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This was not his idea of a date, yet he was still pretty nervous, wringing the strap of the rucksack strapped across his torso in his hands. Yeah, they'd met before, they'd hung out, they were practically attached at the hip during game sessions and yet... John took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh and releasing the weight that rested in his chest. Matt had told John to go ahead and come in, Smitty was in no shape to be answering the door -or getting out of bed, for that matter. Still, John found himself hesitating, a fist raised to knock at the door. He shook the nerves from his body, repositioning his hand over the doorknob, and turned it. The sound of the security system alerting that the door had been opened echoing in the foyer and Octavia's claws clicking across the wood floors signaled John's entrance. The dog yipped, hopping at John's shins and he leaned down with a smile, petting her softly. John let the door click behind him as he kicked his shoes off into the small shoe rack by the door.
Eerie silence, broken only by Octavia's clicking paw steps behind John, settled across the house; then, a cough, quiet and far away. It was heaving, wet, and sounded painful. John could only cringe at the sound of it. His sympathy for the poor man, bedridden and weak in bed, made his chest feel heavy. He dropped his rucksack heavily onto the couch with a grunt as he passed the strap over his head. He retrieved the smaller bag of medicine and first aid stuff Matt had given him before John headed over to Smitty's. Silence again, John followed the source of the cough, up the stairs, socked footsteps padding carefully over smooth wood and down the hallway. Another coughing fit and John knocked softly at the door.
"Matt...?" Came the tired, hoarse response. John's chest twinged; he'd never heard his friend sound so awful.
John opened the door hesitantly. "Close enough." He peeked in, his friend was pale, covered in sweat, and half propped up in bed. "Dude, you look shit."
"Yeah. Thanks." Smitty smiled half-heartedly. His face immediately screwed up into some unrecognizable expression before he doubled over the side of the bed and forced out more coughs. John resisted the urge to run to his rescue; instead, he took to slipping himself all the way into the room and quietly shutting the door behind him. "Fuck are you doing in Canada?" Smitty wheezed out as he sat up, wiping the spit from his mouth with his sleeve.
"In your house, fuck's it look like I'm doing, dumb bitch?" John said as he sat the bag in his hands carefully on the bed beside the man. He perched on the side of the bed stiffly, unsure of how to behave all of a sudden. He realized he's never actually taken care of a sick person, at least, not outside of telling them to take some medicine.
"What about Matt?" Smitty coughed softly.
John shrugged. "Said he's busy, I wasn't, offered to come up here to make sure you don't fuckin' die. Weak immune system headass."
Smitty punched John weakly in the shoulder. "What's in the bag?"
"Nyquil." John said. "Lots and lots of Nyquil."
"Cough drops?"
"No. I came here to knock you out and leave." John said in a monotone voice. "Yes, there's cough drops. Why? You want some, little pussy?"
Smitty scrunched his nose and coughed again. "Yeah, actually. Please."
John opened the bag, searching for the cough drops. He tore open the bag and opened a lozenge. "Open wide, gay boy..." He trilled as he eased the cough drop over to Smitty. The shorter man snatched it from John's hand and put it in his mouth.
"This tastes like shit." Smitty grimaced.
"Yeah, that's kind of the point." John said. "When was the last time you ate, by the way?"
Smitty thought for a moment, John could hear the cough drop clacking against the man's teeth as he played with it in his mouth. "Yesterday, when Puffer came over."
"You the gross kinda throwing up sick or... like?" John trailed off.
Smitty blinked. "Yeah kinda." A bit more silence. "But also, I haven't been able to leave bed so."
"I'll carry you around. Y'know, 'cause we're married and all."
Another weak punch to the shoulder. Smitty's hands were clammy, hiding under his sweater's sleeves. But he was smiling, so John wasn't too offended by it. The air in the room was stuffy, stagnant, telling of a man who was too sick to get out of bed to open a window or turn on the fan. Though, John figured, Smitty was sweating, but still under heavy blankets and a thick sweater, shivering like a wet dog. He must have a fever. He outstretched a hand, placing his knuckles lightly over Smitty's brow, who flinched at the sudden movement. The warmth underneath clammy sweat confirmed John's suspicion. He scrunched his brow, then pulled away, reaching back into the bag and pulling open a box of fever strips, previously frozen, and since thawed. Smitty looked incredulous at the sudden silent and calculated care John was performing.
"What fuckin' nurse possessed you?" Smitty tried joking, but John's hands pressed the fever strip against Smitty's forehead where his hand once rested. If he wasn't already red from fever, Smitty was sure he would be now. John blinked as he pulled away, like he'd just come to, his hands immediately retreated into his torso, fingers fidgeting with the rings that adorned his hands.
