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2010 WINTER OLYMPIC GAMES KINK MEME
Welcome to all winter athletes! This Winter Games is screaming for fic. Lots and lots of fic. So let's give them what they want! The set up is easy! Just (anonymously) post your favorite pairing, threesome, groupsome, etc., and a kink. All prompts are welcome, not just the kinky ones. If someone is interested, ( Read more... )
Welcome to all winter athletes! This Winter Games is screaming for fic. Lots and lots of fic. So let's give them what they want! The set up is easy! Just (anonymously) post your favorite pairing, threesome, groupsome, etc., and a kink. All prompts are welcome, not just the kinky ones. If someone is interested, ( Read more... )
“-sorry, but he’s kind of fragile right now and I’m not sure how he’d deal with having other people over.”
Johnny must be in his room, Evan can hear him opening and closing drawers as he gets dressed and talks.
“Do you actually want to hang out with Lysacek? Believe me, it’s about as much fun as it sounds. Just stay in the city another night and I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”
There’s another beat as Johnny listens to something and then, “What? No, noooooo! That’s not- We didn’t- That’s absurd and anyway I would tell you right away if- Will you shut up and listen. . .”
Johnny moves further away then and his voice gets muffled, so Evan goes back to getting ready. Johnny’s still in his room when he finishes. He goes into the kitchen and searches the cupboards for breakfast.
Evan’s working on a bowl of Cheerios when Johnny finally comes out of his room, wearing a long-sleeved green t-shirt and jeans.
“Do you have any wheat germ?” Evan asks.
Johnny blinks, but goes to the fridge and looks through the shelves until he finds a plastic jar. It’s the toasted kind, honey flavored. Evan carefully measures out two spoonfuls.
He probably shouldn’t let on that he eavesdropped, but he’s annoyed so whatever. “I’m not fragile,” he says.
Johnny sighs, “I meant emotionally, calm down.”
“Was that your roommate?” What’s his name, France? No, like the Hilton chick, Nicole?
“Yeah,” Johnny says. “He’s just mad because he thinks he’s being sexiled.”
“Being what?”
“Don’t worry about it. So-” Johnny comes over and hops up to sit on the table next to Evan’s orange juice. “What do you want to do today?”
“Um, we could go skating?”
Johnny starts to laugh, but stops quickly. “Oh. Oh, honey. No. One, it’s Saturday and, two, you’re having a nervous breakdown, remember?”
“Could you please stop calling it that?”
“Uh, sorry. That is kind of stigmatizing. You’re, um. . . you’re taking a mental health vacation. You don’t need to practice. You need to rest. Recuperate.”
Evan pulls a face, “But I feel like crap when I don’t exercise, can’t we at least do a little workout?”
“Okay, okay, but let’s go for a run or something. No skating.”
Johnny goes to change (again), while Evan digs through his suitcase for his sneakers.
They take a leisurely jog around the block and into a nearby park. It’s a nice area, suburban, but with enough meadows and trees to keep things interesting.
They stop at a spot with some benches to stretch and do some core exercises. It’s an unseasonably warm day and there are a lot of people out walking dogs or taking a run themselves. A few of them smile or say hi to Johnny, but no one seems to recognize Evan.
“Hey, how is the Dancing with the Stars thing going anyway? Have you started training for it yet?”
“A bit. I have a few weeks until filming starts, but I’m trying to prepare.”
“Are you nervous? You don’t have any dance training at all, right?”
“Yeah, it might end up being really embarrassing. I don’t think I’m very good yet, but Anna says I’m improving.”
“Hey, maybe I can help? Show me what you’ve learned, come on.” Johnny jumps up and stands with his arms out, like he expects Evan to come over and do a waltz with him in the middle of the park.
“Um,” Evan says, glancing around.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes. “Live a little, there’s no paparazzi here.”
“But there’s no music,” Evan points out.
Johnny sighs and drops his hands.
“Later?” Evan asks. “I actually could use your help.”
“Sure, sure,” Johnny says, turning and starting to jog away. “I might as well put my fabulous artistic talents to good use.”
