Fic: Looking at You, I'm Home [3/4]
Continued from
***
His parents love Chris. He knows it the moment they walk in the door, and Chris bows his head and calls them, "Mr. and Mrs. Walker," voice shy. He shakes Jon's dad's hand and then lets his mom kiss his cheek.
They eat dinner quietly, and Chris is thoughtful and polite with more pleases and thank yous than he ever seems to use around Ryan or even Jon, and he keeps calling them by their last names until Jon's mom laughs and says, "You can call me 'Kathy,' sweetheart."
"Jon said I could," Christopher says quietly, and he looks like he's going to cry again. Jon gets that awful twisting feeling in his throat, helpless, and starts to get out of his chair.
His mom is faster, coming around to put her hands on Chris' shoulders. "I have ice cream in the kitchen," she says softly. "I think you've had enough dinner."
Jon isn't expecting Chris to let his mom lead him away by the hand, but he does, sniffling a little too loudly now. He thinks that, maybe, they've all been had.
"He's a nice kid, Jonny," his dad says, after the door's closed and they're alone. The dinner--hamburgers and macaroni and cheese because his mom hadn't been sure what Chris would eat--sits forgotten, cold now.
"Yeah," Jon says. He smiles a little. "He's awesome."
"He's in town for a week?" His dad sips his coffee and leans back in his chair, like he always did right before allowance negotiations, when he was preparing to take chore bribes for an extra dollar a week. "And then what?"
Jon shrugs. He hasn't thought about the "and then what." He knows what he promised Ryan in Vegas. "And then we'll see."
"Jon--" his dad says, sitting up a little.
Jon shakes his head and begins to pile together the empty plates. He's not going to talk about this, not now.
***
They don't eat the dessert that his mom planned, and she packs that up to come back to Jon's house with them. Chris is quiet on the car ride back, and he doesn't look at Jon when they pull into the driveway. It's snowing again, and Chris flounders a little to make it from the driveway to the kitchen door in his old sneakers. His boots are still in the house, new in the box.
Jon has to make two trips into the house to get all the left-overs in, the huge box of Christmas cookies that Jon's not going to be able to finish. Marley gets under his feet, barking happily, and Ryan's there suddenly, wrapped up in an afghan.
He doesn't offer to help Jon, but he grabs Marley's collar to pull him back and keep him from following Jon out into the snow.
"The news said we could get a foot or more by tomorrow," Ryan says, when the door's closed and locked. "Do you think we'll get snowed in?" He sounds mildly interested in the idea. "Do we have enough food to last us?"
Jon feels tired. He can hear the shower running, and Chris' snowy footprints haven't melted from the kitchen floor yet. "Maybe," he says. He closes his eyes and doesn't ask Ryan how he deals with the crying. He doesn't want this to turn into a competition.
Ryan lets go of Marley's collar. "I hope you have games, then."
Jon shrugs. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
Ryan expected Chicago to be cold. He expected to feel uncomfortable when he walked into Jon's home, and he was ready to feel out of sorts at the Walker family Christmas.
Except none of those things happen. Jon's constant from the moment they walk into his home, smiling and happy, and he looks so lost with Christopher at times, when Christopher is obviously trying to wheedle his way into staying up past eleven. He can't handle tears, real or faked, and Christopher seems to catch on pretty quickly.
Ryan watches a lot in Chicago. He remembers when he was in undergrad, when he had to take a journal out and write a page a day about people or things he observed, so he would have something to draw on for stories. He wrote about little old women, their dogs. He had twenty pages filled with observations about a pretty dancer who worked shifts at Ryan's favorite bar and never got anything more than a phone number.
Watching Jon with Christopher, though, he thinks that maybe he could find something there to write, pages of observations to draw on instead of just words. He watches Jon get Christopher ready for bed, asking him what kinds of stories he likes to be read before he goes to sleep. Christopher is old enough to read on his own now, but Ryan still reads to him at night, sometimes from Harry Potter and sometimes from the books Ryan remembers loving when he was little, Huckleberry Finn and Catcher in the Rye.
Ryan knows that he shouldn't give up that moment to Jon, the last few minutes that Christopher is awake, when they can talk in whisper soft voices before the light's turned off. He shouldn't, but he loves watching Jon then, the way he smoothes a hand over Christopher's hair and then reaches up to turn off the light. He always has a smile when he passes Ryan, looking up to meet his eyes and there's something like a Thank you that passes between them.
He hasn't really written in a journal in years, but there's something about being here, in Chicago, that makes him want to put his hands on paper, smear blue ink on his fingertips. He writes a page and a half describing the little things he's seen since they landed here.
Ryan doesn't write about Jon, though. Every time he starts to write Jon's name, he scratches it out and moves onto talking about how he woke up with Clover draped over his face that morning.
***
Christmas is odd. It's not good or bad, but he doesn't know what he should feel about it. Jon gives him leather bound journals without lines and a camera, an older one that feels too large in his hands. It's not digital, and if he wants to show Jon the pictures, he'd have to buy a scanner.
They eat breakfast together, the three of them with Christopher's new toys piled high on the table. He's already wearing the sweater Jon bought for him, dribbling syrup down the front. He changes before they have to go to the Walkers', but they're still a half an hour late when Jon pulls up outside the house. No one seems to mind.
Ryan isn't expecting Mrs. Walker to hug him, press her lips to his cheek and say, "We're so glad to meet you. Jon mentioned you quite a bit at dinner." He isn't expecting to feel his ears go hot when she pulls back and gives him a smile that reminds him too much of Jon and Christopher's.
"Hi, Mrs. Walker," he says, and his voice goes shy. He feels like he's ten instead of nearly thirty. If Jon's mom doesn't like him, if Christopher's grandmother doesn't like him, things will be awkward and strange.
"Oh, please," she says, and she's still smiling and laughing. "You can call me 'Kathy.' You're family, aren't you?"
Ryan's tongue feels too large for his mouth, and he doesn't know what this is supposed to feel like, meeting the parents of his cousin's father. It shouldn't feel so much like he's meeting the parents, but there's an older man standing a bit aways from them and Ryan knows an assessing look when he sees one.
"I'm going to take Ryan in to meet your brothers, Jon," Kathy says.
Jon's on his knees on the floor, still in his winter coat. He's helping Christopher out of the down-filled monstrosity that they got at an outlet. It's all zippers and hidden layers, too many buttons, and Christopher can barely walk in it.
Ryan thinks it's a little adorable, but he knows better than to say so in front of Christopher.
"Sure, Mom," he says, and he looks up and flashes Ryan a quick grin, and there's something in it that makes Ryan's face flush warm again, even if Jon is more than half distracted by getting the top button undone.
He lets her take his arm and lead him into the living room, where there are cousins for Christopher to play with, kids his age. "Everyone, this is Ryan Ross," she says, like they're old friends.
Jon's brother Bill introduces himself and his wife, and the kids stare at him a little. He shifts back before the smallest of the kids, a little blonde girl with the dark eyes that all the Walkers seem to have. "Did you bring Chris?" she asks, all hushed and excited like Christopher is the real present here.
Ryan blinks, and Mrs. Walker squeezes his arm. "He's in the kitchen?"
The children clamor out, and Jon's brothers are looking at him. Ryan wishes Spencer were here. Spencer's much better at being randomly stared down by people he doesn't know; Ryan just doesn't look at threatening as Spencer can.
"I'm Mike," one of the brothers says, and he gives Ryan a quick grin. "Jonny told us you teach college?"
Ryan blinks but he smiles back, stepping away from Kathy. "Yeah, at community and UNLV, in the lit and writing programs."
Mike nods. "I teach a business class on the weekends, to help pay for Kaylee's ballet classes," he says.
He shouldn't feel like that's an in, but he sits down on one of the empty chairs, and he and Mike begin swapping stories back and forth about awful assignments, the best excuses they've ever had when it was time to turn in an important paper.
Somewhere in it all, Jon comes in and sits down on the arm of Ryan's chair, his thigh brushing against Ryan's shoulder, and it only seems weird when Ryan stops to think about it.
***
They're quiet in the car, when they're driving back. It's late, almost midnight, and Ryan keeps turning around to see if Christopher is still awake and with them. (He's not; face pressed against his seat belt and eyes closed. He's snoring softly.)
"Your family is nice," he says as they' turn into a neighborhood that could be Jon's. Everything looks the same to Ryan here, all brick and snow-covered roofs. "I'm glad I met them."
"They liked you, I think," Jon says. Ryan knows he's smiling without having to look, just from the tone of his voice. "I'm glad they did."
Ryan says, "Me too," before he can stop himself because it doesn't matter. He might never see these people again. He knows Jon better now, and in a year, he'll know him well-enough that he can send Christopher off to Walker family Christmas without playing chaperon. He's probably never going to see Bill or Mike again.