"I should uh, make you something. What you want, like..." John reached into the bag again, blindly fumbling for the cool of a metal can. "Soup?" He said as he pulled a can of chicken noodle soup. " Or just... chicken bouillon...? What the fuck?" He stared at the small plastic jar of wrapped cubes.
"The bouillon would be nice... for the throat. And the electrolytes." Smitty wheezed, suppressing a cough with his fist. John rolled his eyes, grabbing the bag and pulling Smitty's arm over his shoulder.
"Let's at least get you out of your sickbed." John said as he pulled Smitty up, wrapping his arm tightly around the man's waist to hold him up. Smitty's other arm looped around the front of John's body, hand clasping around his own wrist. His knees shook from under him, weak from disuse and sickness. John opened the door wide, Octavia greeted them, wagging her tail, mouth open wide in a faux smile. Smitty smiled, greeting her with a hoarse laugh. They moved past the dog, her still in tow as they shuffled down the stairs. Smitty slipped once, John's grip on him tightened and they made it down the rest of the way without incident.
John sat Smitty down on the couch, leaning the man back to lay down, head resting on the large rucksack of John's things. Smitty almost immediately reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, wrapping himself tightly in its plush prison. His eyes tracked John across the living room and into the kitchen as he put water in the electric kettle on the counter. It beeped softly as he turned it on, then he joined Smitty on the couch. He placed the man's legs over his lap and pulled out his phone. Smitty coughed, his head dropped back into the rucksack, taking a deep, wheezing breath. John chuckled at a tweet, as he scrolled, Smitty wheezed out a sigh and nestled himself deeper into the couch. A warm hand rested lightly on his knee, and in his feverish, unfocused mind, Smitty almost found it comforting, like the loving touch of a caring mother taking care of her sick child. John hummed, turning his screen to show Smitty a funny tweet. His reward was a laugh that quickly devolved into a heaving, heavy coughing fit.
Smitty sat up, leaning over the side of the couch, his coughs grew worse; and John heard the man gagging on the coughs. John could merely watch in silent sympathy, a hand rubbing comfortingly up and down the man's sweat soaked spine. John watched as Smitty's face grew red, then almost purple, drool dripped from his mouth to the floor, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. John ran his fingers up Smitty's heaving spine as he let the man catch his breath. The color slowly drained from Smitty's face, returning to the sickly pallor he had taken on in his fever.
"You okay, Smit?" John asked softly as Smitty stared open mouthed at the floor. Instead of answering, Smitty only leaned against John, placing his head in his lap. He reached a shaky hand up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wheezing softly. Smitty's wheezing breath and the sound of the kettle heating up were the only noises breaking the thick silence over the house. John placed a hand on Smitty's head, smoothing the sweat soaked hair from his forehead. "Looked rough." Smitty nodded, blinking the tears from his eyes. "Hurts?"
Smitty nodded again, resting a hand on John's knee. He pressed his cheek into John's thigh, breath still shaky, heaving. John's fingers trailed through Smitty's hair soothingly. Smitty's breathing softened, eyes sliding shut in comfort. The sound of the kettle signaling the heating of the water. Smitty jumped, eyes bleary and unfocused.
"Let me make that for you." John said softly, sitting Smitty back against his rucksack. Smitty hummed softly, closing his eyes. John retrieved a mug from the cupboard, placing a cube of the chicken bouillon in the bottom of the mug before pouring the hot water over it. He stirred the cube gently with a spoon until it fully dissolved. John tested the temperature, sipping it, and decided it was too hot to do Smitty any good. He returned to the couch, setting the mug on a coaster on the coffee table. He took his place at Smitty's feet again. Smitty hummed hoarsely, cleared his throat and shifted to lean his head against John's body.
"I'm so cold..." Smitty complained. John lifted his arm, draping it over Smitty's shoulders.
"You're burning up, Smit." John replied softly.
"Mmmmhm." Smitty hummed. "Dunno if it's the fever or what but I kinda like the nickname..." John looked away from Smitty, biting his lip gently. He scrunched his nose, trying to fight back the race in his heart. "Never called me that before..."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm just worried about you." John retorted in fake annoyance. He turned back, to look down at Smitty whose face was buried in John's side. He could feel the deep breaths Smitty was taking. "Are you smelling me?"
"Kinda, you smell pretty good."
"Damn at least take me to dinner first." John joked. Smitty huffed out a weak laugh and situated himself to sit up. John didn't remove his arm from around the man's shoulders He reached a hand forward, testing the mug's heat once more before handing it to Smitty who held it in shaking hands. John held the bottom lightly, helping Smitty tip the contents into his mouth. "There you go, feel better?"
"A little." Smitty rasped out. John set the mug down on the coaster again and Smitty slumped against John's shoulder. "I'm so tired..."
"We can get you to bed. You got your guest room made up?" John asked. Smitty thought for a short moment, then shook his head.