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Evan sits down on the coach, feeling guilty even though he doesn’t know what he did exactly. He tries watching TV, but he feels too antsy to just sit on his ass. Johnny’s laptop is out on a shelf and plugged into some speakers, so he goes over to look through his music. He doesn’t recognize most of the artists or songs, but that’s not really surprising. He turns on shuffle and selects the playlist entitled “The Gaga” as a peace offering.
Johnny comes into the room while Evan is trying to follow the advice of “Just Dance.” He leans against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Wow,” he says. “That is horrific. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to put you in a dance-based reality show?”
“I don’t know,” Evan admits, relieved to have an excuse to stop. “I kind of think it’s a weird opportunity though. Maybe it will actually help my skating.”
He holds his hand out to Johnny, who looks surprised but take it anyway and steps in close to him. Evan pulls him into a basic box step, trying to hear Anna’s voice in his head reminding him where to put his feet. They maneuver around the small room successfully a few times before Johnny says, “Wait, look up. Don’t look at your feet.”
“Sorry,” Evan says.
“It’s okay. For now, don’t even try to do a real step, just listen to the music and move with the beat.” He pulls father away from Evan so their hands are held between them, like they’re dancing in a club instead of a ballroom.
“Don’t move to the faster parts, try to hear to the bass underneath and match that. Yeah, yeah, there you go.”
They work through several songs that way, Evan watching Johnny and trying to copy his movements. He suspects many of them won’t be appropriate for network TV, but he’s starting to feel less stiff and awkward as he dances. He can sort of see why people do this for fun. It’s a lot less nerve racking when it’s only the two of them and they aren’t preparing for some competition.
“I just feel so silly,” Evan admits at one point, trying to make his hips swivel like Johnny’s. “I must look like an idiot.”
“You don’t,” Johnny promises. “Well, no, actually everyone looks like an idiot when they dance, but that’s okay. You just need to work on your dance face.”
“Dance face?” Evan repeats, turning to follow Johnny as he circles around him.
“You know how dancers sometimes get this serious look and like they don’t move their face muscles at all?” he stops smiling to show Evan, focusing his eyes on a distant point and clenching his jaw.
“Like?” Evan tries copying him.
“Yeah, but pout a little more. There, yeah, you look hot.”
Evan laughs, “And this won’t make me look like an idiot?”
“I didn’t say that,” Johnny says, moving in closer to put his arms around Evan’s neck.
A new song starts up and Evan has to pause for a moment to listen to the lyrics. “Disco stick?” he repeats.
Johnny cracks up, falling backwards to land on the couch.
“I’m starting to see why you’re such a fan of hers.”
“You should try asking your dance partner to use this.” Johnny says, still laughing. “Are you allowed to have lyrics?”
“I’m. . . I’m not actually sure, probably.”
He plops down next to Johnny, out of breath.
“The thing about dancing,” Johnny says. “Is that it only looks good if you’re not self-conscious. If you’re embarrassed, it’ll look embarrassing, but if you enjoy yourself then everyone watching you will too.”
Evan nods, stretching until his back cracks. “Okay, I’ll try to have fun with it. Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Johnny says. Evan thinks he might actually mean it. He suddenly notices that he feels. . . good. It’s hard to tell when he’s still breathless and sweaty, but his heartbeat doesn’t feel quite so intense. It’s lighter somehow.
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“Sure.”
“What do you think of me?”
Johnny looks at him. “Oh, right, because I made you tell me yesterday. Uh, well.”
“Come on,” Evan says.
Johnny sighs, “Uh, Evan. You’re. . . you’re one of the most driven people I know. I mean, your work ethic is insane and kind of scary. What else, um, you’re competitive and clean-cut and, well, boring. You’re pretty boring. But mostly when I think of you, I think. . .”
“What?” Evan says, kind of annoyed but determined to hear this out. It might have been a bad idea to ask.
“Well, you’re a douche.”
Evan frowns, “What does that even mean?” He’s been called it before, of course, but he’s never really understood the insult.