He looks over in time to see a flash of Jon's teeth in the relative darkness, and he wants to see Jon smile in the light.
Ryan squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, and he texts Spencer i'm calling you in 20 min because he needs someone to remind him exactly why he isn't allowed to want to see Jon smile, not in a way that makes his fingers itch to flick the overhead lights on.
***
Spencer's a little breathless when he calls, forty minutes later instead of twenty. Jon needed help getting Christopher out of the car. He could carry him, but then no one could open the doors. Ryan doesn't like how he feels, comfortable and happy because he can't be. He doesn't belong here.
"What's wrong?" Spencer asks, before they finish saying hello.
Ryan shrugs and knows that Spencer is expecting him to do it. "I think this was a mistake," he says, soft because Christopher is sleeping in the same room.
Spencer swears, low and filthy. "What did he say? We'll fight this, Ry--"
"No, Spence," Ryan says, pressing his forehead to his knees. He feels like he's fourteen again, telling Spencer in the dark that sometimes he wonders about boys like he wonders about girls, how their mouths would feel against his, the warmth of their skin. It feels just as awkward, weird and almost wrong. "Jon's been great."
Spencer goes quiet again, and then there's a beat. Spencer's probably waving his hand, waiting for the other shoe. "What's wrong, then?"
Ryan closes his eyes and grits his teeth. "I liked meeting his family, and sometimes he smiles at me, and it feels right."
The silence this time is worse than the first. "Ryan," Spencer says, and his tone is level, voice flat. He doesn't say how much he's fucking up for even thinking about it.
"I haven't done anything," he says. "I don't think Jon even--He doesn't know."
Ryan doesn't know, not really, but he can pretend that it's a secret. He doesn't think about how warm Jon always feels next to him. He doesn't think about how Jon's clothes fall on his chest, the taper of his waist. "He doesn't know," he says again.
"That's good. When do you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow, I think. It's soon." Ryan chews on his nails.
Spencer makes a soft, affirmative noise before he sighs. "You're kind of a moron, you know."
Ryan smiles ruefully. This is why he called Spencer and not Brendon. He doesn't need to be told that Jon's a good guy or that they can work something out. He needs someone that will tell him that trying to sniff around Jon is the stupidest thing he could do.
"I know," he says. He lays down on the carpet of Jon's guest room. The floor is colder this way, but Ryan doesn't feel very much like sleeping yet. "How was Christmas?"
***
He wakes up in the morning to Christopher jumping on the bed, frame creaking. "What's going on?"
Christopher lands half on top of him, his knees banging against Ryan's ribs. He doesn't apologize. "It's snowing and Jon is going to take me sledding," he says, and he's grinning at Ryan. "Jon said that we're going to get another foot, and our plane is going to be stuck and we won't be able to leave until after tomorrow."
Ryan squints at him. The house is cold, and he doesn't want to get up to see the snow. "What?"
"It's going to snow a lot," Christopher says, slowly. "Like a lot-a lot, and Jon says that there'll be so much snow that no planes are going to fly us home. It's not good weather."
He rubs his side when he sits up, craning to look at Jon's yard through the window. There is a lot of snow, the entire neighborhood looking more like a Christmas card than somewhere that people actually live. "Oh," he says, pushing aside the weird feeling that's beginning to settle through him.
"You can help us build a snowman, if you don't want to go sledding." Christopher is already dressed, jeans and the sweater Jon bought. "Jon said he'd take me already."
That gets Ryan out of bed. He doesn't like the idea that Jon's more fun than he is, even if he suspects Jon would be much more prepared to handle sledding than Ryan. All of Ryan's clothes are fine for Vegas. He has one nice sweater and a hoodie, and both are already tossed into his suitcase dirty.
He still pulls on his last undershirt and button down. He'll freeze, but at least he won't be boring. "I'm going sledding, too," he tells Christopher while he grabs a pair of dirty socks to put on over his clean ones. He knows that his feet will be freezing.
Christopher laughs and rolls off the bed, calling "Jon, Jon," as he goes.
***
There's a park by Jon's house with a huge hill and ten other kids are there with their parents, red-faced and laughing as they slide past on plastic toboggons. He and Jon are each carrying plastic saucers in gloved hands, and Ryan feels incredibly over-warm despite the cold. (Jon took one look at what he was wearing and insisted he put on a pair of sweats on under his pants and two of Jon's sweatshirts on over his button-down.)
He's sweating under the clothes by the time they reach the top of the hill, and then Jon sets the saucer he's holding down. His nose is already red from the cold. "Just like this, okay?" he says to Christopher, before he pushes off and speeds down the hill.
They watch Jon slide down the hill, how the saucer spins as it goes, so sometimes they see Jon's laughing face. Christopher grinning huge up at Ryan before he grabs the other saucer from Ryan's hands without saying please and takes off after Jon.
Except that he manages fall out of the saucer and rolls down in his ridiculous coat. Ryan laughs in spite of himself.
"That your boy?" one of the mothers at the top asks, when Jon and Christopher meet up at the base of the hill and start climbing up the hill together, struggling in deep snow and the wind.
He nods a little. He can see that they're laughing together, Jon's arm around Christopher's shoulders. "Yeah, he is." It hurts strangely to say it.
She laughs. "He took a quite a wipe out down there." She's arranging a girl about Christopher's age in a sled and he watches her push her down the hill.
"We've never been sledding before," he says defensively, and he feels his face try to flush, like it can get redder after the cold.
"Really?" she says, and she seems kinder now, less brash. After two years, he still has troubles with these moments, other parents trying to make a connection just because they both have kids.
"Yeah," he says, and Jon and Christopher come up next to him before he can say, "We're just visiting family."
"Ryan, oh my god, it is so cool," Christopher says. He's covered in snow and shivering a little but doesn't seem to notice. "You have to go."
"Yeah, Ryan," Jon says, and there's something softer in his voice as he sets his saucer down. "Come on. One of us has to be at the bottom to watch him."
Now he feels warm again, hot in all his layers in a way that has nothing to do with the little bit of sweat that's starting to pool in the small of his back. The other mother is looking at him with a weird smile on her face, like she sees something while she's crawling into a sled with another one of her kids in her lap.
"Ryan, please, you have to try," Christopher says. He bounces on his heels in the snow. His nose is running a little, too. "It is so much fun."
Jon just smiles up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Ryan knows when he's beat. "Fine," he says.
He crawls into the saucer. There's some snow in it, and it melts under his ass almost instantly, wet and uncomfortable. Ryan sees the reason for the layers.
"Ready?" Jon asks, still holding the edge of the saucer. Ryan pretends not to notice that he's being edged over the crest of the hill. "Just hold on, okay? There's no harm in falling off, either. Promise." He's speaking close to Ryan's ear, breath warm, and Ryan closes his eyes, just for a second, as Jon pushes him off.
He stays on until the hill starts to even out, and he doesn't exactly love the way his stomach drops as he speeds down. He can hear Jon and Christopher cheering him on, the weird, wet sounds of snow underneath him as he rushes toward the bottom. He doesn't know how to stop, though, and he worries suddenly about going into the street.
Ryan rolls off, and he can hear someone laughing at him. His mouth is full of snow for a brief, brief moment, cold and sharp, and he has a thought about going after the saucer but mostly he lays out like that until he hears Jon calling that Christopher is coming down.
Then Ryan has to get up out of the snow, ignoring the way he feels mostly frozen and wet, to watch him come down the hill. He smiles at Christopher as he comes down, and he finds himself looking up, at Jon, and maybe he's smiling at him, too.
***
It's almost dark by the time they trudge home, even if it's only four in the afternoon. It's snowing harder, wind blowing, and Jon and Ryan are holding the saucers, Christopher walking between them. He holds both of their hands when they have to cross the street, and Ryan's eyes feel tight every time he does it.
Jon sends Christopher up for the first bath, and Ryan changes into his pajama pants and sleep shirt, hair wet from the snow. Jon's starting soup when he comes back downstairs. "Do you think we'll be grounded tomorrow?"
"It's possible. We can call ahead, before I take you guys." Jon won't look at Ryan as he talks, opening up three cans of soup and dumping them into a pot. "I mean, there will probably be delays."
He nods and leans against the counter. "Okay." His hair drips onto his neck, so the collar of his shirt is wet. He's still cold, barefoot in Jon's kitchen, but he doesn't know what to say to him. He feels like he should, that they're more to say than, "Tomorrow, we're going to go back to Vegas, and I probably won't see you for a year."
"Will you stir this while I set the table?" Jon asks, quietly. There's something off in his voice.
"Sure." Ryan doesn't know what else to say.
It stays quiet, strangely strained through dinner, through Christopher talking about how much fun he had, and how much he hopes that they can stay an extra day because it was so, so fun, and he wants to make a snowman! Jon smiles when it's appropriate, and he nods along, but he won't meet Ryan's eyes.
