Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's nothing personal..."

It never was. Johnny had heard it all before; he didn't even bother looking up from where he laid, staring at the wall with the blankets piling over his hip, leaving his chest and back exposed. The bruises and loveless love bites were still fresh, the skin still red and swollen, the saliva not even dry. That's how soon after it had been. He had come to expect people to 'love' him and leave him - but even by that standard, this was ridiculous. He stayed silent.

"I just... I think we were better off as friends," The thick Russian voice behind him continued.

"Friends," Johnny scoffed - he hadn't even meant to. This was all just so ridiculous, that the tone was like radiation, soaking into skin and burning into his throat and impregnating the word like a tumour.

"Yes... Maybe with benefits, if you're still-"

"Get out of my bed," Johnny cut him off, his voice taut.

"Johnny. I still... I still like you. I just-" There was a pause, as the man who Johnny only saw as a stranger now, swallowed, "I'm not ready for a relationship."

Six months. Six months of Johnny and the stranger kissing and fucking and dancing around the word 'relationship' - and the first time it was used, it was to tear the very idea of it apart. For six months, Johnny had fixated over the stranger - lost sleep over them - cried with and for and because of them. He had lost time, and sleep, and energy, and money and dignity for them. He wasn't angry because they weren't ready for a relationship. He was angry because they had half a year to tell him that - and now? What did that leave him with? Six months of memories boiling down to 'friends with benefits'. But Johnny didn't say any of this. Because that was the sort of shite he spilled to friends - to lovers - not to strangers. This man had no place in his bed.

"Get. Out."

***

"With benefits? He really said that?" Gaz scoffed, looking outraged.

John didn't answer, too busy picking at the label of the Coors he was drinking and fighting back a lump in his throat. Gaz just shook his head in disbelief, glancing back at the TV with a stunned expression. This event wasn't anything new to either of the men - but it had come around a lot later than usual. Time and time again, Johnny fell hard for someone, and time and time again, he eventually hit the ground; then Gaz would come over, scoop him up, pull blankets over him, shove a beer in his hand and they'd watch pointless drivel on the TV. Gaz went on - saying some bullshit about how he never expected Johnny's latest venture to be 'so immature' or 'rude', and making empty threats over what he'd do if he ever saw him again.
It meant nothing to John. He knew of course, if it ever came down to it, Gaz would go to bat for him. But Kyle Garrick was not an instigator - the most he'd do if he saw Johnny's ex is throw a dirty look or snide remark. Besides, it wasn't like Johnny actually wanted the stranger to come to any harm. It wasn't actually their fault that they didn't like John back. It couldn't have been. There were so many others before them that had turned him down, lead him on, treat him like shit. Too many for this loneliness to go without blame. He must have done something - said something - been someone that they didn't like. What was wrong with him? Why did nobody want him?

"Hey."

Johnny almost jumped out of his skin, his eyes darting towards Gaz. Kyle stared back at him, his brows drawn - but their eyes didn't meet. Gaz was looking down - and when John followed his gaze, he realised why.

"Shite..." Johnny withdrew his hand from the arm he had been unconsciously scratching at. He threw a knowing look Gaz's way, "That's not... I wasn't-"

"I know, mate. I know," Gaz nodded.

An awkward silence came between them. The pair had been friends since high school - and Gaz had seen John at his worst. His very worst. He had learned the signs - knew what too look out for. And he knew, despite how low Johnny might have felt, he wasn't that low... yet. Besides, Johnny hadn't done anything extreme in years. Gaz trusted him enough to believe that if he was reaching that point, or having those sorts of thoughts, he'd at least try to reach out.

Johnny ran his thumb over the faint scratches he'd left on his arm - just pale white marks where his nails had dug into skin. Nothing more than that. He sighed, averting his gaze as Gaz's hand joined his own. For the longest time, they were both silent and contemplative - then Gaz slapped his hands against his knees and stood up.

"Right," He held a hand out, "Get up."

"Kyle-?"

"Nope. Up. Now," He pulled Johnny up, already reaching for a jacket strewn over the couch, "I'm treating you to a day out."

John hesitated, before grumbling, "I'm really not looking for another hook up, mate."

"No-" Gaz scoffed, punching the man's arm, "We're not going 'out' out. I'm taking you to the parlour."

At this, John frowned. He cocked his head slightly, looking a little baffled.

"Your work? That... tats 111 thing?"

"Tat 141," Gaz corrected, "And yeah - my work. We're gonna get you inked up, mate."

"Gaz..." Johnny folded his arms, swaying uncertain, "I really don't think getting a tattoo is going to make me feel better."

Chortling, the Brit clapped John's back as he guided him out of the door, "Spoken like a true tattoo virgin."

Chapter Text

"What do you think, mate?" Gaz grinned, gazing over the artist's shoulder to look at the stencil on Johnny's shoulder.

It was a simple enough tattoo: The Saltire. A classic first tattoo for a patriot, as Johnny was. John glanced over the placement, smiling nervously back at Gaz. He had to admit, his heart was hammering behind his rib cage; not just because this was his first tattoo, but because he had a peculiar coping mechanism when he was embarrassed, in pain or anxious. Usually it was just cracking shite jokes or acting ridiculously to mask the fact that he was feeling those emotions. Usually, this wasn't an issue - but Johnny could already tell his tattoo artist wasn't the sort to have time for that sort of bravado.
The artist was a tall, bulky man, with a shock of platinum blond hair shaven into an undercut. Various piercings and tattoos decorated pale, scarred skin - and those brown (almost coal black) eyes stared out over a black mask with a decorative skeletal grin printed on the front. Those eyes looked like they could kill - so did those hands. Johnny was fairly certain there was a lot those hands could do, but he refrained from saying so. Something about the man's demeanour told him if he had to dared to, his next words would have been spoken from a hole in his throat.
Kyle had introduced the artist as his coworker, 'Simon'. Johnny had heard a lot about him before, but this was certainly not how he'd pictured the infamous 'Simon Ghost Riley'. From what he'd heard, he had expected an old, grumpy, wrinkled man grumbling and shuffling around, complaining about the weather and fussing over the slightest inconveniences. But Simon just seemed... reserved.
Johnny didn't ask about the mask - he assumed it was simply for health reasons. He'd lived through the pandemic, seeing people in masks was nothing new. Besides, it was none of his business anyway. If the dude had any other reasons for wearing a mask, there was no point in asking about it; that defeated the whole purpose of the mask-

"You like it, yeah?"

Johnny's gaze snapped back to Gaz, and he chuckled softly. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't even answered the query.

"Aye - yeah - I like that," He flashed a lopsided grin, before looking at Simon, "What do you think? Suit me?"

Simon quirked a pierced brow. He paused for an awkwardly long time - long enough that John was fairly certain he wouldn't answer at all - before grunting something under his breath about it being 'fine'.

Johnny laughed again, "A right poet, you are, ey?"

