Chapter Text
A couple years later
-
It was a quiet afternoon, not that it was particularly bad to be so but there was something slightly off.
Morrissey sat with a cup of freshly brewed tea in hand, he sighed as he leant back into the sofa, lazily grabbing the remote precariously balanced on the coffee table in front. He liked to think that he was above whatever dross was on the telly, however at this juncture he didn’t really care all that much.
It hadn’t been the best of days, which wasn’t at all much of a surprise considering the fact that almost every other second of every other day Morrissey had been having constant arguments over videos, photo shoots and the lot. Dragging himself into the studio felt more and more like a chore. Maybe it was his own distorted view of everything but Morrissey felt as though everyone was trying their utmost to use his talents for a cash grab and then abandon him in whatever drained state he may be in, back home alone with nothing but the television to entertain him.
Of course there was a far more pressing matter on his mind as of late, and that was his relationship with Johnny. Ever since they’d had that shouting match over some tiny matter that ultimately didn’t mean anything at all - if Morrissey remembered correctly it was the choice of guitar Johnny would be using for one of the songs on the new album - it made him realise how different everything had become. Before, and only a month or so before mind you, the pair had been civilised and mature when it came to such decisions, but now even the slightest thing exploded beyond proportions.
Not only was their songwriting partnership affected, the more personal aspect was at risk of completely dissolving. Morrissey noticed the small changes in Johnny’s demeanour; the sudden loss of eye contact, the way his eyeliner would be ever so slightly smudged after any dispute when before they’d simply laughed it off after reasoning, the fact he was never available anymore - always in the studio, always recording take after take as though nothing was good enough for him. Morrissey could admit that not being enough for Johnny crossed his mind more these days.
The doorbell’s rang which took Morrissey out of his thoughts. He took a sip of his tea as he approached the door and opened it to see the very person he’d just been thinking of.
“Can I come in?”
And so Johnny entered the house he’d once shared with Morrissey for most of ‘83 to ‘84, the honeymoon period of their fragile relationship. Morrissey closed the door and led him through to the living room where he promptly turned the television off, saving both himself and Johnny from whatever episode of a supposedly funny sitcom was on.
Johnny didn’t take a seat on the sofa, nor did he smile when Morrissey asked him why he had decided to visit. Instead, the younger man just stood there looking anywhere but Morrissey. It was rather strange to see Johnny like this; if this was any other time he'd burst into cheerful laughter by now - you should’ve seen yer face, Moz! - but no, he was just there as though by obligation. Morrissey noticed how Johnny was wearing that beret he’d favoured back in the early days of the band and how his hair had returned to its unkempt state, just slightly covering one of his hazel eyes which, at least from the one he could see, were adorned with smudged eyeliner. It was an odd sight indeed to see him just like he had the very first time they’d met. Did this mean something? Morrissey tried hard to ignore the fear pooling in his stomach to no avail.
“Is everything alright, Johnny? If you need something I can try and help you out,” Morrissey began in a hurried manner, “It has all been a bit difficult recently and I wholeheartedly understand if-“
“I’m leaving the band.”
It took a second for the words to register. Morrissey swallowed, taking in a deep breath but all possible responses were lost in his mouth.
Johnny broke the sudden silence to elaborate, “‘s too much…I can’t do it anymore, I really just can’t…’s practically killin’ me,”
Morrissey was stunned, he knew that something was going to happen from the very moment Johnny had sauntered in. He wanted to scream, he wanted to be free from whatever this feeling was. It was guilt, that’s what it was, and yet he’d never admit it.
“Johnny…”
“My decision is final,” Johnny finally made eye contact “‘m sorry but I’ve tried an’ tried but I need to priorities me own health an’ that over all of this,” he paused, tilting his head with an almost pained expression lacing those hazel eyes, "You understand, yeah?"
“What does this mean…what does this mean for us?” Morrissey couldn’t help but ask as he edged closer,
“It means…” Johnny paused, searching for the right words, “I dunno anymore, ‘m sorry but maybe we should…" he took a couple steps back in response to the sudden proximity.
Morrissey swallowed hard, he didn’t need to hear the younger man finish his sentence to know what he was going to say, “Oh…”
“Sorry.” The guitarist quickly spoke, glancing away again. "I'll give you a call later to talk 'bout it but for now I should jus' go,"
This was really how everything, all that had been built over the last few years, would end? A sudden jolt of anger coarser through the singer. Morrissey crossed his arms and spoke his words with a hint of malice.
“Then leave.”
Johnny appeared a little stunned by the sudden change in tone, but he simply nodded and began to quietly make his way back to the front door, fidgeting with his sleeves in the process.
Before he could even reach for the handle to leave, Morrissey’s hand had grabbed his and pulled him into a tight embrace. The cold approach didn’t seem to have whatever effect Morrissey desired, so instead he turned to making the guitarist feel guilty. It wasn’t long before the singer’s body wracked with small sobs, pleading for Johnny to think it all through and stay with him and the band. However, Johnny gently escaped the hug, pressing a kiss to Morrissey’s tear stained cheek.
“‘M not tryin’ to hurt you, I jus’ need space, yeah?” The younger man said softly, “Give us some time,” he smiled a little, “Time works wonders, yeah?”
He then turned to open the door, his eyes glistened with what could only be held back tears and he hoped, God, he truly hoped, Morrissey hadn't had seen him try so hard to keep it all together, and then finally left. Morrissey stood aimlessly, still in shock. Perhaps he’d awaken to realise this had all been one big nightmare. But no, it didn’t return him to peaceful slumber at all. This perfect world they had created for themselves hadn’t been destroyed by the media, by jealous mates, by frustrated producers. It had simply imploded. Morrissey wanted to blame Johnny but in that moment, and quite possibly the only time the thought would cross his mind, he realised that the guitarist had been treated unfairly and taken advantage of by the record company. He was right to leave and yet Morrissey just couldn’t understand, he failed to piece together why the love of his life would leave him like this. Of course there had been difficult times, but everything was always ultimately resolved. However, it appeared to Morrissey that Johnny had no intention of resolving conflict anymore. He probably doesn’t care enough about me; the phrase that plagued his mind day by day. Their love was supposed to be unlike any other, and it was indeed. But they had scrawled those lyrics with such deep affection and adoration of one another that they were entirely oblivious to the fact that every love song must come to an end. And sadly, the tale of the two boys who fit like a hand in glove came to realise the prophetic revelation that came with the end. They would probably never see each other again.