the attention. Will talks to him, leaving the Nicks with Ryan.

“How’s your hand?” Ryan asks Nicholas. He takes in the thick, white bandages wrapped around splints on two of Nicholas’ fingers. Nicholas wriggles the bandaged fingers of his left hand; they move clumsily, reminding Ryan of his own.

“Can’t drum, but I can’t complain, either,” Nicholas says. He sits down at the table with Ryan. Nick joins him in the other chair. “Nick’s been staying with me to help out a bit.”

“Listening to him whine, mostly,” Nick says. Nick is the only one of them besides Will who came out of the crash with little-to-no damage. Ryan expected to be bitter about it - he used to be, but now he’s just glad to know that his bandmates are doing all right.

“We miss you two,” Nick says, glancing between Ryan and Jon. “We need our leader.”

“Will is our leader,” Ryan says. Will looks over with a raised eyebrow.

“Since when?”

“Since I retired,” Ryan says. He laughs, but there’s an uneasiness he can’t shake. He’s scared they’ll ask him about where the band goes from here, or that someone will mention the elephant in the room, and then Ryan will have to say what he’s been thinking for three months now. He’ll never play again.

“I’ll only hold the position temporarily,” Will says, “Until you’re back.”

“That sounds like a deal to me.”

Will looks back at the Nicks and Jon. “Hey, I was wondering if you guys could give me a minute with Ryan. I need to talk to him about something.”

Jon raises an eyebrow, but Ryan nods and the Nicks stand to follow Jon into the living room. Will takes Nicholas’ vacated seat and sighs, pushing a hand through his mess of curly hair. “How are you?” Will asks. “I mean, really?”

Ryan tips his chin down to his chest. “It’s hard, Will … it’s really hard.” Ryan is surprised at how forthcoming he is with Will, but he always found Will easy to talk to. That’s why he was in the passenger seat of the van the night of the crash. He couldn’t sleep. Will was driving and Ryan wanted to talk to him.

“I’m sorry,” Will says. He rests his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“For what? It’s … it’s no one’s fault.”

“I was driving that night. I should’ve been more careful. You guys trusted me with your safety and I fucked up. I ruined everything. I’m so sorry … nothing I can do can make up for what happened. ” Will sounds agonized. Ryan knows that Will and Jon occasionally talk, and he wonders if Jon knew that Will was this tortured by the accident.

“That was … it was an accident. I don’t - Will, I don’t blame you.” It would be easy to pin it all on Will, press all of his anger on to Will’s shoulders, but Ryan likes Will. He can’t do that, can’t bring himself to blame Will for the crash. He remembers after the accident that he wanted to find Will and make sure he was alive. He can’t blame Will because it was a turn of fate and luck. If it had been anyone else or if Ryan had been driving, he wouldn’t want anyone else to blame him.

“It doesn’t seem fair to me. I get to go on tour and you’re just - ”

“I’m kind of used to it,” Ryan says. “I’m used to getting hit by the fickle hand of fate. Bad shit happens in my life all of the time. Panic was an exception for a while. I learned to just keep moving after a while. It’s hard to remember now, but Jon is helping me.” Ryan hopes he isn’t smiling too wide at the thought of Jon - not enough for Will to think something of it, at least. He and Jon didn’t decide to keep them a secret, but they’re also not jumping to out themselves, either. For now, Ryan is comfortable in this middle space.

“You get a lot of shit,” Will says, resting his chin in his hand and peering at Ryan through his wire frames. “But you’re a lot more resilient than people give you credit for.”

Ryan smiles. Will reaches out to squeeze at Ryan’s right shoulder. Just then, Jon and the Nicks return. Jon slips his cell phone into his pocket. “Everything sorted out?” Jon asks. Will nods, pushing up out of his chair.

“Jon told us you two are going to go see Andy in Chicago next week,” Nicholas says.

Will looks between Jon and Ryan. “Yeah? Send him our warmest wishes. “

“We’ve got to have a reunion soon,” Nicholas says.

Nick comes to stand next to Will, wrapping his arm around Will’s waist. “We miss you guys.”

The Nicks and Will stay at Ryan’s for a while. There’s a case of beer in the backseat of Nick’s car and they bring it inside to drink. Ryan can’t drink because of his meds, so he sits curled in the corner of the couch next to Jon. They smoke up, Jon holding the bowl to Ryan’s mouth while Will and the Nicks drink and talk and laugh. Ryan relaxes.

There was a lot more that he had wanted to do with the Young Veins. There are lots of stream-of-conscious lyrics and bridges of songs Ryan has swirling around his brain. He could write them down, save them in his notebook, but he doesn’t know what he’d do with them after that. It’s not as nagging anymore, not as hard to simply let them die in his mind.

Ryan, without much thought to what the others will think tips sideways and rests his head against Jon’s shoulder; closing his eyes and listening to Nicholas tell a funny story about the last time he and Laena went drinking. The next time Ryan opens his eyes, he sees Jon bent over, picking up beer cans from the living room floor. Ryan is spread out along the couch, ankles hooked over the arm.

The house is silent. Ryan yawns. “Where is everyone?” he asks.

Jon stops cleaning for a moment, looking over at Ryan. “They left about half an hour ago. We didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could have,” Ryan says softly. “It was good to see them.”