He wasn't sure why he said that - why he even cared - but he put it down to his nerves. Again, Simon didn't offer up much of a response. Just a slight tilt of his head, possibly in sarcastic agreeance. Kyle smirked, folding his arms and leaning back against a wall, stapled with images of tattoo inspiration.

"Blood out of a stone, this one," He gestured to Simon, "Worked with him for a year now - said all but two words to me."

"Oh aye?"

"Mm-hm, 'fuck' and 'off'," Gaz chortled, whilst Simon flashed him a mildly irritated look.

Johnny managed a half-arsed laugh, but if he was entirely honest, he was more focused on 'Ghost' himself. Between listening to Gaz talk about him and ignoring Johnny entirely, he began mixing the inks and wiping down an arm rest. Before John knew it, he was leaned back, needle drumming into his skin, printing his homeland against the tan skin where his shoulder met his arm. The pain wasn't as unbearable as he had expected - it was more sore than anything. Comparable to a cat scratch. A repetitive, drawn-out cat scratch - but around the same pain level. It was tolerable - so much so, in fact, that before he knew it he and Gaz were talking as though they were alone. Ghost's presence had faded into the background, along with the pain and low hum of his tattoo machine.

"I'll tell you what - you're gonna be covered in by the end of the year," Gaz mused, his eyes fixed on the growing work in progress.

"Yeah - like I could afford that," John snorted, "I'm only getting this one, cos you're paying for it."

He gestured to the tattoo, jostling slightly. Fortunately, Simon had moved the pen away just in time. He shot Johnny a look - and the Scotsman mumbled an apology, before turning back to his conversation with Gaz.

"Yeah well, don't be expecting me to pay for a tattoo every time you go through a break up," Kyle flashed a mischievous smile, "Even I can't afford that."

"Dickhead," Johnny swatted at him, again jostling Simon, "Shite, sor-!"

Johnny was cut off as he suddenly felt a vice-like grip pin the crook of his arm against the armrest. Simon threw a brief warning look his way, holding him in place as he continued working. Johnny and Gaz met eyes; Kyle was holding back laughter, whilst Johnny just sat there with a sort of 'what the fuck?' expression. They both remained silent for the longest time, Johnny trying to look anywhere except for Simon as the man leaned over him, inking his skin in blue and white. Behind Simon's back, Gaz wore a knowing expression, wiggling his brows at Johnny who flipped him off with his free hand. He quickly regretted it however, when Simon's head slowly turned to look at him. He retracted his hand, cautiously as he met Simon's gaze. He felt his soul wither away under the dark gaze.

"If you move again," Simon whispered, his voice dark and gruff like gravel rolling down a well, "I will stop."

Johnny wasn't sure if it was because he was being chastised like a schoolboy, or because of how close and low Simon's voice was - but it was taking all of his energy not to start giggling like a child at the threat. He kept his lips pursed, nodding once.

"Yessir."

Simon cocked his head, his steely eyes narrowing at the response.

"S... sorry," Johnny cleared his throat, laughing nervously, "I - uh - joke when I'm anxious."

"You don't need to be anxious," Simon's grip tightened, as he returned back to inking, "Just be still."

"Talk to all your clients this way - or am I just special?" Johnny asked with another chuckle.

He wanted to shut up. He wasn't sure why he kept talking - why he couldn't stop. But his heart was hammering in his chest and the words just kept coming. He was secretly relieved when Simon didn't answer him. Now that the silent had drawn out long enough, he slowly turned his head back to look at Gaz. He made a point not to move too quickly or risk knocking the artist as he moved. When he finally had a clear line of view, he found Gaz still grinning like an idiot. John just stared back at him, telepathically telling him to get fucked.

Chapter Text

"You know owt about a John MacTavish?"

Simon barely registered the question. He was stood under the tin shelter, listening to rain drum over his head as it battered against concrete and gravel around them in a low, chaotic symphony. It seemed to harmonise with the music in his right ear, the left earphone hanging neglected against the chest of his grey hoodie. He didn't look back at his boss as he mulled the question over, plucking the cig from his lips and letting milky white smoke billow from his chapped lips, mingle in the air for a moment, then dissipate into the cold northern brisk. He was leaning against an iron railing, his gaze out of the empty flooding streets around them.

"What's that? Some sort of piercing?"

"What?" Price glanced at him, drawing on his own cigarette, letting it's head burn for entirely too long, "It's a person, you muppet."

"Why would I know him?" Simon did look back now, looking straight ahead where Price leaned against the brick wall, arm propped on a bin.

"Gaz says you tattooed him, two weeks back."

"That's my job, John. You'll have to be more specific."

Price sighed, adorning an irritated, purse-lipped expression, "He got the Saltire tatted on his arm."

"He Scottish?"

"No, he's fucking Danish. What do you think?" Price rolled his eyes, flicking his cig away, "Anyway - you remember him?"

"Yeah. Right annoying little twat. Couldn't sit still for two minutes when I was colouring him. One with the mohawk, yeah?" Simon's brow twitched slightly as he watched Price nod with a faint smirk on his face, "What's that look?"

"He'll be joining us next week."

Of - fucking - course. Simon didn't say anything - he didn't have to. Price chuckled, lowly, clasping his shoulder.

"Be nice, Ghost."

"You're calling me that too, now, ey?" Simon tilted his head, "What happened to 'giving me the dignity I deserve'."

"Did that when I employed you, cheeky cunt," Price elbowed him, playfully, "Besides. Ghost isn't the worst name you could have landed with, is it? Fitting if you ask me, the way you skulk around, acting like no one else in the world exists."

Simon scoffed, snuffing his cig out against the rain water on the railing, "I wish they'd treat me with the same decency."

"Anti-socialism isn't decency, Simon."

"Neither is passive-aggression, John."

There was a beat as the two stared at one another. Price was really the only person Simon allowed to speak to him like this. Hell, he was the only one who could beckon more than two words out of him without straining their entire soul whilst doing so. Price wasn't too keen on losing that privilege by pushing him too hard. So he digressed with a sigh and raised hands.

"I just... I worry about you, Si. I really do," Price shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. Simon didn't answer him, averting his gaze back out to the streets. Price carried on, regardless, "I know you don't mind being alone, now. And I know you think it got you this far, but... there's gonna be a day when you can't pick yourself up. And I really hope there's someone around who can do it for you. You don't have to be friends with the world, lad, but one or two couldn't hurt and... and he wouldn't want you to be-"

"Don't."

Price paused, almost catching himself on the edge in Simon's voice. Simon still wasn't facing him, but his dark eyes glinted, piercing him through the corner of his long blond lashes.

"Don't even fucking go there."

A long beat, then - "Okay."