“Douche? It’s. . . it’s like. . . You’re kind of clueless and ridiculous, I guess. But it’s also like. . . you’re this hyper-competitive guy who is always trying to fuck over everyone else, yet somehow you still maintain this wholesome, all-American image. I don’t know, it’s annoying.”
“I can’t control how I’m portrayed in the press, you know that,” Evan says, defensive.
“Oh, bullshit,” Johnny snaps. “Maybe it’s not completely under your control, but don’t tell me you don’t use your image and play it up to your own advantage. You’re not the last straight hope of figure skating for nothing.”
Johnny gets up and turns off the music, turning away from Evan like he can’t stand to look at him.
Yeah, he definitely should not have started this conversation. His heart feels like it’s back in a vice again.
“Listen, Johnny,” Evan says. “I know I’ve said stuff before, stupid stuff-”
“Oh, shut up,” Johnny says, and leaves.
Evan stretches out on his back, taking over the space Johnny emptied on the couch. He wants to take out his anger on something, so he kicks a pillow down onto the floor. What’s wrong with using his image to his own advantage? Yeah, the USFSA wants a certain kind of skater and he fits that profile, but that’s just luck. It’s not like he planned it that way, and if that’s how it is. . . what’s wrong with using it? His image is just another tool, like his body and his work ethic. That’s the kind of thing Frank says, anyway.
Evan lies there fuming for a while, listening to Johnny stomping around the apartment. He goes into his room, slamming the door like a teenager, but then comes back out again and crosses through the living room, pointedly ignoring Evan on the couch. He starts banging around in kitchen, apparently cooking out his anger.
Evan picks up the pillow from the floor and hugs it to his chest. Okay, so he knows the image thing kind of sucks for Johnny, but they’ve both tried to move past the idiocy of their 2D portrayals lately. And Johnny certainly gets a lot of mileage out of their ‘rivalry’ on his TV show. It’s all hype and they know it: a storyline, a game. Evan had thought that they were mostly okay with each other now, friendly, if not exactly friends. He certainly wouldn’t have come running out to New Jersey to visit Johnny five years ago. And he doubts Johnny would have let him stay over then either.
He debates whether or not to go into the kitchen. He should probably give Johnny more time to cool off, but he’s afraid to let this fester into a real fight. It would kind of suck if he got thrown out and had to go find a hotel room.
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“I’m sorry I’m a hyper-competitive douche bag,” Evan says.
Johnny stops beating the pulverized chicken and lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry I’m an over-sensitive diva.”
“No you’re not.”
Johnny shrugs.
“I am trying to be better about the image thing,” Evan says. “Like, when reporters ask me about you.”
“I know,” Johnny says. “Clean off that asparagus will you?”
They make dinner together, and if it’s not quite a comfortable silence, at least it’s not an angry one. Evan washes the asparagus in the sink and then bends the stocks until they snap, throwing away the tough ends. He finds another skillet to steam it in.
Johnny is apparently making chicken marsala, and he tosses the now thoroughly flattened chicken medallions into a skillet with mushrooms, cream, and some wine poured from his impromptu rolling pin. “Oh, calm down,” he says, seeing Evan’s disapproving face. “All of the alcohol burns off when you cook it.”
They eat at the counter, still silent. Evan leans back when he’s done and says, “I have another question.”
“Great, because that went so well last time.”
“What are you going to do after you retire?”
Johnny groans. “Don’t you have any easy questions? I don’t know; probably milk the last of my fame for as long as possible. After that I’m not sure. I might try coaching. I think I might actually be good at it. Or at least I wouldn’t give anyone an eating disorder or fuck them up too much.”
Evan nods, “I’ve thought about coaching too.”
Johnny coughs into his napkin and says, “Please, for the sake of your hypothetical future pupils, don’t.”
Evan’s about to ask what that means, when Johnny’s phone buzzes. He frowns down at the caller ID for a second and then gets up to answer it.
“Hello?” he says, sounding suspicious. “Sorry, say that again?”
Evan leans back to try and see his expression, but Johnny has his back to him.
“Oh, really, and where did you hear that? No, no comment.” He hangs up.
“What was that about?” Evan asks.