“It really was. I thought maybe it’d be hard. It’s kind of like seeing people you survived a house fire with or something, though. We all got out of it okay, you know? But it just - just reminded me of the good times.”

“Makes me miss touring,” Ryan says.

Jon frowns at the empty can of beer in his hand. He looks like he’s afraid to agree or disagree, like maybe he feels like he’s not allowed to say he misses music or touring, too, because he’s not incapable of touring or making music, not like Ryan is now.

“You can tell me if you miss it, too,” Ryan says after a long silent beat. Jon puts his collected beer cans in the garbage bag at his side and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“I never know what to say about music. I never want you to hurt because of something I say.”

“Hurting is inevitable. We’re both musicians. I know music is alive in your blood, Jon.”

Jon bites his lip. “I do miss it.”

Ryan nods against the couch cushion. “I think we all do. That’s why Will is with fun. and Nicholas is with the Black Apples and Nick and Conor play and Andy has his old band in Chicago. Where does that leave you and me?”

“Together,” Jon says, like it’s really that simple.

Ryan smiles and waits for more. Jon collects his cans. The four of them must’ve finished off the entire case of beer between them. “Ryan?” Jon says after a moment.

“Hm?”

Jon is biting his lip again, his tongue flickering out to sooth bitten skin. “I - ” Jon falters. “Never mind. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

“Okay,” Ryan says. He’s curious as to what Jon was going to say, but he lets it drop all the same. Jon leaves the garbage bag and comes to Ryan’s side. Jon leans over Ryan, hands on either side of his head, catching Ryan’s mouth in a soft kiss. “I like kissing you whenever I feel like,” Jon says. Ryan smiles against Jon’s mouth.

“Yeah, you’re pretty lucky. I’m a great kisser.”

Jon huffs out a laugh against Ryan’s mouth. Ryan loops his arm around Jon’s neck and lets Jon pull him up so he’s sitting next to Jon. He’s too tall and gangly for Jon to carry so he just gets Ryan standing, their bodies close together. Jon moves Ryan’s hand from his neck, tangling his hand with Ryan’s and kissing him again.

“I’m lucky, but your kissing skills only play a small part in that,” Jon mumbles against Ryan’s mouth.

The two of them get to Ryan’s room. Jon helps Ryan change into his sleep clothes. Ryan crawls into bed and Jon sits next to him. “Can I stay and make out with you for awhile?” Jon breathes into Ryan’s ear.

Ryan shivers. “You can always stay and we can always make out.”

Jon slinks over Ryan and plants his hands in the mattress above Ryan’s shoulders. It’s exciting kissing Jon, electricity warming his body where Jon’s is meeting Ryan’s. He opens his mouth under Jon’s and Jon’s tongue slips inside. Ryan groans, familiar heat pooling inside of him. Jon touches his jaw and his neck, stroking his skin and pressing his thumbs into the dips of Ryan’s body.

Jon sucks Ryan’s tongue before his mouth follows the trail forged by his fingers. He bites Ryan’s neck, his facial hair scratching Ryan’s skin. He licks over the hurt afterward. Ryan wonders if he’ll have a mark there come morning, something he can touch and look at, and remember.

Ryan shifts his hips. His body is excited and his cock stirs in his pants, but Ryan can feel Jon already hard against his thigh. Jon ruts a little but makes no action to go further. He just kisses Ryan, nuzzling at his skin. Ryan’s cock stirs again, but he’s still not hard, not like Jon. He thought before it was just a fluke, just a one-time thing, but maybe … maybe he can’t get hard anymore. What if he can never get hard again?

He tries to push the thought from his head and focus on the damp slide of Jon’s mouth against his, but it nags at him, worries him. He doesn’t qualify it as a relationship exactly, but he’s not going to get very far with Jon if he can never have sex. “Jon. Hey, Jon,” Ryan says.

Jon lifts his head from where he’s sucking at Ryan’s neck. Jon’s mouth is pleasantly red and Ryan reaches out to touch at it, rubbing his thumb along Jon’s thick bottom lip. Jon opens his mouth and sucks Ryan’s thumb into his mouth. Ryan gasps. “What?” Jon asks as he releases Ryan’s digit.

“I’m actually pretty tired. Group always wears me out, you know?” It’s not a total lie. Ryan is tired and group does wear him out, but he could manage to stay up longer if he thought he could have sex.

“Oh,” Jon says. He looks disappointed as he crawls off of Ryan, flopping down next to him instead, his eyes dark. There’s an obvious bulge in his pants.

“Don’t leave, though,” Ryan says. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Sure,” Jon says. “Sure, I will. Of course.” His voice is strained and tight from arousal. Ryan’s never really heard Jon like that before. It almost makes him want to give Jon permission to rut against his ass until he comes as long as he’ll talk to Ryan during it.

Jon turns them so he’s spooning Ryan. Ryan does feel Jon’s cock pressing against the back of his thigh. Ryan gulps in air - he feels dizzy from want, but he can’t go through with anything. Jon doesn’t try anything. He’s stronger than Ryan could ever be if the roles were reversed.

Jon wraps his arms around Ryan’s middle and sets his head against Ryan’s thin back. Ryan closes his eyes. Silence takes the room, but sometime between when Ryan does fall asleep and when he’s still clinging to consciousness, Jon starts humming an easy tune - something that Ryan’s never heard before. It’s the last thing he hears before falling asleep.

Part five