"No, it's got uh... some boxes and shit all over the walls." Smitty huffed as John stood them both up. He leaned harder into John this time, his legs shaking worse, now that he had something in his stomach.
"Dude, are you gonna be able to walk?" John asked, reaching his other hand out to steady his friend.
"Fuck, man, I don't think so."
"Shit, okay." John shifted, moving them so they were facing each other. "I'll just carry you. Is that cool?"
"Yeah, yeah, I just... Man I'm so tired." Smitty slumped forward, head pressed into John's chest.
"Fuck, dude, hey man stay with me at least."
"Bro you're so warm..." Smitty hummed arms wrapping tightly around John's torso.
"Yeah, yeah. You're getting your gross fuckin' sweat all over my goddamn shirt man." John slid his arms under Smitty's arms, then down his torso to get leverage to lift him. Smitty shuddered, leaning further into John. He pressed his face into John's shoulder, breathing in the scent. "Quit fuckin' smelling me man what the hell?"
"Sorry man, your cologne or some shit..." Smitty grunted as John lifted him. He wrapped his legs around John's waist and John had to fight the urge to make a comment about it. It was already awkward enough with John carrying him, he didn't need to make it worse by making some stupid ass comment about it. "You smell crazy good man."
"Yeah, kind of the point of the cologne. I'll chalk it up to the fever brain and let it slide for now."
"Yeah man, definitely." Smitty settled into John as he navigated to the stairs. Octavia lifted her head, her tail thumping limply against her dog bed. Smitty waved weakly at her over John's shoulders before leaning into him again.
By the time John reached the top of the stairs, Smitty was snoring quietly against his neck. John sighed, shifting the man enough to open the door. He laid Smitty down in bed, peeling the fever strip off his sweating forehead. He stood, retrieving the empty bowl sat aside Smitty's bed for nausea emergencies, and made his way to the en suite bathroom to get some cool water and a rag. When John returned, Smitty was on his side, wheezing quietly in his sleep. John sighed, setting the bowl down and wringing the rag out to wipe at the sweat off Smitty's brow. Smitty hummed in his sleep and John halted, making sure to not wake him. When Smitty relaxed, John continued his work, dabbing at the man's face. He pulled away, hoping he did his best to pull away at least a bit of the fever. Smitty hummed again, the sound hoarse and deep as he rolled over. John stood from the bed, made his way to the door, and opened it. He took one last look at the sleeping man, ensuring his wellbeing, before making his way out of the bedroom. He left the door open, hoping at least for some kind of air circulation, and hoping that this would at least be able to easily notify him when Smitty woke up.
John made his way downstairs, digging in his rucksack for his laptop. He plugged in the charger, and opened the laptop. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and opened Discord. Someone was calling him, quickly, he plugged in his headphones and answered the call.
"Hey man, why are you calling me on Discord instead of my phone?"
"Fuckin', I don't know man. Don't worry about that. How's Smitty?" Matt asked.
"Passed out. Made him that weird ass cubed shit you gave me."
"You get him outta bed?"
"Yeah, had to carry his ass back upstairs." John chuckled, opening a dm from his editor. "Was he delirious when he saw you last?"
"A bit... yeah. Why do you ask?"
"Motherfucker kept sniffing me man." John said as he typed out a response. "Kinda weird, but I'll let it slide if he's fucked in the head right now, y'know?"
"Yeah, that is a bit weird." Matt said. "Hey, but I was totally being serious about being busy, just wanted to check in on you two. Keep an eye on him, he's been crazy sick the past like week."
"Yeah man. You do what you need to man. I'll keep an eye on our little guy."
Matt laughed. "All right man, I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. Talk to you." John ended the call and finished his messages before he switched over to a group chat. Clearly, they were all playing some game together. He thought about joining the call for a moment, but hesitated thinking they were maybe live or recording something. Instead, he took to messaging in the muted mic chat.
"Hey, y'all fuckers recording?" The resounding answer was no.
So he joined.
"Hey man, Matt told us you were in Canada? Fuck're you doing there?" Grizzy asked.
"Nursing Smitty back to health. Fucker is sick sick." John said, leaning his head back. "Got him put to sleep right now but he's practically bedridden. Puffer was too busy to come over and make sure he was taken care of, and I needed an excuse to get out of the house so I'm up here taking care of the little guy."
A resounding sound of awe. "He got COVID?" Droid asked.
"He fuckin' might man." John said. "You should hear his cough, he sounds horrible. What game are y'all playing?"
"Bit of Warzone, nothing much really." Grizzy said. "Really just trolling bitches. Though we could totally use Smitty's crazy fuckin' precision."
"Yeah that straight up isn't happening anytime soon. He's absolutely delirious right now."
"Oh? You got some stories?" Droid chuckled suggestively.