Jon lets Ryan help him clear the table after dinner while Christopher picks a movie. Their hands brush when they both go to pick up a soup bowl, and he doesn't think he's misreading the way Jon doesn't pull his hand away automatically, how they just stay with their fingers brushing over the same bowl.
Ryan's nerve breaks first, and he goes after Christopher, settling down under a blanket when Christopher decides that they're going to watch Finding Nemo. He wants to go upstairs and hide when he sees that. Instead, he opens his blanket and lets Christopher climb under it with him.
They don't play the movie until Jon's sitting down with them. He passes them both mugs of cocoa, and then Christopher hits play. Ryan closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the back of the couch. Jon throws a blanket over his legs.
"We can skip ahead, if you want," Ryan murmurs. He doesn't think they've ever watched the whole first scene, not since Margaret's accident.
Christopher shakes his head, burrowing down between them. Ryan's aware of how close Jon is, despite how much room there is on the couch. "No, I want to see it all," he says, voice soft. "I like this movie."
"Okay," Ryan murmurs, and he puts his cocoa onto Jon's coffee table, just as the clownfish see the barracuda. "Then we'll watch it."
Jon glances at Ryan over Christopher's head, and they both hear the way Christopher's breath hisses when the mom fish goes to protect her eggs. He wants to explain that they don't watch the opening scene, just like they don't watch Bambi or The Land Before Time anymore.
Then the fish wakes up, and Christopher rubs his face. Jon takes his hot chocolate away. He burrows closer to Ryan, wrapping his legs over Jon's, so the three of them are tucked together. Ryan ignores the way his skin feels, where Jon's feet occasionally brush over his ankle and everything is suddenly, sharply burning hot.
He doesn't move when the fish are running from the shark, when he hears Christopher's breathing even out and knows he's sleeping and they don't have to sit this close. Jon doesn't move away, and Ryan won't either.
"What are you guys going to do when you get home?" Jon asks, and Ryan has to turn to face him. "Any good parties that you missed?"
Ryan shrugs. "We'll do New Years with Spence and Haley, probably. Then school and his birthday." Ryan bites his lip a little. "It's on the 23rd."
"I know," Jon says. "I'm trying to find a way to rearrange my schedule to get out there for it. Seems kind of shitty to miss his first birthday that I can make."
"Yeah, he'd want you to be there." Ryan looks over at Jon, and his face is close, close enough for Ryan to be aware that he could lean forward, just an inch, maybe less, and they'd be kissing. "I think I want to buy you a ticket, if that's okay. For his birthday. Since you did this, for me--for us, so I could be with him."
"Yeah?" He can feel Jon talking on his face, the soft heat of his words. Jon doesn't move forward either. "So are you having a party?"
"Probably, maybe some of his friends from school and Spencer and Haley, Brendon and Shane. You know, the family." He doesn't feel odd for saying it like that, and he wonders if he should, after a week with Jon and his brothers that he actually sees, Jon's parents who remind him too much of Spencer's parents or Brendon's, always ready to welcome someone new.
"What about your mom and dad?" Jon asks, his voice quiet. He smells like something Ryan should know, vaguely floral and not something Ryan would have expected from Jon. He seems painfully still.
"My dad died, when I was nineteen, and I'm not close with her, not enough to invite her to his party. He'd want family there." Ryan would shrug, but it feels like any movement would dislodge the moment. There's heat in Jon's eyes, and Ryan keeps looking at his lips, wondering how Jon's beard would burn, if they could properly kiss with Christopher between them.
That thought makes him pull back because he can't. He can't kiss Jon, no matter how Jon is looking at him. He wants to touch Jon, scratch at his beard to feel it under his fingertips. It's more than that. It's the way Jon makes Chris smile and the way his being there makes everything feel more real, the stupid emails he sends full of pictures that Ryan can't really understand.
He wants to, can the desire buzzing along his skin; it feels a lot like need, but it's not. It's stupid and selfish and a risk he can't take, because he could lose Christopher, if it ended badly. If Jon knew that he could forget to pay the electric bill and they can go days without food, he could use that against Ryan in court and Ryan would lose him.
Ryan doesn't think Jon could do it, doesn't think that a guy who owns every Pixar movie and most of their knockoffs could, especially a guy who would fly someone across the country just to spend a holiday with a son he barely knows.
He doesn't think Jon's that guy--he doesn't want to believe it, can't really internalize it--but he doesn't know. And he cannot risk Christopher over all the great smiles and odd pictures that Jon has to give.
Jon goes on a job just after the new year begins, and he stays on the road. At first, Ryan doesn't respond to his emails, even though he sends things that Chris would like to see. He goes to a shoot in Pennsylvania and sees a dinosaur painted to look like a ketchup bottle and then goes to Louisiana for some sort of pre-Mardi Gras feature.
After Louisiana, he's going to Seattle, and then he supposed to fly home to Chicago. Instead, he's flying into Vegas a little after midnight on Christopher's birthday. He doesn't have a ticket back to Chicago from there, not yet.
He emails Ryan his flight information and a picture of the dinosaur. Someone's taped pink roses to it, and he thinks that Ryan would appreciate it.
Part of him thinks that maybe it's too telling, to show that to Ryan and expect him not to start to see something.
Jon keeps thinking of the last night they were in his house, how close Ryan was, the way he looked. Jon wanted--still wants--to know what it would feel like, to kiss Ryan and feel like maybe what they have is something more than a weird blended family, a pair of cousins and an absent father. Maybe there's actually something between them.
There isn't, though, and Jon knows there can't be because of the dark-haired guy in the pictures.
Ryan responds in turn, the way he always does, with more pictures of Chris. There are a few pictures of him with the guy in the hat, some of them in Ryan's condo and some of them other places, at the movies and at what looks like a library. There's another of the dark haired guy, at the diner where Jon met Ryan and Chris, his arm around Chris' shoulder and he's pulling a face at the camera.
Jon should want to smile, because Chris is laughing, milkshake running down his shirt, but all he can do is look at the dark-haired guy. He's attractive enough, looks intelligent when he's not pulling faces. He can see why Ryan could be involved with him, a little. He can see the way he is with Christopher, gentle and kind, and it makes Jon a little sick inside, to think about this guy that he can't even name.
He won't ask Chris about it though, even when they're talking the night before Jon goes back to Vegas. "Ryan said I could invite a lot of my school friends," Chris says. He's talking fast and furious, like he's afraid that Jon will hang up if he takes too long. "But only three are coming to the party, and I told them that my dad was coming and you take pictures of stuff for magazines and they want to know if you see famous people?"
Jon laughs. He's almost packed for his trip to Vegas. He's not even sure where he's staying yet. He figured that he could work that one out when he gets in. Ryan will probably let him crash on the couch for a night. "No, not really. One time I got a picture of one of the girls from Full House, DJ, I think."
"What's Full House?" Chris asks, and Jon knows him well enough now that he can picture Chris wrinkling his nose.
"It's not important," Jon says, waving it off. "No, I don't see famous people. That's not really what my job's for."
"Oh, okay." Chris goes quiet again. "Is it okay that I call you my dad to my friends?"
Jon smiles a little. "That's what I am, Chris. It's okay with me if it's okay with you."
Christ stays quiet, long silence that makes Jon sit up a little straighter on the bed, waiting for something to clue him into what's going on. "Chris?" he asks, carefully.
"It's okay with me, Dad," Chris whispers, and Jon feels strange. It's weirdly like someone's blowing him apart inside, but his lungs are deflated and empty when he tries to talk. "I think I--I don't want to call you 'Jon.'" It's almost impossible to hear it over the phone, over the crackle that's on the line because Jon has shit reception.
"Chris," he manages finally. "You don't have to--"
"I want to," he says. "I like you being my dad." It seems simple when he says it, like it's just a name and nothing else. Jon wants to agree so badly that he can almost taste it. "You get to call me 'Chris,' and no one else does that."
"Okay," he says. "Then. Okay." He gulps down a breath and tries to feel settled. He can't though, up off his hotel bed already and wandering around the tiny room. "So your school friends."
***
He emails Ryan a picture he takes inside the taxi to the airport and he doesn't know how to say We need to talk in an email that doesn't sound end of the world-like. He writes I think Chris doesn't want to call me Jon instead, like "I think" will somehow soften the blow.
It's possible that Ryan already knows; he has a hard time not thinking of the panicked look in Ryan's eyes when he asked Jon not to take away Chris, though. He knows Chris is more Ryan's son than he is Jon's, and it doesn't matter how much that makes him ache a little inside. He can't change what's past.
Ryan doesn't respond to the email. Jon doesn't know if he'll get it before Jon reaches Vegas.