“Alright, don’t panic, there was a post on TMZ or something, I guess one of the people at the park today tweeted about you being in Jersey with me.”
Evan breathes through his nose and reminds himself that he knew this would happen eventually.
“Who was on the phone?”
“Some reporter I don’t know, that’s why I hung up.”
Evan groans and rubs his forehead. “Great.”
“Relax, your PR people are probably already doing damage control. Are you really that embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“What? No, that’s not it, I’d just prefer to have my ‘nervous breakdown’ in private.”
“No one has to know why you’re really here. Tell them- I don’t know, tell them that I’m helping you with the dancing thing. Yeah, that’ll sound cute and kind of sportsmanlike. Those Olympic athletes, they’re competitors on the ice, but off it they help each other out.”
“Yeah, that is good.” Evan goes to find his own phone and texts his publicist. He still doesn’t really want to talk to anyone in LA. They’ll call if he needs to make a statement anyway.
“‘No paparazzi,’” he quotes when he comes back, accusatory.
“Yeah, well, that’s the magic of camera phones. Fucking twitter, everyone’s a gossip reporter now.”
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“I thought you didn’t skate on weekends?”
“Yeah, well. My schedule’s weird this week because of my flight. Come on, get dressed.”
“. . .you want me to come?”
“What, you want to mope around and watch Law & Order all day? Move it. I know you want to.”
So Evan gets dressed. He’s still sorting through his equipment when Johnny comes back into the living room ready to go. Johnny stops, staring at Evan’s open suitcase. “You packed your skates?” he asks. Then shakes his head. “Of course you did.”
When they get to the rink, Johnny’s coach’s daughter is there waiting. She does a double-take when she sees Evan, and she and Johnny proceed to have a twenty-minute argument in Russian about him being there. He sits down in the stands and pretends not to notice. Evan hopes that he’s mishearing and they aren’t actually using the word жо́пa quite as much as it sounds.
Johnny’s practice is. . . not quite what he was expecting. Galina and the Ukrainian guy never show up, and Nina and Johnny seem to be discussing new choreography rather than practicing for Worlds. Why is he planning a new program now? Isn’t it a little early to be preparing for the off-season? He’ll have to make Johnny tell him what’s going on later.
Watching Johnny skate makes Evan itch to be on the ice too. Watching anyone usually does that to him. He always wants to go out and show them up, let them see how it’s really done. But this feels different from the tense anticipation he usually feels when he’s waiting in the stands at a competition. His nervous energy seems to be feeding on his anxiety, getting mixed up with it somehow. His chest feels tighter than ever. Evan raises his hand to rub at the spot just below his left pec, where it feels like all his worries are packed into one painful pressure point.
He tries taking deep breaths and concentrates on just watching Johnny skate, blocking out his own thoughts. It’s strange seeing him in plain workout clothes, running through a routine in its rawest form. He’s much more involved in developing the choreography than Evan ever is, experimenting with his footwork and discussing the order of his moves with Nina.
After two hours of work, Johnny skates to the boards near Evan and waves him over. He motions down at his feet like he wants Evan to put on his skates. Nina seems to be done, gathering her things to go, but as Evan gets up, he sees her get Johnny’s attention. She’s hovering like there’s something she needs to tell him.
Evan dawdles with his skates, giving them some distance, although he can still hear snatches of their conversation.
“Whatever you decide,” Nina is saying. “We’re very proud of you.”
Evan can’t hear Johnny’s response, but he’s looking down at the ice like he’s upset about something. Nina hugs him and turns to go, adding “good luck” over her shoulder.
“Come on,” Johnny yells at Evan. “There’s another hour before it’s open to the public, you might as well enjoy it.”
Evan finishes lacing up quickly and steps out through the rink door. The cool air over the ice rushes up to meet him, soothing his tense muscles. Johnny seems to be avoiding him, keeping his distance like he doesn’t want to get close enough to talk.
They skate separately, taking leisurely laps around the ice, Johnny cooling down and Evan trying to get back into the rhythm of skating. Lately, whenever he’s been on the ice with Johnny things have been. . . tense. It’s weird to just skate near him comfortably, without feeling the need to go psych him out.