"I mean, kinda. Not really. I basically just got here an hour ago. He's just kind of out of it." John shrugged, even though they couldn't see him. "He uh, sniffed me, like repetitively. Had to carry him up the stairs earlier."
"Damn, sounds rough for him." Grizzy said.
"Where the fuck is Flom? I see him in call." John noticed.
"He's making himself some dinner." Grizzy answered.
"Makes sense." John thought for a second. "Anyone else know how to make sure a guy doesn't die from some stupid respiratory illness?"
"He that bad?"
"Dude, I watched him cough so hard he turned purple and drooled onto the floor." John said, typing a message to someone aggressively.
"Shit..." Droid trailed off, sounding worried.
"Yeah..." John sighed. "It's going to be a long few weeks..."
A pause.
"Or months, I'm probably gonna be here a bit after he recovers just to make sure he's good because he looks like proper shit right now."
"Can you come to my house and nurse me back to health next time I'm sick?" Grizzy joked.
"I'll stuff you full of Nyquil and leave you there."
"Hot."
"Shut up man."
The sound of coughing alerted John to Smitty's wake. "Shit, gotta go, the baby's up."
"Have fun nursie boy." Grizzy cooed.
"Shut up." John hung up the call and hurried upstairs.
Smitty was exactly how he figured he would be, hunched over and heaving coughs so hard he was gagging. John hurried to his side, rubbing Smitty's back gently.
"Hey... Smit..." John soothed. Smitty gasped, heaving for air as he gagged. "Breathe... you're okay. Breathe, Smitty."
Smitty huffed, then heaved, still gasping. "John."
"Yeah?"
"You're gonna make me gay."
"Yeah, that just means you were gay before man."
"Shit, you're totally right." His speech was slurred, tired.
"You're completely delirious, Smit." John said, a smile playing on his lips.
Naturally, Smitty smiled back, drool already drying at the corners of his lips. John reached over, wiping it away with his sleeve. Smitty hummed again, his eyes unfocused. For a moment, the air stilled and John almost thought time had stopped; but Smitty shifted, wrapping his body around John's waist, and burying his face in the man's soft stomach.
"I'm so fuckin' sick, John." Smitty said, muffled into John's hoodie.
"I can tell man." John patted his friend's head stiffly in an attempt to comfort him. He leaned back, splaying a hand out on the plush duvet, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth in an attempt to stifle his internal screaming.
John knew he liked dudes, John knew he was bi. Had absolutely no clue if Smitty knew. There was absolutely no way in hell he couldn't tell, they flirted all the time, but Smitty was straight. Or, well, as far as John could tell, Smitty was straight. The raw vulnerability Smitty was showing felt weird to him for some reason.
"So fuckin' sick. I need..." Smitty coughed into John's stomach.
"Aw gross dude." John groaned, his annoyance fake.
"Sorry. Just... need medicine." Smitty rasped. "The.. Nyquil."
John reached over, leaning over Smitty, and grabbed the bag he'd set on the nightstand earlier. "You that desperate for sleep, pussy?"
"Yeah, man." Smitty gulped a large breath of air, then heaved. "I haven't gotten real sleep in ages."
John poured the right dosage into the small cup. "Sit up, buddy." Smitty obliged. John placed a hand on Smitty's chin to steady him, then tipped the dark purple liquid between his friend's lips. Smitty cringed at the taste, nose scrunching. He pulled away, steadying himself with a firm grip on John's bicep, and shook his head. He stifled a gag and swallowed thickly a few times. John patted him reassuringly on the arm with his other hand. Smitty hummed, giving John a half-hearted thumbs up.
"Bit of..." Smitty swayed slightly, took a heaving breath. "A weird request... but uh...."
John laid Smitty down, steadying the man with a light touch on the back. "Yeah?"
"Could you stay in here man?" Smitty asked timidly. "Like close to me? Because like, I've been... having these crazy vivid fever nightmares."
"Yeah man lemme just..." John started. "Let me get a few things."
He scurried down the stairs, collecting his laptop and charger, as well as his phone charger from his bag. When he returned to Smitty's room, the man was visibly fighting sleep, slumped over in bed, his movements sluggish and delayed. He smiled upon John's arrival; his mouth half open.
"C'mere big boy." He patted the bed beside him. John shook his head with a fond smile.
"You're gonna make me sick, man."
"I'll tend to your sickness when I'm better then." Smitty slurred. "C'mon so I can sleep." John shook his head again, setting his things on the nightstand on the other side of the bed to Smitty. He sat himself against the headboard; immediately, Smitty leaned against John with a contented sigh. Neither of them spoke, just wordlessly leaned into each other. John draped his arm around Smitty, who silently nestled further against his friend. They'd been touchy with each other before, sharing hotel beds when everyone else had already claimed theirs, falling asleep on each other in Ubers after getting crazy drunk during convention afterparties, holding hands, et cetera, et cetera. John had lost count of the amount of pictures their friends had of the two clinging to the other, passed out or otherwise. Sure, they'd always jokingly flirted with each other in videos and streams, but it was nothing more than friendly jesting.