He wants to call Tom when he's waiting for his plane to board, but his fingers slip and he calls his parents instead. His mom answers, her voice quiet from sleep. "Jon?"
"Chris wants to call me his dad, like. As my name." He curls up on the bench a little, next to his carry on. "I don't know--I don't think Ryan's going to like it."
His mom sighs, and he can hear her sitting up. "Jon, you are Chris' dad, and if he--"
"Then what's Ryan?" he whispers. It's stupid that he's worried how Ryan's going to take all of this. Ryan's in his late twenties; he's an adult. He should be able to handle this. He has more family than just Chris, has Spencer and Brendon and the dark-haired guy. Chris wanting to call him something different shouldn't matter.
"Ryan's Chris' cousin, and that's okay, Jon. Don't fight it. You should be happy that Chris wants you to be that." His mom makes a soft sound on the other end. "It's not your job to make sure Ryan's happy, just your son."
Jon closes his eyes tight, and they're calling for his plane. "Yeah," he says. Ryan doesn't need him, not like Jon wants. He doesn't need to hold Ryan's hand through this.
"When are you coming home, Jonny?" she asks.
Jon sighs. "I have to go catch my plane, Mom. I'll let you know when to expect me."
***
Ryan's waiting for him in the airport lobby when he's got his luggage together, carry-on slung over his shoulder and suitcase rolling behind him. He smiles when he sees Jon, standing up a little straighter. "Hey," he says.
"Hi," Jon says. "Chris at home?"
"Christopher," Ryan says, but he's smiling now and there's no huffiness in his voice, not the way he sounded the first time he corrected Jon. "Yeah, he is. I told him he was allowed to stay up until we got home as long as he was in his PJs and stuff."
"Ah, I remember when my parents used to do that." Jon passes his carry-on over to Ryan when he offers his hand for something. "One time, my dad went on a trip for work and he was gone for three weeks. He got home at like three AM, and Mom let us sleep on the couch to wait for him."
"How much sleep did you get?" Ryan asks. They're walking slow through the airport, close enough that their hands brush.. Jon's face feels warm, but he pushes it away.
"Not enough," Jon says. "We spent most of the night giggling. And then Dad came home with Mom, and they kept kissing." He makes a face at the memory.
Ryan laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, parents kissing is totally disgusting. I remember when Spencer's parents would kiss, and we would all act like we were dying."
Jon can see that, Ryan and Spencer as little kids, making gagging noises and groaning loud because they just saw someone kiss. He smiles a little at the image. "Well, thankfully, Christopher won't have to see that."
Ryan's smile goes a little sad before it slides off his face. He's looking down at Jon with the same guarded, hopeful eyes that he saw on the couch, at Chicago. "Yeah, good thing."
He sighs a little and rubs his temples. They leave the airport and wander around the parking garage, looking for Ryan's car. It takes Ryan ten minutes to admit defeat and push the ticket into Jon's hand, like he has a better chance of navigating the garage.
It's only when they're in the car that Jon wonders if he should bring up the email, if Ryan got it. They listen to the Beatles on the ride back instead though, and Ryan talks to him about this really awesome show he's thinking about going to, at the museum. It's a laser show to Beatles' music, and it's only twenty bucks a person.
Jon's pretty sure there's an invitation for him to come along, even more sure when Ryan goes, "I think it would be fun, for the three of us to do. Christopher likes the Beatles all right."
"Because he has awesome taste in music." Jon grins wide, tries not to think about how much it feels like this could be something. How ridiculous it is that he's going to be thirty soon and he's never had a real relationship, something steady where he could think about kids and family vacations, and now he has a kid and a guy that he wants to have that with. He wants it to be something, and he almost, almost leans into Ryan's space when they're stopped at a red-light, to nose along his cheek and maybe kiss him, just to see.
He doesn't though, and the lights are on in Ryan's condo when they pull up. It's a little after midnight, and Christopher is nine now. There's a present for him buried in Jon's suitcase, and he wonders if he should pull it out before they go inside, but Ryan's smiling and tugging him towards the front door.
"We can get your shit in the morning," he says with a smile, and he's pulling him closer to the front door of the condo, sliding his keys into the lock. It feels like Jon's coming home, even if he's in the middle of the desert without a real lake for miles, and Ryan keeps smiling at him, facing him as he pushes the door open.
Jon thinks, maybe, for a crazy moment, that Ryan is going to kiss him, and then he hears Christopher yelling, "Ryan! Dad!" and Ryan winces away from him, smile shutting down.
***
Jon sleeps on the couch in his t-shirt and boxers, and he wakes up too early the next morning with Christopher jumping on top of him. "Dad," he says, sing-song, and the thrill of being called that is sort of gone when it's still dark outside. "Dad, you can take me to school today, and you can pick me up at the bus stop. Wouldn't that be awesome?"
"Let Jon sleep, Christopher," Ryan calls. "Eat your breakfast."
"No, like, he can take me to school, Ryan, if he wakes up!"
Jon tries to keep his eyes closed because he's exhausted. Ryan's couch sucks; Jon's pretty sure he's going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.
"No, he can't because I need my car, and I don't think he knows where your school is," Ryan says.
"Then I can stay home with him, and we'll play video games all day. It'll be totally sweet." Jon's lips twitch a little at that, before he can stop himself, and he thinks Chris sees it. "He's awake. I knew it."
Jon stays still, squeezing his eyes shut.
"No, Christopher. We had an agreement. You stayed up last night, and you are going to school today," Ryan sounds a little vexed.
"What does my dad say? I bet he'll let me stay home because it's my birthday." Chris bounces a little, and he's a skinny kid, but his knees are digging into the softest part of Jon's belly and moving lower every time he shifts his weight. Besides, Jon's awake enough to see the red-flags all over that statement.
Ryan slams something in the kitchen, and Jon's pretty sure he can smell something burning. He sits up and looks at Chris, fumbling for his jeans with one hand. "You shouldn't talk to Ryan like that," he says. He glances at the clock, and it's almost eight in the morning.
"But would you let me stay home?" Chris looks up at him expectantly, like he already knows the answer. "Since it's my birthday."
He can't hear Ryan any more, and he sighs. He remembers telling Chris about his family's traditions over the phone, when they first started talking. Chris got an A+ on his science test, and Jon said something about how that would have earned him a free skip day from his mom. They were allowed three a year, two and their birthdays.
"Ryan's in charge," Jon says, after too long a pause.
"So you would." Chris beams up at him. He's half-dressed for school, in jeans and his pajama top. "Ryan, Dad says I can stay home."
Jon feels himself go pale. "I did not," he hisses. "You need to get dressed and go to school."
Chris rolls his eyes. "But you would let me stay home."
"Yeah, but I'm not in charge. Ryan is, and if Ryan says you're going, you're going." Jon pulls on his hair a little and tugs his jeans on, getting them done up before he wanders into the kitchen.
Ryan's glaring at a pan of eggs like somehow that will make them a little less burned, stack of toast just to his side. There's bacon on a plate already, but the scrambled eggs are greyish-yellow and there's something off in the way Ryan has his arms crossed over his chest.
"Hey," he says, carefully. "Do you want me to... I can scramble eggs."
"So can I," Ryan snaps, and Jon's pretty sure he's woken up into some sort of weird twilight zone where the family he wanted last night doesn't actually exist. "I'm just--Next time I say he can stay up, remind me that he can't, not if he's going to be a little jerk about it."
Ryan glances over at him then, face pale suddenly. "I didn't mean that--"
"He's being a little jerk," Jon says with a shrug. "It happens." He gets the rest of the eggs out of Ryan's fridge and sets them on the counter.
"I know, I just--" Ryan rubs his eyes, and Jon sees the same guy who asked Jon not to take his kid in that moment, same fear in his eyes. "I didn't think it would screw with me, when he told me that he was going to call you--"
"Yeah, I know." Jon takes the pan carefully and dumps the grey-yellow mess into the trash. He starts to scrub it out before he continues. "It's weird."
"Yeah." Ryan moves to the side and watches Jon start to scramble the eggs. "Would you really let him stay home today?"
Jon nods. "I would, but if you want him to go, it's okay, Ryan. It's probably bad that he thinks just because I said something, one time, he can--"
"Yeah," Ryan says, and he stands up a little straighter. He's not dressed either, hair mussed and standing on end from sleep and his t-shirt hanging huge over his boxers. His legs seem skinnier bare. "I'm going to go get his shit together for school."
Jon smiles at Ryan as he adds cheese to the eggs, a little bit of pepper. Jon's very good at making breakfast and sort of shitty at making anything else. "Good luck."
"I've got this, Walker," Ryan says, tossing his head a little imperiously. "You just make eggs and look good."
They both freeze a little, and he can see the back of Ryan's neck go red before he walks out of the kitchen, shoulders a little stiff like he meant to make an idiot out of himself.
Jon blinks and busies himself making eggs.