There was nothing more to say. It was the first time Price had spoken about... him. To Simon, at least. Gary had been a good friend to both of them - but he had been so much more than that to Ghost. When he was alive, Price pretended not to notice the way Gary would fawn over Simon - pretended not to hear the hushed, breathless conversation between them through paper thin walls in the witching hour - pretended not to have seen Simon and Gary wrapped up in one another, panting and grunting on the couch, that one time... Pretended that Simon hadn't lost the light in his eyes, now that Gary was...
They hadn't spoken about it. There were times when Price walked into the living room of the shared apartment to find Simon crying. Sometimes Simon would lock himself in Gary's empty room - and Price would leave him to it. He didn't want to encroach on that sacred place; only Gary and Simon had been allowed in there when Gary was alive. Price might not have believed in the afterlife, but he had certainly believed in Gary Sanderson - he would respect the man's wishes, even if Gary wasn't around to enforce them.
But there were times when Simon was too weak and tired to hide his pain. Sometimes, Price would find him on the couch, almost catatonic in grief. And he would sit with him - they would sit together. Silent. Understanding. And they were never closer to Gary, than in those weak, quiet moments of mutual loss. But they never spoke about it the day after. Hell - they couldn't speak about it now.
Simon returned his gaze to the empty roads of Leeds - and Price retreated back into the shelter of Tat 141.

Chapter Text

Johnny sat on the worn leather, running his hand over the flaking material and tracing the tanned cotton the peaked out from beneath. His gaze was fixed on the small TV screen across the way - though it was obvious his attention was elsewhere. The staff room irked him. It was entirely too grimy and dim, the furniture was mismatched and randomly strewn into corners or against wall where it would almost fit. But nothing seemed to fit at the same time. It made him itch.
The itch was familiar to MacTavish; he got it a lot in new places or when meeting new people. It's as if the flaws were beacons, drawing his eyes to all things he would fix, if he could. A missing tooth - an out of place lamp - an uneven carpet - a stray hair or crumbs around chapped lips. Small things that didn't even matter. But when Johnny noticed them, the itch returned and grew with every second that the flaw the remained. Without even realising it, his gaze had snared mould in the corner of the room, just under the table where tiled floor met paper-thin wall; and his nails were plucking at cheap faux leather under his palm.

"MacTavish?"

John snapped back to the forefront of his mind, his eyes twitching from the imperfections to his new boss.

"John," The man introduced himself, holding out a large calloused hand, "John Price - but John's just fine."

Price had a strong demeanour - he wasn't too tall, probably only meeting Johnny's hairline in height, but he had the presence of a bull. Stocky, imposing, horns bared and ready ram if needed. When Johnny shook his hand, he took note of the grip - it's strength and precision. Whoever this man was, he'd clearly shaken many hands - and this sort of unshakeable pride for it. Price's eyes roamed the young man before him; they juxtaposed; polar opposites. Hell, Price half expected them both to stagger in opposite directions, the moment their hands met, like magnets pinging off of one another. Whilst John was well groomed, his beard trimmed and hair pushed back under a khaki bucket hat, Johnny's hair was shaken into a patchy Mohawk, his own beard nothing but stubble on his tanned skin. Price was mostly covered; a knitted grey jumper under a baggy dark green coat and thick brown boots, polished to perfection. Johnny was in a pair of ripped blue jeans - entirely too large, hanging awkwardly on his hips as a checked black and white belt struggled to hold them in place - a grubby white tank top and a pair of dirty black converse, the laces snapped and worn by time.

"Lesser John," He finally spoke up, flashing a lopsided toothy grin, "Johnny'll do."

"Johnny. Hm," Price withdrew his hand, staring at the young man for a long time, "You ever had a job before, Johnny?"

"Uh, ha... no," Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, "I've - uh - had interviews. Never really heard owt back."

"No. I don't imagine you will have," Price perked a brow, looking the young man up and down.

Johnny just stared back at him, a little stunned by the bluntness, "Sorry?"

"I'm sure you are. First of all, word of advice, son," He smiled under his moustache - and Johnny felt even more confused than before. Price had an odd habit of looking friendly and dangerous all at the same time. For the first time in his life, Johnny found his nerves suffocating any quips or jokes he might have made. Price clasped his shoulder, "You don't come for an interview dressed like a bum, alright? You want to impress your potential employer. And I'm not impressed, right now, lad."

Johnny pursed his lips, nodding sheepishly.

"You want clean shoes, well fitting clothes, and just... have some pride in yourself, lad," He flicked his hand over Johnny's sad excuse of a haircut, "I mean what is this, ey?"

"Yessir," Johnny swallowed, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him.

He had expected the man to come in and ask when he was available, when he could start, what his long term plans were. He wasn't expecting... this. Price took a step back, folding his arms and looking Johnny up and down again. His gaze was softer, but he still an indescribable sternness - like a teacher, or father, scrutinising a child. After a moment, he rubbed his beard, looking intrigued.

"All your clothes like this?"

"No sir."

"Oh - so you chose to wear this today?" Price raised another thick brow.

Johnny felt nervous laughter bubbling in his chest - he had to pinch his lips together not to grin. It didn't matter; Price saw through it.

"I'm not laughing, Johnny."

"I know, sir, I'm sorry. I just get nervous when I-"

"If I didn't have a reliable source telling me you'd do good here, I'd have already sent you packing. Do you understand that?" Price cocked his head, his expression firm, "And you're already on thin ice. Because another reliable source tells me you're an annoying little prick who fidgets too much."

There was a long beat of silence. Johnny averted his gaze - the disappointed look in Price's eyes hitting way too close to home. He shifted from foot to foot uneasily, waiting for Price to tell him to leave. But he didn't. Price exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.

"On your first shift, I want you in clean, ironed clothes. You don't have to dress to the nines - a shirt and jeans will do. But I want a full pair of jeans, Johnny, not this fucking denim string bikini piece you seem to be wearing," He made a vague gesture to the mans clothes, "And I want your hair done proper, alright? I have a reputation to keep - you understand, yeah?"

"Yessir."

"Good... Right," He nodded towards a nearby table, "Let's get started."

As Johnny took his seat, he felt his stomach churning. He tried to make himself as quiet and indiscernible as possible, wanting nothing more than to fade into the mismatched furniture and mouldy grout. He declined, politely, when Price offered coffee, and offered a weak smile when the man told him to stop sulking. And then they sat together, Price shuffling through papers and glancing over a portfolio Johnny had managed to throw together in the last couple of days. His face gave away nothing - he wasn't reacting to the drawings and sketches. Just... observing.

"You do any realism, son?"

"Uhm - not really no. I do a pretty good aye. Few animals, but nothing super realistic."

Price hummed, "What animals do you do?"

"Oh, uh, dogs, cats, birds, wolves-"

"Can you do horses?"

"Is that a requirement for tattooing?" Johnny managed a laugh.

Price stared at him blankly, until his laugh dissolved into a weak clearing of his throat.

"Aye, I can do horses."

"Good. One of the hardest things to draw. You ever tattooed before, lad?"

"No, sir."

Price sighed with a hum as he closed the portfolio. He beat the papers against his hand for a second, looking contemplative as he threw Johnny a side-ways glance, "Why are you here, son?"

It took all of Johnny's energy not to make a joke around forgetfulness and Price's age - but he resisted, "I... need a job."