John had learned the first time meeting Smitty, that he was a touchy person. He didn't care, he was touchy himself. The heat radiating off of Smitty and the damp feeling of sweat seeping into his clothes didn't bother him, not when he was providing comfort to a close friend who was in an altered state of mind. John crossed his ankles over each other, and pulled out his phone. He opened Instagram, moving to post on hist story. John lifted his phone to a high angle, looking up at the camera.
He smiled at the goofy angle, staring at the way Smitty's cheek squished where it met John's body. He took great care in making sure this image was only posted to his friends only story.
"Taking care of the baby, he's very sick." He captioned. He chuckled as he double checked that he was posting to the right story, then posted it. Almost immediately, came a response from Blarg, who replied with a reaction image. John chuckled, replying with a reaction image of his own.
'You two look so cute together, when's the wedding?' Blarg texted.
'What do you mean? We're already married?' John replied. 'Been married three years.'
John shifted, crossing his ankles and moved lower. The man nestled in closer, burying his face into John's side. Smitty, who had an arm draped over John's waist, squeezed him slightly. John felt his heart skip a beat. He squeezed Smitty back, pressing his cheek into the man's hair. He held his phone out again, taking a selfie, one that he wouldn't let anyone else ever see. A smile crept onto his lips as he studied Smitty's face. His pale cheek, squished against John's chest, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, cheeks dusted a pale pink. John set his phone down, settling himself further into bed so he was properly laying down. He rolled over onto his side, facing Smitty, who nestled impossibly closer. John was glad he didn't choose to crawl under the blankets because Smitty's fever warmth was already making him sweat. He draped his other arm over the sick man, settling into him, and letting the exhaustion of jet lag and flying sink over him enough to get some sleep.
~~**~~
It's the sound of Smitty coughing that woke John. His arms still lay outstretched, holding the ghost of his friend. He groggily sat up, then placed a hesitant hand on Smitty's back.
"Hey, Smit."
"Sorry, man, didn't mean to wake you."
"Hard to sleep through violent coughing. Do you want me to make you some tea with honey?" John offered, rubbing Smitty's back. Smitty heaved, and nodded, still trying to catch his breath. John stayed by the poor man's side, his hand still trailed it's way up and down Smitty's spine. A quiet noise slipped out of Smitty's lips, barely noticeable, and John almost wrote it off as him hearing things. The Sun, he could tell, was already dipping below the horizon, the bed was cast in a golden light peering through the sheer white curtains hanging over the window. John checked his phone, Smitty had managed to sleep four hours.
"Please..." He whispered. "The... for my throat."
"Yeah, I got it. Don't worry. Lay down man." John soothed, his hand pressed into Smitty's chest, effectively sandwiching the man. He led the man back to his pillows, who gratefully sighed. John offered another cough drop. Smitty just opened his mouth and John lowered it hesitantly into it. A grateful hum, and John left to make the tea. Grogginess still hung heavy from his eyelids, still not entirely awake, he took a short detour to the bathroom just down the hall to splash some cold water on his face. In his back pocket, his phone buzzed. Quickly, he toweled his face dry and pulled his phone out, blinking at the notification for a second as his vision focused. A text from Smitty down the hall.
'Bring me Tylenol?' John turned his phone off, tucking in back into the pocket of his pants. The light switch clicked as he flicked it off and exited the bathroom. His first step on the stairs was a mistake, the soft cotton of his sock slipping across the wooden surface and sending him careening down the steps.
The sound of a hoarse call coming down the stairs. "John?" Coughing interrupted Smitty's worry. "You okay? What happened?"
John stared straight ahead, laying on the floor. Shock seeped into him as he slowly processed what had just happened. Then, slowly, the pain set in. His body ached and he felt his joints creak as he sat up. He blinked a few times, eyes trailing around the room before settling on the leaning figure at the top of the stairs.
Smitty stood, leaning hard against the railing, and staring down the well at John. His brows were furrowed with worry, and his knees shook from underneath him. "You all right?"
John didn't answer immediately, instead, he blinked a few more times to gather his bearings. "Uh... yeah. I... I uh.. fell."
"Obviously. I mean are you hurt?"
"Uh.." John winced as he felt his back pop back into place. "Yeah, a little. But it's not that bad."
"You need help?" Smitty offered.
"No, don't come down, you're more likely to fall than I am." John grunted as he stood. "I just wasn't paying attention. Go lay back down, I'll make you your tea."
