Work Text:
Roy and Johnny are laying on the couch in Johnny’s apartment, Johnny idly flipping through TV channels while Roy plays with Johnny’s hair, both enjoying the Sunday morning quiet.
“Roy, do you remember that time a few years ago when you called me a nut, and I got all upset about it?” Johnny asks suddenly, fiddling with the TV remote.
“Yeah, why? What’s up?” Roy says, chewing on his bottom lip.
They had never really gotten around to resolving that particular argument. By the time they finally got together, Roy had long forgotten it. Something chilled Roy to his core that Johnny not only remembered it, but still seemed bothered by it.
“Did you mean it?” Johnny says, sounding so much younger. Much like he did when this argument originally took place.
Roy chews on his answer. Johnny has an interesting way of being and interacting with the world. That is just who he is, though, and it is exactly why Roy loves him so much. Johnny isn’t normal, but Roy doesn’t want normal. He wants Johnny exactly as he is.
He suddenly remembers a poem he read in a book when he was a boy. He’d dog-eared the page, hoping that one day he’d find someone he could recite it to. Johnny is that someone; he is that someone like no one else could possibly be.
Roy takes a deep breath and wills the words from the back of his head to the front of his mouth:
“Of many reasons I love you here is one
the way you write me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright
so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what to do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death
it makes you terribly terribly sad
You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird
All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless
but you are wrong
You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song
These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt
you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back
if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not.”
Roy blinks, breathing hard.
“… Roy. I don’t know what to—” Johnny doesn’t finish before his voice cracks.
“Let me then. At the time, I think I meant it, but everything is so much different now. I know who you are now. You’re a bird-understander, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like there was.”
“So, you don’t think I’m a nut?” Johnny whispers, still so much younger than he should be.
“No, I don’t. You’re just Johnny; my Johnny. And I am always going to love you.”
Johnny settles back onto the couch and into Roy’s chest. He hums a delicate sound of contentment.
“Thank you for knowing who I am,” Johnny says as the Sunday morning quiet settles on them once again.