"Why this job?" Price pressed, leaning forward and pushing the portfolio back to Johnny, "Is it cos your mate works here?"

He considered this for a long moment. He could have easily lied - made something up about always wanting to be an artist, or how his recent tattooing experience had inspired him... or... something. But he could tell, by now, Price wasn't a very inspired man. He wouldn't by it - and he probably wouldn't be appreciate being lied to, either. So, Johnny shrugged, softly, looking down at his feet.

"Aye. I suppose it is. Gaz is a good mate of mine and... well, I've never really been good at much-"

"Second piece of advice, Johnny. You want your employer to have a modicum of faith in you," Price chuckled, before making a flippant gesture, "Go on."

"I... I live in a shite one bedroom down the way. Or my ex did, at least. Recently broke up, so I'm not too keen to stick around at their place. And I don't want to keep leaching off of Gaz, either, so..." He shifted, awkwardly, "That's why I'm here."

Chapter Text

"And, let me guess, you still gave him the job?" The thick Russian accent was muffled between phone static, wind and a strong thrumming sound from the opposite line.

"Ehh, I felt bad for him - besides, he seems like a nice enough kid. Just a bit dim," Price chuckled, shaking his head as he flicked through TV channels.

"You and your strays, John," The man chortled from the other end, "This one's not moving in, no?"

"No," Price scoffed. There was a long pause and his gaze fluttered to the door across from him, down the empty hall, "Something tells me that room's gonna be empty for quite some time, love."

For a long time, Nik didn't answer - the only evidence of the line still being open, being the rhythmic heavy thrumming and strong winds. Then, the man cleared his throat.

"Da. How is..."

"He's... well..." Price's eyes twitched to the door besides it, Simon's room hidden behind the thin white wood, "He wouldn't even let me bring him up. I didn't even mention him by name. But he shut me down straight away."

"Well, what did you say to him?"

Price made a disgruntled sound, "I was trying to say 'he wouldn't want you to be lonely'. Barely got anything out, before he stopped me."

"Ah, плюшевый мишка," Nikolai laughed softly through the speaker, "Your bleeding heart will get you killed one day. And I won't be surprised if Mister Riley is the catalyst."

"Nah - Si wouldn't hurt a fly. He's a big, mean bastard, don't get me wrong. But he's not the type to throw a punch, without the other bastard deserving it," Price leaned back, listening to the quiet on the other end for a moment, before furrowing his thick brows, "Nik, where are you?"

"Why? You miss me?"

"No - well, I mean, yes - but I'm pretty sure I hear helicopter blades?"

"But, of course," Nikolai chortled, "I am a pilot, no? I'm in a helicopter."

"Okay... and... where is the helicopter?"

"In the sky," Nik returned, the smarmy grin apparent in his tone. There was a beeping sound nearby and Nik sighed, "And rapidly descending. I will call you back."

"Nik-"

"Я тебя люблю."

Price pursed his lips as Nik hung up the phone. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a fond smile, "Idiot."

Chapter Text

"Hermosa chica. Vas a ser la mamá más linda," The man chuckled, cradling the soft white cat in his arms as he stroked her ears, "Tus hijos serán tan hermosos. Igual que tú, niña."

"Rudy," A second voice joined in, contrasting against the softer tone Rodlofo had been using moments ago, "Are you talking to the cat again?"

"¡Ay!" Rudy scoffed, insulted, batting the man with his hand, "She's not 'the cat'. She is a princess."

"You are an idiot."

Rodolfo huffed, gently placing the cat down. She sniffed at Rudy's boots for a moment, before padding away to the back of the shop. Rudy watched her leave, deflated, whilst Alejandro just watched him with an amused glint in his eyes. He circled his way around the counter, smirking down at his partner - but Rudy just shot him a defiant look, folding his arms and scowling. Rolling his eyes, Ale retracted his touch, shifting his attention to the window outside. It was a bright day - surprisingly bright for Britain - and it was the golden hour, the sun peaking over tall buildings and ever-working cranes that seemed cursed to forever decorate the skyline of Leeds. It bathed the city in warm yellow light and wrapped them in a cosy atmosphere. The heat of the day seemed to have died, giving way to a soft breeze - and it was welcomed. The sort of coolness that one could accept after such a scorcher.
As Alejandro was contemplating this, his eyes flickered to a familiar figure approaching the shop.

"Rodolfo - your boyfriend's here."

"Que?" Rudy furrowed his dark brows, glancing over Alejandro's shoulder. He grimaced, before playfully tapping him over the head, "Estúpido."

Alejandro suppressed a chuckle as Kyle finally made his way into the shop.

"Ale," Garrick grinned, pulling Alejandro into a side-hug.

Alejandro clapped the man's back, before pivoting to look over at his husband.

"Rude boy," Gaz winked at Rudy, who waved dismissively.

"You're early, Kyle - you trying to impress someone, hermano?" He asked, already beginning to set up a station.

"No - no," Gaz chuckled softly, "I'm not hear for a haircut - but I might get a touch up tomorrow?"

"Your car, then?" Alejandro interjected, "I closed up shop an hour ago. But I don't mind-"

"No, I'm here for a friend," Gaz cut them off as the couple glanced back at him with raised brows.

Knowing smirks spread across their faces - and Kyle internally groaned. He had known Alejandro and Rodolfo for the better part of a year or so. They had met by chance, when the couple were asking for directions to their new business. Kyle was among the few friendly faces who were happy to help - and they sort of just stayed in each other's lives since then. By now, he had gotten used to their flirtation and the teasing; and he had come to enjoy the company of the pair. Sometimes, he'd just come to visit them on his break, just to catch up. It was nice; Gaz had so few people to 'catch up' with, nowadays.

"It's Johnny," He quickly clarified - and the smirks disappeared.

"Oh - the boy with the..." Rudy made a gesture to his own head.

"Yeah... Think you can fix him up for me?"

"¡Híjole!" Rudy chortled, "I am not a miracle worker, Kyle."

"Right - but you are a stylist-"

"A barber," Rudy corrected.

"I'll pay double?"

"He's not even paying?" Alejandro cut in, looking exasperated. He shook his head, chuckling with a grin, "Ay, la cabeza debe ser fenomenal."

Rudy hit his arm, flashing him a warning look before sighing, "I'll tell you what, Kyle. Seeing as it's his first time here, I'll do it free of charge."

"Oh, Rude, you don't have to-"

"No, no. I insist," The man folded his arms, shrugging, "Besides - I cry every time I see that hideous island on his head. Been wanting to get my hands on that boy for a while."

"Oh. Have you now?" Alejandro raised his brow, smirking.

"Pendejo," Rudy elbowed him.

"Cheers, rude boy, I owe you one," Gaz shoved his hands in his pockets, "Where's Nieve? Has she-?"

"Not yet," Rudy held up a finger, as he declared, "Any day now - I swear it."

"I still get first dibs, right?" Gaz grinned.