Smitty didn't move, instead, his eyes trailed after John who limped slowly over to the kitchen and started up the kettle again. He took another mug out of the cupboard, then searched for the honey. Every now and again, he looked over his shoulder, watching Smitty sway at the top of the stairs. Eventually, as he poured the honey into the bottom of the cup, he heard a dull thump. When he turned, Smitty was sat down, knees pulled up to his chest and head leaning against the wall. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape. John poured the hot water over the honey before he added the tea bag. He pulled the string, steeping it slowly. When the tea was sufficiently steeped, he tossed the bag in the trash and stirred the honey in before retrieving the Tylenol from a different cabinet. Holding the mug gingerly in his hands, he made his way up the stairs, taking great care not to lose his footing. He crouched down in front of his friend, and placed a hand gently on Smitty's bicep. The man jumped, snorting awake.
"Hm...?" Smitty looked around, confused. "Oh. Right. Thank you John." He smiled loopily.
"No problem man. Here's your Tylenol buddy." Smitty did as he had earlier, merely parted his lips enough to feed him the medication. This time, however, the Tylenol was small. If John were to comply with his friend's nonverbal request, his fingers would have to touch Smitty's lips. He felt his mouth run dry and heart speed up. Nonetheless, he obliged, pushing the small capsule between Smitty's lips. John tried his best to keep his fingers away, yet failed miserably. His fingertips brushed against the soft skin of Smitty's lips and unintentionally, his whole body recoiled. He mustered the willpower to not jump completely away but he pulled his hand back, tucking it against his chest.
If Smitty noticed, he pretended not to, instead, sipping his tea and licking his lips. John found himself fixating on his fingers, staring down at them. He pretended to be interested in the small scars from sewing and other craft projects that resulted in injury, in the fact that his nail polish was chipped and grown out, or in the heaviness of his rings that adorned his fingers. Smitty nudged John with his foot. When John looked up, Smitty was staring at him over his mug, sipping the warm tea slowly. When he lowered the mug, he was smiling softly.
"You feelin' all right man? You're acting weird." He laughed awkwardly. John blinked a couple times to shake the thoughts from his head. His eyes betrayed him, flicking quickly down to Smitty's lips, then meeting the man's eyes, before glancing away.
"Just a bit rattled from the fall down the stairs." He lied right through his teeth. Smitty stared John down, eyes boring deep holes into John's psyche. John could feel his friend's eyes on him, his tongue suddenly felt heavy in his mouth, he swallowed thickly.
"Right..." Smitty didn't sound like he believed John. John glanced back at him, Smitty was eyeing him over his cup, still sipping the tea quietly. He cringed internally.
"Let's get you back to bed, hey?" John tried shifting the focus over to his friend who still sat curled up and pressed against the wall. Smitty shot John a look, eyebrows slightly furrowed together, but he sighed in agreement anyway. He let John lift him up, draping his arm over his shoulder. Smitty sighed, shuffling along with John.
It was one thing liking guys, John figured, but it was another thing looking at your best friend and feeling your heart race. He wordlessly laid Smitty down and retreated into the en suite bathroom. The moment the door latched shut, he put his head in his hands and slid down the wall. He stifled the groan that rose in his throat, knowing full well that Smitty, on the other side of the door, could hear it. He left the light off, sitting in the dark on cold tile soothed his nerves. He dropped his knees and dropped his head back, the thump made him wince. His body ached, he knew it would hurt worse in the morning after he slept. Though, he wasn't even sure he was going to be able to sleep, not with these thoughts racing through his mind as they were. He pushed his knuckles into the muscle of his thigh, the rings dug into his skin through his sweats. He let out a breath though gritted teeth before rubbing at his face, the metal of the rings grating against his skin grounded him. He stood, propping himself up on the counter and opened up the door. Smitty was staring at him from bed. Immediately, John made eye contact and he felt heat creep up his neck.
"John." Smitty started. "Are you sure that fall didn't jumble up your brain?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, Smit." John said dismissively, waving his hand in the air. "Don't worry about it, I'll just be sore in the morning."
Smitty tracked John as he made his way across the room to the bed. John sat heavily next to Smitty, not meeting his eyes anymore.
"I'm more worried about you, are you feeling any better?" John asked. Smitty's hand creeped into his view, fingers brushing over John's wrist. John resisted the urge to pull away.
"I am, actually. A bit more steady on the feet." Smitty covered his mouth and turned away, coughing softly. "Throat still hurts, but I'm okay. Are you?"
John took a shaky breath, thought for a second, and nodded. "Yeah... yeah I'm fine."
"Got somethin' on your mind?" Just like that, Smitty gutted him open and read him like a book.
"Yeah, yeah. It's nothin' terrible. You know how it is." John said. "Just get in my own head sometimes."
Smitty nodded. "Yeah, I get that. Just... bit worrying when you're over here zoning out and twitching 'n shit like you're paranoid. What, someone put a hit on you or some shit man?"