Continued
***
His parents love Chris. He knows it the moment they walk in the door, and Chris bows his head and calls them, "Mr. and Mrs. Walker," voice shy. He shakes Jon's dad's hand and then lets his mom kiss his cheek.
They eat dinner quietly, and Chris is thoughtful and polite with more pleases and thank yous than he ever seems to use around Ryan or even Jon, and he keeps calling them by their last names until Jon's mom laughs and says, "You can call me 'Kathy,' sweetheart."
"Jon said I could," Christopher says quietly, and he looks like he's going to cry again. Jon gets that awful twisting feeling in his throat, helpless, and starts to get out of his chair.
His mom is faster, coming around to put her hands on Chris' shoulders. "I have ice cream in the kitchen," she says softly. "I think you've had enough dinner."
Jon isn't expecting Chris to let his mom lead him away by the hand, but he does, sniffling a little too loudly now. He thinks that, maybe, they've all been had.
"He's a nice kid, Jonny," his dad says, after the door's closed and they're alone. The dinner--hamburgers and macaroni and cheese because his mom hadn't been sure what Chris would eat--sits forgotten, cold now.
"Yeah," Jon says. He smiles a little. "He's awesome."
"He's in town for a week?" His dad sips his coffee and leans back in his chair, like he always did right before allowance negotiations, when he was preparing to take chore bribes for an extra dollar a week. "And then what?"
Jon shrugs. He hasn't thought about the "and then what." He knows what he promised Ryan in Vegas. "And then we'll see."
"Jon--" his dad says, sitting up a little.
Jon shakes his head and begins to pile together the empty plates. He's not going to talk about this, not now.
***
They don't eat the dessert that his mom planned, and she packs that up to come back to Jon's house with them. Chris is quiet on the car ride back, and he doesn't look at Jon when they pull into the driveway. It's snowing again, and Chris flounders a little to make it from the driveway to the kitchen door in his old sneakers. His boots are still in the house, new in the box.
Jon has to make two trips into the house to get all the left-overs in, the huge box of Christmas cookies that Jon's not going to be able to finish. Marley gets under his feet, barking happily, and Ryan's there suddenly, wrapped up in an afghan.
He doesn't offer to help Jon, but he grabs Marley's collar to pull him back and keep him from following Jon out into the snow.
"The news said we could get a foot or more by tomorrow," Ryan says, when the door's closed and locked. "Do you think we'll get snowed in?" He sounds mildly interested in the idea. "Do we have enough food to last us?"
Jon feels tired. He can hear the shower running, and Chris' snowy footprints haven't melted from the kitchen floor yet. "Maybe," he says. He closes his eyes and doesn't ask Ryan how he deals with the crying. He doesn't want this to turn into a competition.
Ryan lets go of Marley's collar. "I hope you have games, then."
Jon shrugs. "I'm sure we'll think of something."
Ryan expected Chicago to be cold. He expected to feel uncomfortable when he walked into Jon's home, and he was ready to feel out of sorts at the Walker family Christmas.
Except none of those things happen. Jon's constant from the moment they walk into his home, smiling and happy, and he looks so lost with Christopher at times, when Christopher is obviously trying to wheedle his way into staying up past eleven. He can't handle tears, real or faked, and Christopher seems to catch on pretty quickly.
Ryan watches a lot in Chicago. He remembers when he was in undergrad, when he had to take a journal out and write a page a day about people or things he observed, so he would have something to draw on for stories. He wrote about little old women, their dogs. He had twenty pages filled with observations about a pretty dancer who worked shifts at Ryan's favorite bar and never got anything more than a phone number.
Watching Jon with Christopher, though, he thinks that maybe he could find something there to write, pages of observations to draw on instead of just words. He watches Jon get Christopher ready for bed, asking him what kinds of stories he likes to be read before he goes to sleep. Christopher is old enough to read on his own now, but Ryan still reads to him at night, sometimes from Harry Potter and sometimes from the books Ryan remembers loving when he was little, Huckleberry Finn and Catcher in the Rye.
Ryan knows that he shouldn't give up that moment to Jon, the last few minutes that Christopher is awake, when they can talk in whisper soft voices before the light's turned off. He shouldn't, but he loves watching Jon then, the way he smoothes a hand over Christopher's hair and then reaches up to turn off the light. He always has a smile when he passes Ryan, looking up to meet his eyes and there's something like a Thank you that passes between them.
He hasn't really written in a journal in years, but there's something about being here, in Chicago, that makes him want to put his hands on paper, smear blue ink on his fingertips. He writes a page and a half describing the little things he's seen since they landed here.
Ryan doesn't write about Jon, though. Every time he starts to write Jon's name, he scratches it out and moves onto talking about how he woke up with Clover draped over his face that morning.
***
Christmas is odd. It's not good or bad, but he doesn't know what he should feel about it. Jon gives him leather bound journals without lines and a camera, an older one that feels too large in his hands. It's not digital, and if he wants to show Jon the pictures, he'd have to buy a scanner.
They eat breakfast together, the three of them with Christopher's new toys piled high on the table. He's already wearing the sweater Jon bought for him, dribbling syrup down the front. He changes before they have to go to the Walkers', but they're still a half an hour late when Jon pulls up outside the house. No one seems to mind.
Ryan isn't expecting Mrs. Walker to hug him, press her lips to his cheek and say, "We're so glad to meet you. Jon mentioned you quite a bit at dinner." He isn't expecting to feel his ears go hot when she pulls back and gives him a smile that reminds him too much of Jon and Christopher's.
"Hi, Mrs. Walker," he says, and his voice goes shy. He feels like he's ten instead of nearly thirty. If Jon's mom doesn't like him, if Christopher's grandmother doesn't like him, things will be awkward and strange.
"Oh, please," she says, and she's still smiling and laughing. "You can call me 'Kathy.' You're family, aren't you?"
Ryan's tongue feels too large for his mouth, and he doesn't know what this is supposed to feel like, meeting the parents of his cousin's father. It shouldn't feel so much like he's meeting the parents, but there's an older man standing a bit aways from them and Ryan knows an assessing look when he sees one.
"I'm going to take Ryan in to meet your brothers, Jon," Kathy says.
Jon's on his knees on the floor, still in his winter coat. He's helping Christopher out of the down-filled monstrosity that they got at an outlet. It's all zippers and hidden layers, too many buttons, and Christopher can barely walk in it.
Ryan thinks it's a little adorable, but he knows better than to say so in front of Christopher.
"Sure, Mom," he says, and he looks up and flashes Ryan a quick grin, and there's something in it that makes Ryan's face flush warm again, even if Jon is more than half distracted by getting the top button undone.
He lets her take his arm and lead him into the living room, where there are cousins for Christopher to play with, kids his age. "Everyone, this is Ryan Ross," she says, like they're old friends.
Jon's brother Bill introduces himself and his wife, and the kids stare at him a little. He shifts back before the smallest of the kids, a little blonde girl with the dark eyes that all the Walkers seem to have. "Did you bring Chris?" she asks, all hushed and excited like Christopher is the real present here.
Ryan blinks, and Mrs. Walker squeezes his arm. "He's in the kitchen?"
The children clamor out, and Jon's brothers are looking at him. Ryan wishes Spencer were here. Spencer's much better at being randomly stared down by people he doesn't know; Ryan just doesn't look at threatening as Spencer can.
"I'm Mike," one of the brothers says, and he gives Ryan a quick grin. "Jonny told us you teach college?"
Ryan blinks but he smiles back, stepping away from Kathy. "Yeah, at community and UNLV, in the lit and writing programs."
Mike nods. "I teach a business class on the weekends, to help pay for Kaylee's ballet classes," he says.
He shouldn't feel like that's an in, but he sits down on one of the empty chairs, and he and Mike begin swapping stories back and forth about awful assignments, the best excuses they've ever had when it was time to turn in an important paper.
Somewhere in it all, Jon comes in and sits down on the arm of Ryan's chair, his thigh brushing against Ryan's shoulder, and it only seems weird when Ryan stops to think about it.
***
They're quiet in the car, when they're driving back. It's late, almost midnight, and Ryan keeps turning around to see if Christopher is still awake and with them. (He's not; face pressed against his seat belt and eyes closed. He's snoring softly.)
"Your family is nice," he says as they' turn into a neighborhood that could be Jon's. Everything looks the same to Ryan here, all brick and snow-covered roofs. "I'm glad I met them."
"They liked you, I think," Jon says. Ryan knows he's smiling without having to look, just from the tone of his voice. "I'm glad they did."
Ryan says, "Me too," before he can stop himself because it doesn't matter. He might never see these people again. He knows Jon better now, and in a year, he'll know him well-enough that he can send Christopher off to Walker family Christmas without playing chaperon. He's probably never going to see Bill or Mike again.
