Chapter Text
Jon tugged Lin up and lead him into his bed once the sun had risen. Lin had been taking long blinks, getting longer, before Jon had gathered the will to actually stand up. As Jon lead, Lin leaned into him, stumbling over his own feet. When Lin tucks his head underneath Jon’s chin he’s reminded of how much he loves him. Lin’s blinking eyes take chunks out of their reality and Jon is glad for it.
He falls asleep with Lin’s head pillowed on his chest, with spiraling thoughts of how they’ve been here before - and what that might mean for coming here again.
-
“You know the only reason I left the show, and New York, is because of this project, right? Nothing but David Fincher would have torn me away from that.”
“Yeah, Groff. I’m glad for you. I mean, from what I’ve heard about it from you - this show seems fantastic. I can’t wait to watch it for real.”
It is daylight and so Lin doesn’t respond to what Jon was actually saying to him: I didn’t leave because of this. They’re at a diner a dozen eternities away from his usual. The sun is hitting the formica tabletops and cracked pleather hard, but it softens Lin. Jon thinks that maybe that’s just how he can’t help but see it.
Sitting there, eggs and toast and dripping butter, ankles resting just close enough. Just far enough from reality for comfort. Neither of them drank coffee. They didn’t want to wake up from this dream.
-
They went back to bed in the afternoon light, and Jon couldn’t help but kiss him. It felt like a stretch, that deep breath in and out that makes it to the bottom of your lungs. It was certainly as addictive as one. A humming dizziness spread its way through him, down to his toes and settled behind his eyes. His hands were resting on Lin’s jaw and he thought again of the spiral. He wondered if it was spinning itself tighter and smaller into some inescapable singularity, or if it was being stretched and tangled like a slinky in the hands of an enthusiastic child.
He couldn’t feel anything but this, one way or another.
This: a kiss in the sunshine and the safety of another world.
Jon did not shake.
-
Jon was cooking and Lin was singing. The sun was gone and Jon was making all he ever made these days. Lin’s voice was enough to keep the outside at bay. He sang Disney, mostly. He seemed to stay away from The Little Mermaid, though Jon knew it was his favorite. He did, however, sing every single part in I’ll Make a Man Out of You with great gusto, leaping around Jon and bumping into things, and generally being a nuisance. And Jon loved him.
-
Night into early morning, and still their eyes were open. The safety of blankets encompassed them. The moon was a sliver larger now. They forgot how to sleep, replaced it with whispers and secrets instead. This world was full of those. Secrets were swapped from mouth to mouth, mostly wordless in their transfer.
-
It was funny that your insides could be carved out and replaced in the space of two days. It seems like a thing like that should take longer. Two days ago he was made of anxiety and falling blossoms. Now he is made of him. Red wine blood and formica fingernails. Heartbeats pound along to the tunes of distant moonlit memories.
His throat still chokes with longing.