'Almost wish they had.' John almost caught himself saying. He held his tongue, resorting to just shaking his head. Silence; heavy, thick, awkward silence. It sat on John's shoulders, weighing him down and making his shoulders slump. He became increasingly aware of the weight of Smitty's fingers still resting lightly on John's wrist. The ghost of a touch, really, just sat lightly over the exposed skin peeking from the sleeve of his hoodie. John could feel Smitty's eyes on him.
Hesitantly, John looked up at Smitty, brown eyes stared back. Nerves set in, his hands went clammy, and his heart pounded. John was almost entirely certain Smitty could hear it.
"You know..." Smitty was the first to break the silence. "You could call me by my actual name."
John blinked, not sure how to respond. Ever since they met, he'd always called Smitty by the name he went by on the internet, nothing else. He wasn't sure what he thought Smitty was going to say either, but it definitely wasn't that. "Uh... what?"
"You could call me by my real name. We've been friends for ages and you've always called me 'Smitty', you could be using my real name."
"Oh. Yeah, right." John let out a breath, heavier than he thought it was going to be. Smitty's warm hand enclosed around John's wrist lightly. It squeezed as the man turned away to cough roughly into his sleeve. "Guess I've just... never thought about it." He said after Smitty regained his bearings.
"Yeah, I guess so." Smitty said. "You're very stiff." John scoffed, but he knew Smitty was right. He was completely rigid and awkward. He almost felt like he'd been frozen and was waiting for his joints to thaw out. "You can talk to me y'know. I don't judge man."
John released the tension built up in his shoulders with a heavy sigh. "Yeah... I know that man. Just a bit... on edge or something like that. Worried about you and all that."
"Aw how sweet..." Smitty cooed, pressing his hands over his heart. John regretfully missed the warmth around his wrist. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me."
"I do man, what, my flirting during games not enough for you? What, want me to get down on my knees and profess my undying love for you?" John joked, though, it did make the tremble in his fingers more noticeable.
"Yeah, I do, actually." Smitty said with a smirk. "Get to confessing pretty boy."
John blinked incredulously. He absolutely knew the man was going to respond with that; somehow, he still remained surprised. The look on his face definitely must have looked stupid or something because Smitty found it absolutely priceless. He laughed, then coughed, then laughed through the cough. A hand rested on John's shoulder, squeezing as he tried to support himself.
"Oh man... you should see the look on your face. Look like you've seen a ghost man." Smitty chuckled, catching his breath. "I was only kidding man, you know that."
"Yeah. I do." John chuckled awkwardly. "You think I'm pretty?" He said in faux flattery in an attempt to ease his own tension.
"I mean, have you seen yourself?" Smitty said in sudden honesty. "You're a pretty attractive guy. You pull the mullet off perfectly man."
John felt himself flush. By now, the room had gone dark. The setting sun had finally taken it's full slumber and the moon casted the room in a dark blue, almost black light. He was certain, that even if Smitty could see his face: he'd be none the wiser to the red that had painted his cheeks.
"Not to shabby yourself man." John said back. "What with your stupid face and all. It's cute."
Smitty's turn to shut up. John heard the quiet yelp he stifled with a closed mouth. Silence seeped into the room and John worried he might have said something wrong.
"Sorry, too far?"
Smitty blinked a few times, seemingly in a struggle to find the right response. "Uh... no. No not at all." John let out a heavy sigh of relief. "I'd wager not far enough man. C'mon lemme in that brain of yours. I wanna know what you really think."
Fuck.
John racked his brain to find the right way to word things without sounding in love with him. "Uh... well- I can't say anything you don't already know about yourself, y'know? Like you're absolutely hilarious and all that shit."
"Thank you, thank you."
"Guess you just kinda look like the kind of guy who you just know they're good at giving hugs or some shit. You look cozy as hell like all of the time."
"Are you saying I'm built like a teddy bear or somethin'?" Smitty chuckled.
"Yeah, kinda. But you made that comment to me when we first met up in person."
"That's true."
"Pretty good friend I'd say." John was running out of platonic things to say. "Good shoulder to lean on, not only because you're short..." Smitty punched John in the arm, stronger than he had earlier. "But also because you somehow always know how to be there when the time is right. It's almost like a sixth sense man. You're freaky like that."
"My prediction skills have always been insane."
John continued. "You're good looking, confident, you know exactly how to play off my humor with your own..." Smitty watched his friend as he listed things off on his hand. "Just the perfect kind of person I'm glad to have been able to keep around for so long, y'know?"
"How sweet..." Smitty cooed. "Are you sure you're not in love with me?"
"Shut the hell up, Jaren." John said, nudging the man.
"Gasp!" Jaren said in theatric offense. "The Government name!"
John shook his head. "You told me I could use it!"
"I didn't think you'd use it against me!"
"It's a nice name."
"Aw that's nice. You didn't answer the question though."
