Work Text:
when the phone rings, you answer.
“you know, it’s weird.” your own voice rings out, tinny through his phone speaker. “i thought i knew all there was to know about you, but you just keep pulling secrets out of nowhere.”
you’re tempted to hang up right then and there. johan keeps talking, oblivious. “i’m just glad it happened after i’d already gone to work.” he says with your tongue. you roll his against the roof of his mouth, digging into his molars. “i wouldn’t want to shatter the illusion of the wonder of starbucks.” you bite back a witty retort.
johan is silent for a moment. “remind me why i have your number.” you mutter, your voice too deep for your liking. johan has been blessed with rugged vocal cords that rival your own before you worked on them. he laughs out loud, and it erodes at your lifespan to hear such a happy noise ejected from your own lips. johan’s bedspread is light blue, and you’re sure he’s never even heard of thread count.
“i hate your room.” you lie, clenching your fist at your side. johan huffs out a soft chuckle, and says, “me too.”
the carpet fibers are sentient, you’re sure. snakes cover your feet, and for a moment the room is a brownish swamp, and you’re facing judai through someone else’s eyes. you walk off the edge with your hands outstretched.
“one hour left.” johan whispers, like it’s classified information. you hope that hour lasts millions of years. “what’s your favorite color.” you grit out, not even putting in the effort to make it sound like a question.
johan smiles through the phone, through the door, down the hallway. “gold.” he says. you mouth the word to yourself, and you offer, “red.” you’re both saying the same thing with different voices.
“i’ll make dinner.” you sigh, because johan’s stomach is growling. johan is silent, but you hear the sound of your door clicking unlocked. you hang up and leave his phone on his side table, but you don’t plug it in to charge. he’d do the same for you, or maybe not-- johan has always been like judai, no matter how little he wants to admit it.
over oyakodon, johan rambles with a mouth bare of lipstick, and he lets you pull your dreads back into a bun so he can eat without getting food in your hair. you fiddle with his fringe and let it be. “don’t stuff me.” you warn, as he goes to steal a piece of chicken from your bowl only half emptied. he smiles at you, and your head hurts something fierce.
“favorite movie?” he asks, wiping the rice stuck to his face away on a napkin. “a space odyssey.” you start to pick at his cuticles. you’ll have to manhandle him into a manicure at some point. johan considers this, and he replies, “did you like hal or dave more?”
you level him with a look. he smiles lopsidedly, still crooked even with your face, and rubs the back of your neck sheepishly. “what about you?” you try to look disinterested, but your eyes keep getting caught on your own fake nails, tapping against the table rhythmically, like soldiers walking in a line. johan leans back in his chair, wearing a thoughtful expression. “i don’t know. brokeback mountain?”
biting your tongue has never been so hard. maybe it’s because it’s his, and he’s going to be the one with blood in his mouth. you wonder if he’ll smear it into yours, as payback.
that makes use of forty minutes, between making a quick dinner and eating it. “eighteen minutes.” johan mentions, catching you mid-zone out. “don’t delete my number, by the way. what if judai doesn’t answer?”
“then sleep outside.” you answer simply. johan looks at you like he wants to laugh again, or cry, or hit you. he wouldn’t hit you, though. he’d be the one with the bruise.
does it make you a masochist or a sadist if you wished he would?
four minutes disappear when you blink. johan has put on spotify and linked it to the clunky TV. of montreal echoes from the equally clunky speakers, and you recognize the song.
don't want to holiday
i want to educate myself
not going out tonight
i need to educate myself
“were you going to ask me to dance?” you sneer, because you know that he has to know by now, and yet he hasn’t set a hair out of place on you. johan’s eyes, your eyes, glimmer like gemstone when they turn to you, and his thoughts speak loud enough. a voice in the back of your head whispers, he wants to be near you. a voice in the back of your head, a voice that doesn’t know black from white, apparently, whispers, he wants to touch you.
you slot his hand into yours. he doesn’t grin, but you can tell he wants to. you kind of feel grateful he isn’t making you look at yourself like that.
hush, hush
don't let's be negative
hush, hush
don't let's be cruel, oh
hush, hush
i don't think that i
can do it for myself
but i can do it for us
the song repeats, because johan didn’t put on a playlist. that’s just like him, you think, and wonder when you learned how he uses his spotify subscription.
“three minutes.” he murmurs from where he’s tucked yourself around him, swaying back and forth languidly as you clutch at your back with his hands. you barely hear him at first, but his thoughts are loud enough for you to hear what he said without repeating himself. “favorite animal?” you choke out.
johan hums, and it makes his throat vibrate. “i like dragons.” he says seriously. you want to whack him upside the head, but you don’t want the mark. “a real animal.” you huff, and he pulls back only to draw himself in closer, as if trying to bury himself in you. “they’re real.” he says with a quiet, gentle, two am voice. “they’re real.” he repeats, near silent.
you want to thread your fingers through his hair, but your dreads are too thick to do it back to yourself. “i thought you’d say cats.” you joke. “forty-five seconds.”
peace to all freaks
you cannot spin us round your hateful lies
we know the universe
must express itself as awful people do
so we really just feel sad for you
the switch back is slow, deliberate, tender. johan doesn’t try to release himself from the grip he started but you’re keeping consistent, and instead he lays a kiss against your adam’s apple as he tilts his head up. out of the corner of your eye, you see something shiny and orange, and you swear you hear a tiger’s growl. if johan notices, he doesn’t show it; as if you’re still human, he hides it in the dark of his heart and cradles it close like a newborn child.
you feel something twitch, inside your gut. you wonder what that inner monologue of his says you need now.
“don’t delete my number.” he says again, and you don’t look at him when he pulls away. you can afford him that, at least. “don’t delete anything.” he says again, and he’s quiet this time, as if speaking to himself alone.