"Of course," Rodolfo beamed, "You'll get to choose the cutest of the bunch."

Alejandro had already mentally clocked out by now - he always did when that damn cat got brought up. He wasn't sure what was more pathetic: how much his husband doted over the pregnant feline, or how jealous he was of her. He hadn't even wanted the little terror in the first place, and now? Now, day and night he had to listen to hit husband praise her. Every waking second was spent trying to bat the white fluff ball off of his legs or away from his feet - or even off of his face if he laid still for too long. What made it all the more frustrating was that he couldn't even bring himself to push her away anymore - not since she had become pregnant. He just didn't have the heart for it. Fuck his big stupid heart - and fuck Nieve too.

"Alejandro?" Rodolfo barked for the third time, the sharpness in his voice suddenly snapping his husband back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"I was just telling Gaz about your new starter?"

"Our... Oh. Farah? Hm, si, she's a nice girl," Alejandro made a vague gesture, "Tried out as a hairstylist but... uh..."

"Well. Lets just say, she doesn't know her own strength," Rudy snorted.

"That's putting it mildly," Ale wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning against the counter as he looked back at Kyle, "She's much handier with a wrench. I think you and her would get along. She'll be in tomorrow, in fact. Perhaps you two could get to know one another, whilst Rudy fixes your friend's hair?"

Kyle, who had been in the middle of scouting the shop for any sign of Nieve, paused and glanced over his shoulder with an accusing look. Rodolfo and Alejandro avoided his gaze, trying to look at inconspicuous as possible. He huffed, straightening up and folding his arms.

"Stop."

"All I'm saying is-"

"I'm fine. Stop trying to set me up with your colleagues. And clients too. Just stop," There was no actual malice behind his voice - more simmering humoured irritation.

"I... just worry that you'll end up with..." Alejandro gestured to his head.

Gaz furrowed his brows, "What? Johnny? Ew - he's like a brother to me."

"You do talk about him an awful lot - and you pay for his tattoos and haircuts and..." Rudy made an uncertain gesture, "He's a nice boy, he's just... eh."

"Okay... I'm done with this conversation. Me and Johnny? Not a thing," Gaz scoffed.

"If you're sure, hermano," Ale elbowed him.

Chapter Text

"Look at those eyes."

Simon smirked, "You like my eyes?"

"I love your eyes," He whispered back, the ghost of a chuckle haunting the words, "Most beautiful part of you, Si. Those eyes."

Simon grinned wider - a smile only reserved for Gary. Simon's lips weren't even his own. The hard, chapped skin melted to nothing, if they weren't locked onto his. His hands were nothing, if not tools to hold this man. His eyes - the eyes that Gary loved so much - didn't deserve to bear upon anything other than that beautiful face. They had decayed over time. Rotted, without his Gary to tend to them, revitalise them, have them. But... Gary was right here... no. That couldn't be right. Gary... Gary was...

Simon opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't come. He let out a shaky breath, before lips pressed against his own. They were wrong. They were cold. This was wrong.

This was all wrong. Gary pulled away.

"Look at those eyes," He rasped, the dry, distorted voice escaping from a slack jaw and motionless lips, as he stared down at Simon with wide, lifeless, cataract eyes.

***

Simon jolted to life, spluttering and clutching at his throat. He coughed out, hands flailing for something - anything - to drink. His throat was on fire.
Idiot. He was a fucking idiot. He had been stupid enough to fall asleep on his back, again. He wasn't sure what it was - maybe a psychological thing? But he had learned the patterns of his body, fairly well by now. And sleeping on his back was a habit he had been trying to break since the third or fourth nightmare. It was strange; the nightmare was always the same, but Simon still found himself shaken every time.
He staggered to his feet, clumsily and parched, and barged his way from his room out into the hallway leading into the kitchen. He wasn't sure whether it was his choking or the fact that he was stumbling against the walls like a madman, but something must have woken Price. The man only emerged after Simon had managed to chug two full tall glasses of water, and decided it wasn't enough. As he was lacing up his boots, he heard the creak of the wooden door frame, and sensed the eyes boring into the back of his head. Neither of them said a word for a long moment, listening to the hum of the fridge and rhythmic drip - drip - drip of the tap.

Then, "Can't sleep?"

Simon shifted, his attention turning to the other boot, "Mm."

"Simon, you know-"

He paused, flashing a warning look over his shoulder. Price pursed his lips, staring back. After the staring contest went on for a little too long for either man's comfort, Price just sighed. He turned around, muttering 'whatever', as he shuffled back to his room.

***

Johnny was merry by the fourth round, chortling and beaming with a blushing face as he leaned against Gaz. The pair were howling and whooping with one another, along with a group of strangers, just drunk enough to join in despite not knowing what they were actually celebrating. Johnny's first job. He hadn't even started yet - but just securing one was achievement enough. For Johnny at least. Between the alcohol, the high energy of the strangers, and the playlist blasting through the pubs speakers, it was safe to say Gaz and John were at an all time high. It was around the time that 'Mister Brightside' started playing, that the pair had leapt to their feet, dancing like idiots in the middle of the establishment. They weren't the only ones dancing - but they were the only ones that Ghost prayed not to notice him. He sulked at the bar, hood up, head resting on one fist, whilst the other gripped a pint of Stella Artois like someone might take it from him.
He watched the pair in the corner of his eyes, feeling oddly... nostalgic. Which was weird - because he had never danced like that. Not even with... him. Simon and Gary were always the weirdos sitting in the corner, judging the idiots like Gaz and Johnny. Maybe that's what it was. Not nostalgia, more... realisation. There was no one to sit and judge with anymore. No one to laugh with, as they poked fun at the dancing idiots. He swears he'd heard that somewhere before - a line in a song somewhere. Maybe a musical? Probably. Gary loved musicals.

"Simon."

Fuck.

He cocked his head, looking back at the Scotsman who now leaned on the bar, grinning at him. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Did you hear? I'm gonna be-"

"Yeah. I heard," Simon muttered, averting his gaze.

He rolled his mask over his chin, slightly, so he could sip his drink. Johnny managed to catch sight of the edges of scars in his cheeks - not enough detail to get a full picture - but he was certain he'd seen something. Noticing his stare, Ghost fired a nasty scowl his way.

"What?"

"Nothing... nothing, I was just..." Johnny stammered - it was his turn to look away, "Stella, ey?"

Simon rolled his eyes, so boldly John was sure he could hear they eyeballs grind against skull. Perhaps it was the alcohol, making him lack social awareness. Maybe it was just his own stubbornness? Didn't matter. Johnny sat down on the stool next to Simon. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder to check on Gaz; Kyle seemed to be entertaining himself just fine, dancing between two fellow patrons. Then he looked back at Ghost.

"I didn't take you for the type to drink watered down pish," He acknowledged with a smirk.