"Fuck man, I just might be." John said.
Silence. The realization hit John like a bullet train and he swore he could disappear right then. The embarrassment of a sudden, unprompted, confession sent his mind into a complete stop. Jaren didn't speak, didn't move, didn't react. OK, cool, so maybe he hadn't heard. He definitely heard. Jaren's hand lingered on John's shoulder, a lead weight on John's already heavy conscience. Fuck. He couldn't run away now, couldn't lock himself away and hide, he'd promised Matt he'd make sure the man was taken care of until he was well enough to take care of himself, and he couldn't just ruin the one friendship he just said he was glad to have.
Jaren was the first to break the silence with a shaking intake of breath. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, then closed it, deliberating what the next words that were going to come out of his mouth were. Then he took a sharp breath. "For real?"
Well, that wasn't at all what John thought he was going to say. "What?"
"I'm asking you if you're serious."
"Yeah I fuckin' know that." John said. "I'm just- that's all you could think of to say?"
"Man I don't know!" Jaren's hand removed itself from John's shoulder. "You say shit like that all the time! I just wanna know you're being serious before I go saying some shit and look like a fool!"
"Oh. Yeah. Right." John sighed. "Wait... what's that supposed to mean?"
"Huh?"
"You said some shit about you lookin' like a fool. Why would you look like a fool?" Jaren's breath audibly hitched.
"Uh..." He squeaked out. "Next question."
"No! No. You're going to answer the question Jaren."
"Stop using the government name while you're scolding me!"
"Quit doing shit worth scolding!"
"Fine! I'm just saying that maybe -and that's a hard maybe- I may or may not be sort of inclined to say the same thing..." He added. "Allegedly."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Make me, whore."
"Don't 'whore' me, dirty slut." John said, punching Jaren in the arm. He coughed in response, covering his mouth with his elbow and holding up a finger signaling to wait.
"So, you're willing to make me shut up I hear?" He smirked once he recovered.
"You're sick, so..." John pretended to think. "I'm gonna go with no."
"You're already going to be sick, being this close to me. C'mon, it's my dying wish. I'm on my death bed as we speak. Besides!" He chirped. "I promise not to cough on you."
"Are you telling me to kiss you?" John said. "Where'd you get the balls?"
"Uh... goodwill. Yes. Kiss me pretty boy." So, John did, gently grabbing Jaren gently by the face. It wasn't even close to the first time he'd ever kissed a guy, he figured it wouldn't be the last. Although, he found himself thinking, he hoped he'd be the only guy he kissed for the rest of his foreseeable future. Jaren was hesitant, slow, soft. John found his other hand guiding Jaren's wrist over to his own waist. The man took it as an invitation to crawl closer. The weight of Jaren over John urged him further, placing his hands on either side of the man's waist to steady him. He grunted at the weight, his fingers dug into Jaren's soft body. Sweaty hands came into contact with John's cheeks, hesitant and gentle. They slid down, around the back of John's head, fingers tangling in his hair. Jaren tugged softly, testing the water. John squeezed his friend's sides again as a warning.
John pulled away, keeping their mouths close. "Careful..."
"What?"
"Playing with fire, Smit." John warned, his voice breathy. "We're both gonna be sick by morning."
"Yeah, and?" Jaren said, tilting his head to connect their lips again. John grunted at the sudden contact, but returned the kiss nonetheless. "You were gonna be sick anyways..."
Jaren's breath over John's wet lips sent a shiver down his spine. The cooling effect was electric through his veins. He slid his arms fully around Jaren, pulling him closer with a proper hug. They pulled apart, and John nestled his face in the crook of Jaren's neck. Jaren's hands continued their teasing through John's hair, his cheek rested atop John's head. The silence that settled over the both of them was comfortable this time, not a heavy awkward silence like before. John's arms, still wrapped around Jaren's waist, squeezed again. Jaren nestled himself closer, squeezing John back with his thighs. John shifted his face in closer, burying his face deeper into Jaren's sweater collar. He ran a hand up Jaren's back, then back down. On his way back down, he tugged at the fabric. Jaren shifted nervously, John's hand ran back up, this time under the man's clothes. He exposed skin to the cool room air, Jaren shivered.
"John..." He whispered. "John, did- are we-...?" He couldn't seem to put together his words.
"Yeah?" John pulled away to look at the man in his lap properly. Jaren coughed into his elbow before making eye contact with John. "I'm listening."
"Uh, like... does this mean...?" He trailed off, making a vague motion between the both of them.
"If you want it to." John said softly. Jaren hummed, thought for a moment, then seemed to relax. "I don't mind, Jaren."
"Doesn't really change much, does it?" Jaren laughed. John shook his head with a shrug and a smile. "Kind of... always been pretty handsy with each other."
"Glad to be your gay awakening."
"Shut the hell up."