He looks over in time to see a flash of Jon's teeth in the relative darkness, and he wants to see Jon smile in the light.
Ryan squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, and he texts Spencer i'm calling you in 20 min because he needs someone to remind him exactly why he isn't allowed to want to see Jon smile, not in a way that makes his fingers itch to flick the overhead lights on.
***
Spencer's a little breathless when he calls, forty minutes later instead of twenty. Jon needed help getting Christopher out of the car. He could carry him, but then no one could open the doors. Ryan doesn't like how he feels, comfortable and happy because he can't be. He doesn't belong here.
"What's wrong?" Spencer asks, before they finish saying hello.
Ryan shrugs and knows that Spencer is expecting him to do it. "I think this was a mistake," he says, soft because Christopher is sleeping in the same room.
Spencer swears, low and filthy. "What did he say? We'll fight this, Ry--"
"No, Spence," Ryan says, pressing his forehead to his knees. He feels like he's fourteen again, telling Spencer in the dark that sometimes he wonders about boys like he wonders about girls, how their mouths would feel against his, the warmth of their skin. It feels just as awkward, weird and almost wrong. "Jon's been great."
Spencer goes quiet again, and then there's a beat. Spencer's probably waving his hand, waiting for the other shoe. "What's wrong, then?"
Ryan closes his eyes and grits his teeth. "I liked meeting his family, and sometimes he smiles at me, and it feels right."
The silence this time is worse than the first. "Ryan," Spencer says, and his tone is level, voice flat. He doesn't say how much he's fucking up for even thinking about it.
"I haven't done anything," he says. "I don't think Jon even--He doesn't know."
Ryan doesn't know, not really, but he can pretend that it's a secret. He doesn't think about how warm Jon always feels next to him. He doesn't think about how Jon's clothes fall on his chest, the taper of his waist. "He doesn't know," he says again.
"That's good. When do you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow, I think. It's soon." Ryan chews on his nails.
Spencer makes a soft, affirmative noise before he sighs. "You're kind of a moron, you know."
Ryan smiles ruefully. This is why he called Spencer and not Brendon. He doesn't need to be told that Jon's a good guy or that they can work something out. He needs someone that will tell him that trying to sniff around Jon is the stupidest thing he could do.
"I know," he says. He lays down on the carpet of Jon's guest room. The floor is colder this way, but Ryan doesn't feel very much like sleeping yet. "How was Christmas?"
***
He wakes up in the morning to Christopher jumping on the bed, frame creaking. "What's going on?"
Christopher lands half on top of him, his knees banging against Ryan's ribs. He doesn't apologize. "It's snowing and Jon is going to take me sledding," he says, and he's grinning at Ryan. "Jon said that we're going to get another foot, and our plane is going to be stuck and we won't be able to leave until after tomorrow."
Ryan squints at him. The house is cold, and he doesn't want to get up to see the snow. "What?"
"It's going to snow a lot," Christopher says, slowly. "Like a lot-a lot, and Jon says that there'll be so much snow that no planes are going to fly us home. It's not good weather."
He rubs his side when he sits up, craning to look at Jon's yard through the window. There is a lot of snow, the entire neighborhood looking more like a Christmas card than somewhere that people actually live. "Oh," he says, pushing aside the weird feeling that's beginning to settle through him.
"You can help us build a snowman, if you don't want to go sledding." Christopher is already dressed, jeans and the sweater Jon bought. "Jon said he'd take me already."
That gets Ryan out of bed. He doesn't like the idea that Jon's more fun than he is, even if he suspects Jon would be much more prepared to handle sledding than Ryan. All of Ryan's clothes are fine for Vegas. He has one nice sweater and a hoodie, and both are already tossed into his suitcase dirty.
He still pulls on his last undershirt and button down. He'll freeze, but at least he won't be boring. "I'm going sledding, too," he tells Christopher while he grabs a pair of dirty socks to put on over his clean ones. He knows that his feet will be freezing.
Christopher laughs and rolls off the bed, calling "Jon, Jon," as he goes.
***
There's a park by Jon's house with a huge hill and ten other kids are there with their parents, red-faced and laughing as they slide past on plastic toboggons. He and Jon are each carrying plastic saucers in gloved hands, and Ryan feels incredibly over-warm despite the cold. (Jon took one look at what he was wearing and insisted he put on a pair of sweats on under his pants and two of Jon's sweatshirts on over his button-down.)
He's sweating under the clothes by the time they reach the top of the hill, and then Jon sets the saucer he's holding down. His nose is already red from the cold. "Just like this, okay?" he says to Christopher, before he pushes off and speeds down the hill.
They watch Jon slide down the hill, how the saucer spins as it goes, so sometimes they see Jon's laughing face. Christopher grinning huge up at Ryan before he grabs the other saucer from Ryan's hands without saying please and takes off after Jon.
Except that he manages fall out of the saucer and rolls down in his ridiculous coat. Ryan laughs in spite of himself.
"That your boy?" one of the mothers at the top asks, when Jon and Christopher meet up at the base of the hill and start climbing up the hill together, struggling in deep snow and the wind.
He nods a little. He can see that they're laughing together, Jon's arm around Christopher's shoulders. "Yeah, he is." It hurts strangely to say it.
She laughs. "He took a quite a wipe out down there." She's arranging a girl about Christopher's age in a sled and he watches her push her down the hill.
"We've never been sledding before," he says defensively, and he feels his face try to flush, like it can get redder after the cold.
"Really?" she says, and she seems kinder now, less brash. After two years, he still has troubles with these moments, other parents trying to make a connection just because they both have kids.
"Yeah," he says, and Jon and Christopher come up next to him before he can say, "We're just visiting family."
"Ryan, oh my god, it is so cool," Christopher says. He's covered in snow and shivering a little but doesn't seem to notice. "You have to go."
"Yeah, Ryan," Jon says, and there's something softer in his voice as he sets his saucer down. "Come on. One of us has to be at the bottom to watch him."
Now he feels warm again, hot in all his layers in a way that has nothing to do with the little bit of sweat that's starting to pool in the small of his back. The other mother is looking at him with a weird smile on her face, like she sees something while she's crawling into a sled with another one of her kids in her lap.
"Ryan, please, you have to try," Christopher says. He bounces on his heels in the snow. His nose is running a little, too. "It is so much fun."
Jon just smiles up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Ryan knows when he's beat. "Fine," he says.
He crawls into the saucer. There's some snow in it, and it melts under his ass almost instantly, wet and uncomfortable. Ryan sees the reason for the layers.
"Ready?" Jon asks, still holding the edge of the saucer. Ryan pretends not to notice that he's being edged over the crest of the hill. "Just hold on, okay? There's no harm in falling off, either. Promise." He's speaking close to Ryan's ear, breath warm, and Ryan closes his eyes, just for a second, as Jon pushes him off.
He stays on until the hill starts to even out, and he doesn't exactly love the way his stomach drops as he speeds down. He can hear Jon and Christopher cheering him on, the weird, wet sounds of snow underneath him as he rushes toward the bottom. He doesn't know how to stop, though, and he worries suddenly about going into the street.
Ryan rolls off, and he can hear someone laughing at him. His mouth is full of snow for a brief, brief moment, cold and sharp, and he has a thought about going after the saucer but mostly he lays out like that until he hears Jon calling that Christopher is coming down.
Then Ryan has to get up out of the snow, ignoring the way he feels mostly frozen and wet, to watch him come down the hill. He smiles at Christopher as he comes down, and he finds himself looking up, at Jon, and maybe he's smiling at him, too.
***
It's almost dark by the time they trudge home, even if it's only four in the afternoon. It's snowing harder, wind blowing, and Jon and Ryan are holding the saucers, Christopher walking between them. He holds both of their hands when they have to cross the street, and Ryan's eyes feel tight every time he does it.
Jon sends Christopher up for the first bath, and Ryan changes into his pajama pants and sleep shirt, hair wet from the snow. Jon's starting soup when he comes back downstairs. "Do you think we'll be grounded tomorrow?"
"It's possible. We can call ahead, before I take you guys." Jon won't look at Ryan as he talks, opening up three cans of soup and dumping them into a pot. "I mean, there will probably be delays."
He nods and leans against the counter. "Okay." His hair drips onto his neck, so the collar of his shirt is wet. He's still cold, barefoot in Jon's kitchen, but he doesn't know what to say to him. He feels like he should, that they're more to say than, "Tomorrow, we're going to go back to Vegas, and I probably won't see you for a year."
"Will you stir this while I set the table?" Jon asks, quietly. There's something off in his voice.
"Sure." Ryan doesn't know what else to say.
It stays quiet, strangely strained through dinner, through Christopher talking about how much fun he had, and how much he hopes that they can stay an extra day because it was so, so fun, and he wants to make a snowman! Jon smiles when it's appropriate, and he nods along, but he won't meet Ryan's eyes.