Simon stared at him in the corner of his eyes. Part of him - the comfortable part - wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. It wanted Simon to sneer, to stand up and walk away, to tell Johnny they weren't friends, and stop talking to him like they were. But... he had had a couple. He'd had a bad night, too. And the thought of shrugging the man off, just stalk back to his empty bedroom, and feel those phantom lips for the rest of the night... Instead, he shrugged, his eyes flickering to the mirror on the backboard of the drinks cabinet. He could see Johnny watching him with intrigue. He was used to that - and had come to find it more irritating than anything.

"Not my first choice. Just the cheapest."

"I like your style," Johnny's grin widened, "What is your first choice?"

"I'd murder for a whiskey," Simon whispered.

"You mean scotch?"

"I drink bourbon."

"Like a good old boy," Johnny shifted slightly closer.

Simon paused, slowly turning his gaze on the Scotsman who was eyeing him up like it was nobody's business. He had to admit - the little twat had balls. And incredibly low standards. It was safe to say, Simon hadn't been the most... inviting of colleagues. Hell, they weren't even colleagues yet. Even still, here Johnny sat all smiles and coy words and... hands. Simon's gaze twitched down to the hand on his knee. Johnny followed his line of sight, chuckling sheepishly.

"Sorry - thought it was the stool."

"Then why are you still touching me?"

There was a beat, before Johnny slowly retracted his hand. He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his seat. Maybe it was his flustered nature that did it for Simon. Maybe it was just the drinks. But he couldn't help but let out one, low scoff, drawing the glass back to his naked lips, finishing the pint off. He examined the glass for a moment, before cocking his head the Scotsman's way.

"Buy us a drink first," He huffed, pushing the glass towards him.

Johnny stared back at him, something darker in his eyes as he grinned. He gestured for the tender, "Two whiskeys mate."

Chapter Text

Teeth - and nails - and flesh.
Tongue on tongue, hands clenching into taut fabric until bone groaned under the pressure.
Fabric rubbing until it was pulled away, only leaving skin.
And that's all Ghost could think about. He didn't care who was underneath him - didn't care what his face looked like, or how he sounded, or how good he was at this. It was a warm body - a short term prevention. Something to keep the wolves from his door one night longer. Something to keep him from going back to that empty bedroom. From going back home at all. For now, he'd cling to the flesh, let his teeth sink into it, anchor himself down - until the sun came up to fight away the relics of tonight.

Johnny was on cloud nine. He was drunk - they both were - but he was always a happy drunk. Unlike this big sulky sod on top of him. And that made Johnny giggle. Simon made a sound, flashing him a look before burning kisses against the man's throat, his hands tracing abs and v-lines, until he found the button of Johnny's jeans - but Johnny laughed again. And he paused.

"What's so funny?" Simon grumbled at last, knowing the man's coy nature wouldn't be satiated until he paid it attention.

Johnny snickered, his cheeks flushed - then he pouted theatrically, "That's what you look like right now."

He pouted again, more dramatic than before, for emphasis. Simon stared back at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. Johnny only smiled wider, propping himself up on his elbows so he was within range of the man's jaw - there he planted gentle kisses and grazed his teeth on stubble.

"Take your pants off, Johnny," Simon sighed - asking it in the same way a parent would ask a child to clean their room, or take the rubbish out. Like it was a chore, "You know - I'll surprised if you can get it up."

Johnny cocked his head, a thought crossing his mind. He and Simon hadn't really spoken about the... logistics. Of course they hadn't, it was never easy for Johnny to talk about, not even after years of experience. There's no easy way to say 'by the way, you won't find a dick down there'. Instead, he played dumb.

"Why? You got problems down there, big man?"

"What?"

"It's okay - happens to the best of us."

"Not mine - yours, y'knob," Simon sat back, rubbing his face, "Fucking hell, Johnny. How drunk are you?"

"Not that drunk," Johnny giggled again, his hands fumbling with his buttons as he gazed up at Simon, "You?"

"Well, I'm here with you aren't I? Clearly, I'm hammered."

"Bastard," Johnny rolled his eyes as he shimmied the jeans off of his waist. He kicked them off of the edge of the bed, his hand slipping into the belt loop of Simon's own jeans. He offered a gentle tug, "Your turn."

Simon hummed, his hand joining Johnny's - if only to bat it away. If he had noticed that Johnny didn't fill out the boxers he was wearing, he didn't mention it. He didn't meet Johnny's eyes as he freed himself of the confines, but as soon as his own clothes had joined Johnny's, his face was tucked into the man's neck, their body's shifting against one another. Simon tried not to pay too much attention to the way John said his name - the way his hands felt on his skin. He just focused on how good felt to have something to rub himself against. That's all this was - all Johnny was. A means to an end.
Johnny laid his head back, biting back moans as he felt Simon's hair under his fingers - digits danced with blond strands, and Simon's hands found Johnny's thighs, pulling them open and yanking the Scotsman against him. A sharp gasp rattled out of John's lungs, his hand tightening into the hair. Simon smirked. Suddenly, his acquaintance wasn't so talkative. His own hands slipped from Johnny's thighs to the divots in his waist, holding him on the bed as he began trailing his lips across harsh collarbone and twitching muscle. He didn't waste much more time than that on pleasantries, before his hand sank between them, landing on Johnny's surprisingly obvious excitement. Johnny jolted, sucking air in sharply. Simon's fingers stroked against the damp pooling in Johnny's boxers. Realising what exactly his hand had found, he adjusted, using his middle and ring finger to stroke Johnny in a fluid motion.

"Hmm - full of surprises tonight, ey Johnny?" Simon's freehand slipped up to take the man's jaw, turning his head so they were facing one another, "I've got a surprise or two to fill you with, myself."

"Fuck... Simon..." Johnny's voice escaped him in a breathless moan as Simon stroked him, his hands curling into the bed sheets.

"That's it," Simon whispered, "You just keep talking for me, ey?"

Simon was slow - surprisingly slow. John had expected him to be brutal, rough, and demanding. Maybe it was the alcohol. It had it's own effect on Johnny, after all; he was never usually this... pliant. Usually his favourite part was the taunting and teasing and getting his partner worked up. But this... maybe it was an off night for both of them. What impressed John most of all was how smooth Simon seemed to be with it all. In the time he had laid there, lost in his thoughts and the sensations bolting through his body at each stroke of Simon's fingers, Simon had managed to slip on protection, get both himself and Johnny prepared, and already begun massaging Johnny's opening.

"You alright?"

John nodded, his eyes half-lidded as he gaze set on the man, "Fine..."

"Sure?"

"Aye - yeah - I'm fine. Just a bit..." Johnny made a face.

"You're not gonna throw up, are you?"

"What? No?"

"Just making sure," Simon shrugged, before pushing Johnny's knees back, "You're still into this?"

"Yes - fuck - stop asking if I'm-" Johnny was cut off as Simon was suddenly upon him. He barely had any time to process anything, before he felt himself stretching around-- "G--ah!"

"There we go, Johnny. Nice and easy, ey?"

"Fu-! Fuck!" Johnny's hands grasped at the man's shoulder's his mouth hanging open as his body tried to adjust to the sudden intruder, "Simon, what the fuck..."