Eventually, Evan picks up speed and pushes to catch up with Johnny, timing his steps until they’re skating in sync.
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“What?” Evan says, not ready to deal with any existential questions.
“You’re free,” Johnny makes a motion like his hands are birds fluttering around the rink. “You can do whatever you want, whatever jump, whatever spin, anything you want. No one is telling you how to skate or what to do. So what do you want to do?”
“Um,” Evan says.
Johnny waits while Evan tries to think, gliding beside him. He runs through his list of jumps, trying to decide if there’s anything in particular he wants to do. But just thinking about it makes him feel tense and unhappy again.
“I guess… there isn’t anything.”
Johnny tilts his head, “Maybe you don’t want to skate at all? Maybe you really are burned out.”
“No,” Evan looks down, watching their feet gliding forward together. Left, right, left, right- There is something.
He isn’t sure how to ask. It will probably put Johnny on the defensive. Remind him of some of Evan’s more… douchy past behavior. “Maybe we could, uh, run through your short program? You know, both of us. Together.”
“Together? Why?” The words are clipped, suspicious. Evan immediately regrets bringing it up.
Why? “Because I want to?” he tries.
Johnny snorts and shakes his head. “Okay, great, but you need to give me a little more than that. What do you want out of it? To compete?”
“No,” he says quickly, because he’s pretty sure it’s not that. He’s always had competition, rivalry. If that was all he needed out of life he never would have gone on this ridiculous trip in the first place.
“I guess I want this,” Evan tries, waving between them to indicate their feet, still moving in step. “I’ve felt so off lately, it feels good to be in sync.”
Johnny considers that, giving him an odd look and then says, “Okay, I get it, sort of, but no programs, let’s go off-script, okay?”
“Off-script?” Evan repeats. Johnny skates over to the side and grabs his bag from the bench, pulling out a thick black CD wallet. He flips through the pages until he finds what he wants, popping the disk into the old boom box by the side of the rink.
Evan doesn’t recognize the song. It’s not in English, some kind of dance music, upbeat and fast.
Johnny takes a long glide across the ice, passing Evan and does a double Lutz, tentative, like he’s not sure he really wants to.
He comes back around, turning his palms up and sort of bowing to Evan like he’s handing off the ice. “Your turn.”
Evan nods and sets off, taking the same path as Johnny did and doing his own Lutz, echoing his movements.
They trade off like that for a few turns, sometimes copying one another and sometimes changing the jump, moving progressively harder. Evan feels good, his confidence coming back, but Johnny’s expression seems to be getting progressively darker.
When Johnny does a triple Axel and comes back for the handoff looking downright angry, Evan skates after him rather than taking his turn. He reaches out with his hand, wiggling his fingers and wagging his eyebrows like an idiot until Johnny rolls his eyes and takes it. Evan pulls him into a slow spin, their hands out at arms length.
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“Hey.” Johnny echos, sounding reluctant.
Evan holds on, making him skate around the rink with him. He leads for a lap and then drifts back so Johnny’s the one pulling him along while he follows.
Halfway around the rink, Johnny turns and pulls to a stop, forcing Evan to break too. He doesn’t manage it in time and ends up plowing into him, grabbing onto Johnny’s shoulders to steady them both. Johnny laughs and Evan can feel his breath against his cheek, their faces close like dancers posing at the end of a routine. Evan’s stomach tightens, but it’s not anxiety for once.
Johnny pulls away, pushing off of Evan so they both drift away from one another. “Hey, let’s try a lift,” he says.
“Um. . .”
“I don’t mean over your fucking head, just boost me up on your hip.”
He moves back in close, grabbing Evan’s hands. “Yeah, like this,” he says, getting Evan to put his left hand flat under his stomach, and pull him up with the other one under his right thigh. Evan can feel Johnny’s muscles beneath the thin fabric of his clothes, shifting and tightening as he tenses to hold himself in place.