Jon lets Ryan help him clear the table after dinner while Christopher picks a movie. Their hands brush when they both go to pick up a soup bowl, and he doesn't think he's misreading the way Jon doesn't pull his hand away automatically, how they just stay with their fingers brushing over the same bowl.
Ryan's nerve breaks first, and he goes after Christopher, settling down under a blanket when Christopher decides that they're going to watch Finding Nemo. He wants to go upstairs and hide when he sees that. Instead, he opens his blanket and lets Christopher climb under it with him.
They don't play the movie until Jon's sitting down with them. He passes them both mugs of cocoa, and then Christopher hits play. Ryan closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the back of the couch. Jon throws a blanket over his legs.
"We can skip ahead, if you want," Ryan murmurs. He doesn't think they've ever watched the whole first scene, not since Margaret's accident.
Christopher shakes his head, burrowing down between them. Ryan's aware of how close Jon is, despite how much room there is on the couch. "No, I want to see it all," he says, voice soft. "I like this movie."
"Okay," Ryan murmurs, and he puts his cocoa onto Jon's coffee table, just as the clownfish see the barracuda. "Then we'll watch it."
Jon glances at Ryan over Christopher's head, and they both hear the way Christopher's breath hisses when the mom fish goes to protect her eggs. He wants to explain that they don't watch the opening scene, just like they don't watch Bambi or The Land Before Time anymore.
Then the fish wakes up, and Christopher rubs his face. Jon takes his hot chocolate away. He burrows closer to Ryan, wrapping his legs over Jon's, so the three of them are tucked together. Ryan ignores the way his skin feels, where Jon's feet occasionally brush over his ankle and everything is suddenly, sharply burning hot.
He doesn't move when the fish are running from the shark, when he hears Christopher's breathing even out and knows he's sleeping and they don't have to sit this close. Jon doesn't move away, and Ryan won't either.
"What are you guys going to do when you get home?" Jon asks, and Ryan has to turn to face him. "Any good parties that you missed?"
Ryan shrugs. "We'll do New Years with Spence and Haley, probably. Then school and his birthday." Ryan bites his lip a little. "It's on the 23rd."
"I know," Jon says. "I'm trying to find a way to rearrange my schedule to get out there for it. Seems kind of shitty to miss his first birthday that I can make."
"Yeah, he'd want you to be there." Ryan looks over at Jon, and his face is close, close enough for Ryan to be aware that he could lean forward, just an inch, maybe less, and they'd be kissing. "I think I want to buy you a ticket, if that's okay. For his birthday. Since you did this, for me--for us, so I could be with him."
"Yeah?" He can feel Jon talking on his face, the soft heat of his words. Jon doesn't move forward either. "So are you having a party?"
"Probably, maybe some of his friends from school and Spencer and Haley, Brendon and Shane. You know, the family." He doesn't feel odd for saying it like that, and he wonders if he should, after a week with Jon and his brothers that he actually sees, Jon's parents who remind him too much of Spencer's parents or Brendon's, always ready to welcome someone new.
"What about your mom and dad?" Jon asks, his voice quiet. He smells like something Ryan should know, vaguely floral and not something Ryan would have expected from Jon. He seems painfully still.
"My dad died, when I was nineteen, and I'm not close with her, not enough to invite her to his party. He'd want family there." Ryan would shrug, but it feels like any movement would dislodge the moment. There's heat in Jon's eyes, and Ryan keeps looking at his lips, wondering how Jon's beard would burn, if they could properly kiss with Christopher between them.
That thought makes him pull back because he can't. He can't kiss Jon, no matter how Jon is looking at him. He wants to touch Jon, scratch at his beard to feel it under his fingertips. It's more than that. It's the way Jon makes Chris smile and the way his being there makes everything feel more real, the stupid emails he sends full of pictures that Ryan can't really understand.
He wants to, can the desire buzzing along his skin; it feels a lot like need, but it's not. It's stupid and selfish and a risk he can't take, because he could lose Christopher, if it ended badly. If Jon knew that he could forget to pay the electric bill and they can go days without food, he could use that against Ryan in court and Ryan would lose him.
Ryan doesn't think Jon could do it, doesn't think that a guy who owns every Pixar movie and most of their knockoffs could, especially a guy who would fly someone across the country just to spend a holiday with a son he barely knows.
He doesn't think Jon's that guy--he doesn't want to believe it, can't really internalize it--but he doesn't know. And he cannot risk Christopher over all the great smiles and odd pictures that Jon has to give.
Jon goes on a job just after the new year begins, and he stays on the road. At first, Ryan doesn't respond to his emails, even though he sends things that Chris would like to see. He goes to a shoot in Pennsylvania and sees a dinosaur painted to look like a ketchup bottle and then goes to Louisiana for some sort of pre-Mardi Gras feature.
After Louisiana, he's going to Seattle, and then he supposed to fly home to Chicago. Instead, he's flying into Vegas a little after midnight on Christopher's birthday. He doesn't have a ticket back to Chicago from there, not yet.
He emails Ryan his flight information and a picture of the dinosaur. Someone's taped pink roses to it, and he thinks that Ryan would appreciate it.
Part of him thinks that maybe it's too telling, to show that to Ryan and expect him not to start to see something.
Jon keeps thinking of the last night they were in his house, how close Ryan was, the way he looked. Jon wanted--still wants--to know what it would feel like, to kiss Ryan and feel like maybe what they have is something more than a weird blended family, a pair of cousins and an absent father. Maybe there's actually something between them.
There isn't, though, and Jon knows there can't be because of the dark-haired guy in the pictures.
Ryan responds in turn, the way he always does, with more pictures of Chris. There are a few pictures of him with the guy in the hat, some of them in Ryan's condo and some of them other places, at the movies and at what looks like a library. There's another of the dark haired guy, at the diner where Jon met Ryan and Chris, his arm around Chris' shoulder and he's pulling a face at the camera.
Jon should want to smile, because Chris is laughing, milkshake running down his shirt, but all he can do is look at the dark-haired guy. He's attractive enough, looks intelligent when he's not pulling faces. He can see why Ryan could be involved with him, a little. He can see the way he is with Christopher, gentle and kind, and it makes Jon a little sick inside, to think about this guy that he can't even name.
He won't ask Chris about it though, even when they're talking the night before Jon goes back to Vegas. "Ryan said I could invite a lot of my school friends," Chris says. He's talking fast and furious, like he's afraid that Jon will hang up if he takes too long. "But only three are coming to the party, and I told them that my dad was coming and you take pictures of stuff for magazines and they want to know if you see famous people?"
Jon laughs. He's almost packed for his trip to Vegas. He's not even sure where he's staying yet. He figured that he could work that one out when he gets in. Ryan will probably let him crash on the couch for a night. "No, not really. One time I got a picture of one of the girls from Full House, DJ, I think."
"What's Full House?" Chris asks, and Jon knows him well enough now that he can picture Chris wrinkling his nose.
"It's not important," Jon says, waving it off. "No, I don't see famous people. That's not really what my job's for."
"Oh, okay." Chris goes quiet again. "Is it okay that I call you my dad to my friends?"
Jon smiles a little. "That's what I am, Chris. It's okay with me if it's okay with you."
Christ stays quiet, long silence that makes Jon sit up a little straighter on the bed, waiting for something to clue him into what's going on. "Chris?" he asks, carefully.
"It's okay with me, Dad," Chris whispers, and Jon feels strange. It's weirdly like someone's blowing him apart inside, but his lungs are deflated and empty when he tries to talk. "I think I--I don't want to call you 'Jon.'" It's almost impossible to hear it over the phone, over the crackle that's on the line because Jon has shit reception.
"Chris," he manages finally. "You don't have to--"
"I want to," he says. "I like you being my dad." It seems simple when he says it, like it's just a name and nothing else. Jon wants to agree so badly that he can almost taste it. "You get to call me 'Chris,' and no one else does that."
"Okay," he says. "Then. Okay." He gulps down a breath and tries to feel settled. He can't though, up off his hotel bed already and wandering around the tiny room. "So your school friends."
***
He emails Ryan a picture he takes inside the taxi to the airport and he doesn't know how to say We need to talk in an email that doesn't sound end of the world-like. He writes I think Chris doesn't want to call me Jon instead, like "I think" will somehow soften the blow.
It's possible that Ryan already knows; he has a hard time not thinking of the panicked look in Ryan's eyes when he asked Jon not to take away Chris, though. He knows Chris is more Ryan's son than he is Jon's, and it doesn't matter how much that makes him ache a little inside. He can't change what's past.
Ryan doesn't respond to the email. Jon doesn't know if he'll get it before Jon reaches Vegas.
He wants to call Tom when he's waiting for his plane to board, but his fingers slip and he calls his parents instead. His mom answers, her voice quiet from sleep. "Jon?"