"I asked if you wanted it."

"You didn't ask if I was ready."

"I told you it'd be a surprise," Simon smirked, "Besides. I feel how wet you are. You're definitely ready."

He looked so proud of himself, his teeth sharp under his smirk. Johnny couldn't recall when Simon had taken his mask off - if it had been at the bar, or if it were sometime sooner. Maybe he'd missed it between the touching and whispering and... All he knew was that he preferred him without the mask - and he'd kill to see that smile again.

"Shut up and fuck me, you idiot," He whispered, his lips colliding with Simon's.

***

Gaz stared at the TV screen, his face twisted into an unimpressed scowl and sounds leaked from behind his bedroom door. His guests - a rather large Austrian man, and a smaller Korean bloke he had managed to pick up at the bar - sat awkwardly on either side of him, also trying to ignore the lewd sounds.

"So, uhm... that's your room?" The Korean man asked.

"Yep," Gaz grunted.

"And the person in your room is?"

"My best mate."

"And?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh."

They fell into silence again, shifting uncomfortably.

"Is that a wii?" The Austrian man spoke up, pointing to the console under the TV.

Chapter Text

"Haircut!"

Simon jolted into consciousness as the word was bellowed through the door before him. He snapped up in bed - and it was only then that he registered the warm body on top of him. He froze, his breath catching as stubble scratched the pale skin on his throat. One by one, snapshots of the previous night flickered through his mind like a slideshow. He swallowed, his throat burning and dry as his eyes twitched down to the head on his shoulder. And, of course, there he saw the sleeping face of his colleague. As his eyes ventured lower, he found their body entangled; their legs wrapped around each other, their stomachs pressed. And they were naked. It made sense - obviously - if his memory served him right. It didn't stop his heart from sinking, or the almost silent 'fuck' that escaped his dry lips as he came to terms with the sequence of events.
Then, just as he thought this couldn't get any worse, he was swiftly reminded of what had woken him up in the first place.

"John!" Kyle snapped, shoving the door open, "You have an appoi- oh."

They both froze.

To say Kyle was stunned was an understatement. He had worked with Simon for quite some time now and hadn't seen him so much as blink in another person's direction. And yet, here he was in Kyle's bed... underneath Johnny. Whilst he hoped the shock wasn't evident on his face, he became very aware that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it, stepped back, and closed the door. And Simon just... sat there.

"Uhm... tell Johnny he has to get up?" Kyle cleared his throat awkwardly through the door.

"Fuck off, Gaz."

"Okay."

Simon sat still for a long time, waiting until he heard Garrick retreat muttering something about 'in my own fucking house' as he left. When he was sure he was a safe enough distance away, Simon's hand sunk into tufts of soft brown hair before violently yanking the head off of his shoulder. Johnny woke with a start.

"Ow! Ow. Ow?" He shot Simon an accusing glare as the man tilted his head back, forcing him to meet his steel gaze.

"What the fuck, Johnny?" He sneered.

"Me, what the fuck? You, what the fuck!" He yanked his head out of the man's grasp, "Why are you pulling my hair?"

"Why are we in Gaz's house?" Simon demanded, shoving Johnny off of him.

"I... I told you last night!" The Scotsman staggered off of the bed, to his feet, "I'm living with Kyle. Temporarily."

"No - you didn't. If you did, I would never have come here."

"You came a lot of places you usually wouldn't, last night," Johnny flashed Simon a shit-eating grin.

They both fell silent, Simon's eyes burning holes straight through the latter's skull. Slowly John's smile faded and he felt himself shrinking slightly.

"I... uhm... Don't hurt me."

***

"Olvidaste la leche," Alejandro sighed as he routed through the shopping.

When he didn't get an answer he leaned back, catching sight of Rudy in the hallway, fawning over Nieve, whom he cradled in his arms. Alejandro took in a deep breath, rolling his eyes and trying to fight the irritation in his voice.

"Rodolfo."

"¿Sí, mi amor?"

"You forgot the milk," He repeated.

"No, I didn't," Rudy gently placed Nieve down, padding into the kitchen and plucking a carton of milk from one of the paper bags, "See?"

"I meant real milk. Not that plant-based shit."

"It's good for you," Rudy grinned, placing the carton in the fridge before skulking back around to wrap his arms over Alejandro's waist, "¿Por qué estás de mal humor, cariño?"

Again, Ale rolled his eyes - but even his sour mood couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as Rudy kissed the base of his neck. He craned his head, raising his brows at his partner.

"I'm not."

"Hmm, liar," Rudy smirked, kissing him again, before his attention was drawn away by Nieve mewling from the hallway, "Ah, my sweet. Are you hungry?"

Alejandro pursed his lips, shaking his head. But he made sure to tap Rudy's arse as he passed him by, earning a chuckle from his lover. He tried to stay out of Rudy's way, placing the groceries into cupboards or the fridge. He found his temper getting shorter and shorter these days, and it seemed that making himself scarce was the only amendment. Perhaps it was just the warmer weather. He had lived in Mexico the majority of his life so he never once thought British heat would become such a problem. But it was inescapable. Indoor and out. In the open air or the sweet shade. It was as if the very air you breathed came straight from an oven fan. It was unbearable. Or perhaps, he reasoned, it was the string of sleepless nights. Between the cat's incessant yowling and Rudy's fussing over her, Alejandro spent most nights staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the next interruption. Regardless, he was much more comfortable keeping himself at a distance, until the irritation passed.
Rodolfo ran his hand through Nieves white fur as she ate, smiling softly to himself. His gaze flickered up to Alejandro who was standing by the fridge now, holding a packet of peppers with a blank expression. Rudy furrowed his brow, watching him - he wasn't moving or saying anything, or even really looking at the produce in his hand. Just sort of... standing there, lost in his own world. Rudy opened his mouth to say something, when the bell rang from the shop. He glanced through the archway, seeing familiar faces through the screen, before turning to look back at Ale who seemed to have snapped out of his haze.

"Ah - your boyfriend?"

"And his boyfriend," Rodolfo chuckled, staring at his partner for a long moment, "Ale, baby, are you..."

"Hm?" He raised a brow, smiling softly.

The hint of concern in Rudy melted away as he met his lover's smile. He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

"Are you going to put them away, or stand there fondling them all day?" He teased playfully.

He listened to Alejandro chortle, as he turned to head into the shop and greet the customers.

"Kyle."

"Rude boy," Gaz grinned, clasping the man's hand before they bumped chests.

"And, ah... John," Rudy placed his hands on his hips, taking in Johnny's appearance.

The Scotsman looked worse for wear - his eyes had a recognisable exhaustion to them, beneath a pair of black sun shades, and his neck was littered in small brown bruises. But Rudy didn't concern himself with that - his eyes locked onto the nest of patchy, uneven hair that sat upon his head. He couldn't the 'yeesh' that escaped him - but if Johnny noticed, he didn't seem to care.

"You cut your own hair?"