They try it stationary a few times, Johnny arching his back and practicing stepping back to the ice smoothly. Eventually, Johnny breaks free to pick up some speed. He waits until Evan is matching him before skating in close, telegraphing his movements. It’s an easy lift, and Evan manages to pick Johnny up and circle twice before setting him down again cleanly. Johnny uses his momentum to do an exaggerated twirl and throws kisses to imaginary fans in the stands. Evan rubs his hand over his side and stomach, still feeling the echo of Johnny’s body everywhere he was pressed against him.
When Johnny returns, Evan says, “how about a throw?” without really thinking about it.
Johnny hesitates and Evan immediately wants to take it back. He has a vision of himself letting go wrong and Johnny crashing to the ice, shattering his ankle, never to skate again.
“Forget it!” he says.
“No, no, I want to, I trust you.” Except he doesn’t really sound like he does.
“Um, double loop?” Evan asks. Johnny looks vaguely disappointed, but nods and comes closer so Evan can practice positioning his hands. It’s easier this time, Johnny’s weight starting to feel familiar, if still making his skin feel strange and hypersensitive everywhere he touches.
They should really be practicing this off the ice first, but Evan starts to feel more confident as they work up to the full throw, the moves locking into his muscle memory. Eventually, Johnny pushes away and asks, “ready?” and Evan nods. He skates around quickly and when Johnny comes back to him, Evan picks him up like he’s done it a thousand times. He gives him slightly too much height, and Johnny stumbles a little on the landing, but it still feels downright magical. Evan finds himself smiling broadly.
“Triple this time!” Johnny shouts as he circles back, moving so quickly that Evan doesn’t have time to second-guess. He just opens his arms, and then Johnny’s there, and he’s throwing him upward into a perfect midair spin. This time the landing is clean.
Johnny comes back clapping his hands excitedly and says “Hey, maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want to do pairs!”
Evan considers it. He does like skating like this. Relaxed, like it’s only about testing what they can do together. Then again, being dependant on someone else in a competition sounds amazingly stressful. But, at least, then he’d always have a partner around. Being on an actual team might be nice. It could be a good retirement strategy. He could find someone to tour with and spend a few years just having fun without the constant pressure of medaling.
A clatter of voices interrupts Evan’s thoughts, teenagers coming in with rented skates. Their private time must be up.
Evan doesn’t want to leave, but Johnny’s already headed off the ice, grabbing his skate guards. “Come on, I’ve got to get back. I still need to get ready to leave tomorrow.”
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“Oh, yeah, and about a dozen other things,” Johnny says, finding a shirt and pulling it over his head.
“Why are you even traveling now? Aren’t you cutting it a little close to the wire? You’ll lose so much practice time.”
Johnny sighs and says, “Yeah, well, there’s some prep stuff for my exhibition in the summer that I want to do.”
“So are you going to Torino straight from there?”
Johnny throws his bag over his shoulder. “Something like that,” he says, turning to leave.
Despite his claim that he has things to do, when they get back, Johnny goes straight to his laptop. He brings up Ice Partner Search and proceeds to harass Evan about the pairs idea.
“What about her?”
“Her profile is in Cyrillic. We probably couldn’t even talk to one another.”
“It’s called body language, Evan. You both speak the international language of skating. Wait, what about this one? Look she’s got a video!”
“Will you please stop bringing up 15-year-old girls? It’s starting to get creepy.”
“Oh, no, no, check out this cutie. Goals include ‘Going all the way to the top!!!’ Look at all the exclamation points, that’s a match made in heaven.”
“Uh, he’s a dude?”
“Yeah, but he’s also your age, old beggars can’t be choosers.”
“He’s an ice dancer.”
“What, you won’t dance if there aren’t stars involved? Oh, no, this is the one! Says she’s ‘known for my exceptional work ethic.’ Oh, and check out that outfit, I like the tassels.”
“Um, Australia?”
“She checked ‘willing to relocate.’”
“This is so stupid.”
Johnny gets bored eventually and leaves Evan alone with the computer. He watches some videos of a senior-level woman from Berlin who’s actually pretty impressive. He tries to picture practicing with her on the ice everyday, but it’s hard to imagine.
