Chapter Text
“What’s on yer mind, Moz?” Johnny glanced over, tilting his head in a way Morrissey always found endearing. It was a quiet evening in November and the candles were lit. Johnny's earrings sparkled in the light, jangling ever so slightly which put an amused smile to the singer's face; his guitarist would always be known for a jangle.
Morrissey was wearing his favourite jumper, a cosy pink one, as it was cold. Secretly within the depths of his overly-imaginative mind he wished that the guitarist would wrap his arms around him, press a kiss to his cheek and tell him that everything was going to be alright. The most devastating part being that this wasn’t at all far from reality and yes, it all had occurred, but Johnny was naturally affectionate anyway, and his habit of bringing Morrissey back to reality with a small reminder here and there that he was fortunate to have such a great mate made it all even worse.
“Hey…Moz?” Morrissey jolted slightly when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he simply smiled at Johnny and assured him that nothing was bothering him. Since when did Johnny, renowned for his brutal honesty, fail to see through his words? Perhaps he genuinely believed Morrissey for once, or more likely he had grown sick of listening to the singer rant on and on about trivial matters. But this was no trivial matter, not at all.
Morrissey patted the spot beside him on the bed which prompted Johnny to come over from his cross legged spot on the floor. Almost immediately, Johnny’s arm was around his waist and their knees touched like always. The guitarist flicked a few strands of hair from his eyes, revealing the usual smudged eyeliner he wore; Morrissey noticed how Johnny’s hazel eyes were so beautifully accentuated, every laugh they would crinkle slightly and every smile there was a certain gleam.
He enjoyed the silence, sometimes it was nice to lean into the hold of the younger man and let his mind run wild with all sorts of thoughts. Johnny must have thought that Morrissey was getting a little too comfortable as he suddenly decided to shuffle away just slightly. It was a small movement, yet Morrissey felt his heart racing with anxiety.
“Erm, Morrissey? Are you sure y’alright?” The guitarist said after a minute, “I dunno, maybe s’me but yer actin’ a bit different,”
Morrissey sighed deeply, “Well, you’re right. I’m simply having one of my pointless internal conflicts as always, that is all,” he moved a little closer, “There isn’t anything to worry about.”
Johnny shook his head, “No, no,” his voice was soft like it became whenever he was concerned about something, or in this case someone, “Jus’ say whatever it is you need to say, Moz.”
It was strange to Morrissey the way that the younger man seemingly knew that what was on his mind would change everything if he spoke it. He couldn’t ignore how Johnny swallowed after speaking, the way he nervously fidgeted with his sleeves, the slightest hint of anxiety in those dark eyes. Morrissey simply shrugged in almost defeat: it was now or never even if it did mean risking his friendship with the guitarist.
“John,” he began, “Johnny, I need to say something to you that I’ve been meaning to-“
But Morrissey never finished his sentence. In a sudden turn of events Johnny’s lips, those soft lips he’d dreamed about, were upon his. The singer held his hands out slightly in shock, quickly closing his eyes as the younger man began to run his fingers through his hair. It was all over in a heartbeat when Johnny pulled away. Morrissey slowly opened his eyes, he averted his gaze immediately to avoid whatever horror was on the face of his dear friend. Except it was then his brain caught up and he realised that it was indeed Johnny who had pulled him into a kiss.
Johnny’s face was flushed slightly, his lips a little red from the way he’d roughly pressed them onto the singer’s. He wiped his mouth before speaking:
“Uhm, that was what y’wanted to say, yeah?”
Morrissey smiled, “You aren’t too bad at making assumptions, John.”
“Please jus’ say Johnny, jus’ ‘cos we kissed an’ that doesn’t mean ‘m different,” Johnny said with a grin, “Nothin’ changes unless you want it to, Moz.”
Nothing changes then. Was Johnny truly that oblivious? Of course, the guitarist had just allowed him to change things, but even so Morrissey understood, they both did to an extent, that Johnny was simply being his generous self and in reality knew that going further would pose complications. He’d just assumed that Morrissey was going to declare his undying love, kiss him and then shrug it off as though it was a completely platonic thing mates do for kicks. Morrissey just sighed, he decided that his overactive brain needed shutting up for a while.
“Johnny, can I return the favour?” He asked, the guitarist’s face lit up.
And with that the pair were all over each other once more, this time with a little more than a simple lip to lip. It was heavenly, and yet Morrissey knew that it would never last. Even from the very beginning of the relationship he understood that Johnny still had his entire life ahead of him, unlike the singer he actually wanted to explore new ideas and meet new people. Morrissey felt something in his heart once they finally pulled away, and it wasn’t that sweet satisfaction he had been expecting. From that moment on only one goal was certain: be with Johnny, and only Johnny, forever. After all, Johnny was his saviour, his angel who had rescued him from the deep depths of despair. One thing would always be certain: if one revisited such a terrible place then they would always go down together, at least that is what Morrissey had believed.
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