"Chris wants to call me his dad, like. As my name." He curls up on the bench a little, next to his carry on. "I don't know--I don't think Ryan's going to like it."
His mom sighs, and he can hear her sitting up. "Jon, you are Chris' dad, and if he--"
"Then what's Ryan?" he whispers. It's stupid that he's worried how Ryan's going to take all of this. Ryan's in his late twenties; he's an adult. He should be able to handle this. He has more family than just Chris, has Spencer and Brendon and the dark-haired guy. Chris wanting to call him something different shouldn't matter.
"Ryan's Chris' cousin, and that's okay, Jon. Don't fight it. You should be happy that Chris wants you to be that." His mom makes a soft sound on the other end. "It's not your job to make sure Ryan's happy, just your son."
Jon closes his eyes tight, and they're calling for his plane. "Yeah," he says. Ryan doesn't need him, not like Jon wants. He doesn't need to hold Ryan's hand through this.
"When are you coming home, Jonny?" she asks.
Jon sighs. "I have to go catch my plane, Mom. I'll let you know when to expect me."
***
Ryan's waiting for him in the airport lobby when he's got his luggage together, carry-on slung over his shoulder and suitcase rolling behind him. He smiles when he sees Jon, standing up a little straighter. "Hey," he says.
"Hi," Jon says. "Chris at home?"
"Christopher," Ryan says, but he's smiling now and there's no huffiness in his voice, not the way he sounded the first time he corrected Jon. "Yeah, he is. I told him he was allowed to stay up until we got home as long as he was in his PJs and stuff."
"Ah, I remember when my parents used to do that." Jon passes his carry-on over to Ryan when he offers his hand for something. "One time, my dad went on a trip for work and he was gone for three weeks. He got home at like three AM, and Mom let us sleep on the couch to wait for him."
"How much sleep did you get?" Ryan asks. They're walking slow through the airport, close enough that their hands brush.. Jon's face feels warm, but he pushes it away.
"Not enough," Jon says. "We spent most of the night giggling. And then Dad came home with Mom, and they kept kissing." He makes a face at the memory.
Ryan laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, parents kissing is totally disgusting. I remember when Spencer's parents would kiss, and we would all act like we were dying."
Jon can see that, Ryan and Spencer as little kids, making gagging noises and groaning loud because they just saw someone kiss. He smiles a little at the image. "Well, thankfully, Christopher won't have to see that."
Ryan's smile goes a little sad before it slides off his face. He's looking down at Jon with the same guarded, hopeful eyes that he saw on the couch, at Chicago. "Yeah, good thing."
He sighs a little and rubs his temples. They leave the airport and wander around the parking garage, looking for Ryan's car. It takes Ryan ten minutes to admit defeat and push the ticket into Jon's hand, like he has a better chance of navigating the garage.
It's only when they're in the car that Jon wonders if he should bring up the email, if Ryan got it. They listen to the Beatles on the ride back instead though, and Ryan talks to him about this really awesome show he's thinking about going to, at the museum. It's a laser show to Beatles' music, and it's only twenty bucks a person.
Jon's pretty sure there's an invitation for him to come along, even more sure when Ryan goes, "I think it would be fun, for the three of us to do. Christopher likes the Beatles all right."
"Because he has awesome taste in music." Jon grins wide, tries not to think about how much it feels like this could be something. How ridiculous it is that he's going to be thirty soon and he's never had a real relationship, something steady where he could think about kids and family vacations, and now he has a kid and a guy that he wants to have that with. He wants it to be something, and he almost, almost leans into Ryan's space when they're stopped at a red-light, to nose along his cheek and maybe kiss him, just to see.
He doesn't though, and the lights are on in Ryan's condo when they pull up. It's a little after midnight, and Christopher is nine now. There's a present for him buried in Jon's suitcase, and he wonders if he should pull it out before they go inside, but Ryan's smiling and tugging him towards the front door.
"We can get your shit in the morning," he says with a smile, and he's pulling him closer to the front door of the condo, sliding his keys into the lock. It feels like Jon's coming home, even if he's in the middle of the desert without a real lake for miles, and Ryan keeps smiling at him, facing him as he pushes the door open.
Jon thinks, maybe, for a crazy moment, that Ryan is going to kiss him, and then he hears Christopher yelling, "Ryan! Dad!" and Ryan winces away from him, smile shutting down.
***
Jon sleeps on the couch in his t-shirt and boxers, and he wakes up too early the next morning with Christopher jumping on top of him. "Dad," he says, sing-song, and the thrill of being called that is sort of gone when it's still dark outside. "Dad, you can take me to school today, and you can pick me up at the bus stop. Wouldn't that be awesome?"
"Let Jon sleep, Christopher," Ryan calls. "Eat your breakfast."
"No, like, he can take me to school, Ryan, if he wakes up!"
Jon tries to keep his eyes closed because he's exhausted. Ryan's couch sucks; Jon's pretty sure he's going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.
"No, he can't because I need my car, and I don't think he knows where your school is," Ryan says.
"Then I can stay home with him, and we'll play video games all day. It'll be totally sweet." Jon's lips twitch a little at that, before he can stop himself, and he thinks Chris sees it. "He's awake. I knew it."
Jon stays still, squeezing his eyes shut.
"No, Christopher. We had an agreement. You stayed up last night, and you are going to school today," Ryan sounds a little vexed.
"What does my dad say? I bet he'll let me stay home because it's my birthday." Chris bounces a little, and he's a skinny kid, but his knees are digging into the softest part of Jon's belly and moving lower every time he shifts his weight. Besides, Jon's awake enough to see the red-flags all over that statement.
Ryan slams something in the kitchen, and Jon's pretty sure he can smell something burning. He sits up and looks at Chris, fumbling for his jeans with one hand. "You shouldn't talk to Ryan like that," he says. He glances at the clock, and it's almost eight in the morning.
"But would you let me stay home?" Chris looks up at him expectantly, like he already knows the answer. "Since it's my birthday."
He can't hear Ryan any more, and he sighs. He remembers telling Chris about his family's traditions over the phone, when they first started talking. Chris got an A+ on his science test, and Jon said something about how that would have earned him a free skip day from his mom. They were allowed three a year, two and their birthdays.
"Ryan's in charge," Jon says, after too long a pause.
"So you would." Chris beams up at him. He's half-dressed for school, in jeans and his pajama top. "Ryan, Dad says I can stay home."
Jon feels himself go pale. "I did not," he hisses. "You need to get dressed and go to school."
Chris rolls his eyes. "But you would let me stay home."
"Yeah, but I'm not in charge. Ryan is, and if Ryan says you're going, you're going." Jon pulls on his hair a little and tugs his jeans on, getting them done up before he wanders into the kitchen.
Ryan's glaring at a pan of eggs like somehow that will make them a little less burned, stack of toast just to his side. There's bacon on a plate already, but the scrambled eggs are greyish-yellow and there's something off in the way Ryan has his arms crossed over his chest.
"Hey," he says, carefully. "Do you want me to... I can scramble eggs."
"So can I," Ryan snaps, and Jon's pretty sure he's woken up into some sort of weird twilight zone where the family he wanted last night doesn't actually exist. "I'm just--Next time I say he can stay up, remind me that he can't, not if he's going to be a little jerk about it."
Ryan glances over at him then, face pale suddenly. "I didn't mean that--"
"He's being a little jerk," Jon says with a shrug. "It happens." He gets the rest of the eggs out of Ryan's fridge and sets them on the counter.
"I know, I just--" Ryan rubs his eyes, and Jon sees the same guy who asked Jon not to take his kid in that moment, same fear in his eyes. "I didn't think it would screw with me, when he told me that he was going to call you--"
"Yeah, I know." Jon takes the pan carefully and dumps the grey-yellow mess into the trash. He starts to scrub it out before he continues. "It's weird."
"Yeah." Ryan moves to the side and watches Jon start to scramble the eggs. "Would you really let him stay home today?"
Jon nods. "I would, but if you want him to go, it's okay, Ryan. It's probably bad that he thinks just because I said something, one time, he can--"
"Yeah," Ryan says, and he stands up a little straighter. He's not dressed either, hair mussed and standing on end from sleep and his t-shirt hanging huge over his boxers. His legs seem skinnier bare. "I'm going to go get his shit together for school."
Jon smiles at Ryan as he adds cheese to the eggs, a little bit of pepper. Jon's very good at making breakfast and sort of shitty at making anything else. "Good luck."
"I've got this, Walker," Ryan says, tossing his head a little imperiously. "You just make eggs and look good."
They both freeze a little, and he can see the back of Ryan's neck go red before he walks out of the kitchen, shoulders a little stiff like he meant to make an idiot out of himself.
Jon blinks and busies himself making eggs.
Continued