There’s a crashing sound behind him and he turns around to find Johnny wrestling a huge vacuum cleaner out of the closet. He already has an array of cleaning products out, spray bottles and dust cloths piled up on the floor.
“Cleaning time, come on, this place is a mess.”
“What, now? You’re leaving tomorrow, why does it matter?”
Johnny takes a deep breath like Evan is seriously testing his sanity. “But if we do it now, then I can come home to a clean place and it’s one less thing to worry about while I’m gone.”
“You worry about the cleanliness of your apartment while you’re gone?”
Johnny takes another breath. “Evan, humor me. I’m not asking for 150% here, just pick up your shit and go buff the mirror in the bathroom or something.”
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Johnny’s bedroom is a bit of a mess. He has his suitcases out already and there are clothes sorted into various piles on the bed. Evan spends a few minutes shifting stuff around so he can clean the tops of the tables and the dresser. It looks like Johnny has been moving things around at random as he searches for clothing to pack, so he spends a few minutes putting obviously out of place items back in their proper spot. Or what he thinks is their proper spot. He gets some satisfaction out of imagining the OCD fit Johnny will probably throw when he sees the room.
He opens the nightstand to sweep in a pile of hair accessories, and then stops.
Okay, Evan knows that looking through Johnny’s bedside drawers is a bad idea, and really, he was prepared to run across lube or sex toys or whatever. But not this. He knows it’s none of his business, but, well, it’s actually making him kind of livid.
He goes straight into the living room where Johnny is on his knees, apparently dusting the bottom of the coffee table.
“What. The. Hell.” Evan says, startling him. He holds up the offending packet between his thumb and forefinger, trying not to touch it anymore than necessary.
Johnny gives him a confused look and then rolls his eyes. “What? You cannot be serious, you went through my drawers?”
“You-You- Worlds. Two weeks. You’re smoking when- two weeks!”
Johnny sighs and looks away. “Jesus, Evan, figure it out already. I’m not going to fucking Worlds.”
Oh.
He throws the pack of cigarettes on the ground next to where Johnny’s sitting. The top flips open, spilling cigarettes across the floor and into his lap.
“Why the hell not?” Evan asks
Johnny brushes the cigarettes away, rearranging his legs so he’s sitting cross-legged. “I need a break, okay? It’s time to change some things up. Reassess. Reevaluate.”
“Reevaluate?” Evan repeats. “Now who’s speaking in clichés?”
“What, you’re the only one that gets to take time off now?” Johnny snaps.
“Do you even want to skate anymore?” Evan means for it to come out casual and cutting, but even to his own ears he just sounds sad.
“I-” Johnny grimaces and starts to pick up the cigarettes, collecting them in his hands. “I don’t know, alright? Sometimes. Sometimes all I want is to keep skating and I’m terrified of what’s going to happen when I can’t anymore, but…” his voice wavers. “God, honestly, most of the time now I just can’t wait for it to be over. Even when I actually work at it-” Johnny stops like he’s getting choked up. He tries to cover for it by getting up off the floor and sitting down on the couch, arranging the cigarettes in a pile on the coffee table.
“I’m not you, Evan.” Johnny continues, focusing on what his hands are doing. “I’ve peaked. What’s the point of putting in the time when I’m just going to fuck it up anyway? Why even-” his voice breaks and he stops again, closing his eyes to keep from crying. A few tears leak out anyway.
“Are you… is this it?” Evan asks. “Are you done for good?”
Johnny just shakes his head. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Why not? What’s the point?”
“When you fall off a horse-“ Evan starts.
“Oh, don’t you dare give me a fucking pep talk,” Johnny says, reaching over to grab a box of tissues nearby.
Evan sits down next to him while Johnny blows his nose and wipes his eyes. “Asshole,” he sniffs, pulling himself together.
“Sorry,” Evan says.
“Yeah, well, now you got to see me have a breakdown and cry, so I guess we’re even.”
“I didn’t cry,” Evan says.
Johnny snorts and shakes his head. “Don’t front, there was definitely some masculine lower lip quivering when you first got here.”
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Also: I love you anon. Have my babies.
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