"Uh, aye," Johnny smiled, weakly, running his hand through the wreckage, "You can tell?"

"Yes," Alejandro scoffed, receiving a sharp elbow from Rudy.

"It's... a good attempt," Rudy forced a laugh, shooting Ale a look, before offering up a tight-lipped smile as he carted Johnny to a seat, "I see what you were going for. Now, leave it to me and I'll have you looking sharp as a knife in no time."

"Thanks - uh - rude boy?"

"Rudy," The man corrected with a sigh, as Kyle snickered.

"Who are your friends, Gaz?" Alejandro spoke up, making his way to the window and peering outside.

Kyle, intrigued by the displeased look on Ale's face, followed his gaze to the two men on the wall that bordered the shop. Even Kyle had to admit that they looked rather... suspicious from where they stood. Konig sat on - or rather straddled - the wall, drawing lines into the gravel with his heels, whilst Horangi just leaned against it, his gaze locked onto the shop itself... maybe. It was hard to tell, considering the man always adorned a set of sunglasses. Konig, himself, was wearing a balaclava. Kyle might have asked why - but the last time he asked a man why he always wore a mask, he was stared down until he wished he could hide behind a mask too. And Konig was much taller than Simon, so Gaz didn't want to try his look.

"Ah. Konig and Horangi. Pair of blokes I met at a club last night. Told them I'd take'm out for breakfast, considering our plans were somewhat ruined last night," He threw Johnny an accusing glare, before nodding at Ale, "They're harmless, mate."

"You left them outside in that heat, Kyle?" Rudy sighed, stepping past the pair.

"Rodolfo-" Alejandro tried, reaching out to stop his partner.

"Shh," Rudy batted his hand away, pushing the door open, "Excuse me! Sunshades and... tall man. Come here!"

Horangi and Konig glanced at one another, slightly taken aback. Reluctantly, they shuffled their way towards the shop, almost as if bracing themselves to be chastised for loitering or some other offence they had unknowingly committed. What they hadn't expected was for the shorter man to whisk them both inside and sit them down, barking orders for Kyle and Alejandro to bring them lemonade or iced tea. Meanwhile, Johnny just sat in his seat, his attention locked onto the chipped phone in his hand. He had spent most of the morning messaging Simon. After their brief tiff, Simon had dressed and left the apartment without a word. It had been radio silence since.
Honestly, Johnny wasn't surprised. Not really. He and Simon hadn't really spoken much before all of... what happened, happened. And it was clear last night was just a one night thing. These one night things were becoming more and more common, it would seem. Without even realising it, Johnny had begun scratching at the plastic arm of the chair, his gaze twitching to a small smudge in the mirror in front of him. He wondered if Rudy or Alejandro would think he was rude if he just leaned across and wiped the smudge away... No. No he couldn't do that. It would be rude - and he'd probably only make it worse, anyway. He always made everything worse.
That thought hit him like a freight train.
He paused, his attention turning to the slight burning in his nails and he curled his hand into a fist.
When had he started thinking like that again? When had the smallest discrepancies devolved back into things that needed to be fixed? Things that were out of his control. When had he fallen back into bad habits? And how much further did he plan to fall?

"Johnny!"

He jumped, snapping his head in the direction of the voice. He found the rest of the room staring at him - some looking amused, some looking uncomfortable. The 'friends' that Gaz had invited along had joined them - and they had taken off their glasses and balaclavas revealing quite a handsome pair; Horangi with his long dark hair tied into a bun at the base of his skull, his olive skin slightly shining in the heat of the day. And Konig, no less intimidating without the mask. He stared back at Johnny, looking concerned, with soft light eyes peering over a crooked nose and buzzed blond hair.

"Johnny, are you alright mate?" Gaz stepped closer.

Right. He hadn't answered.

"What? Aye, I'm fine," He scoffed, "Uh, in a world of my own, pal. What's... what's up?"

Garrick stared at him for a long time, unconvinced. He threw him a look. Johnny knew that look. They'd talk later.

"Rude boy asks if you want lemonade or iced tea?"

"Ah, no ta. I'm good," Johnny nodded softly, before his eyes shifted back to the phone in his hand, the little 'read' beneath his last message laughing in his face.

Chapter Text

"Where were you?"

Simon grimaced. It was the first thing he heard as he entered the apartment, and it was met with an eye roll. He locked the door, shrugging his coat off and slipping his shoes onto the rack. He didn't turn to look at Price, but he could feel him lurking in the hallway, watching his every move like a father who had just caught his son sneaking back into the house. It irked him.

"Out," Came his dry response.

"Simon."

"John."

He shifted, trying to push past Price to get to his room - a firm hand on his shoulder but a firm halt to this plan. His gaze slowly rolled to Price, meeting the man's firm expression. He looked... tired. His hair, usually prim and pushed back was left aloof over his weathered forehead and he had grey bags under his eyes. It was only then that Simon realised he hadn't slept. He wondered if the man had really stayed up all night, waiting for him to come home. And he didn't know how to feel about that. He knew he should have been touched by such concern over his whereabouts. He supposed in some ways he was. Guilty, too. But it all boiled back down to anger or outrage. He wasn't some child that needed constant supervision or surveillance. Who did Price think he was? He wasn't his guardian or father - they weren't even friends. He was his boss. If Price hadn't hired Simon - if Gary hadn't been the bridge between them, Simon would have burned it a long time ago. That's all there was between them, now - a gravestone with a name neither of them could bring themselves to say anymore.

"Simon... please, son," Price's hand tightened slightly, an empathetic look on his face.

Simon pushed his hand away, shoving John aside. The pair stared at one another, John looking a little stunned before he tried reaching out again. He was met with a similar, if not a little more forceful, response.

"I'm not your son, Price."

John flinched, averting his gaze for a moment. He nodded slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I know. I know that, lad," He sighed, "I still worry about you. You and... Gary-"

Simon's glare darkened, his eyes burning like hot coals. Even under the mask, Price could see the sneer curling just under Simon's narrow nose. He hesitated, never meeting the younger man's gaze.

"You boys were the closest thing I had to-"

"Oh, come off it, John," Simon turned fully now, so they were facing one another.

Price could practically feel the rage rolling off of him. It didn't stop him.

"You were. You might not like it. I'm sure the sentiment wasn't shared, but that's how I felt."

The man stepped closer. He considered reaching out again, but the sharp look Simon shot at his hand as it raised was warning enough. He slowly retracted the hand, letting it fall to his side. There was a part of him that wanted to stop. Wanted to let the word hang in the air - to fall on Simon's deaf ears, or stay in the open to be forgotten. But he couldn't do that. Price was a lot of things, a coward wasn't one of them. He kept his eyes on Simon, watching the man sulk.

"When Gary died-"

"John."

"I know you took it hard, Simon. We all did. It felt like I'd lost my son-"

"Stop it."

"It felt like I'd lost you both," Price watched Simon push off the wall, trying to escape. He abruptly reached out, grasping the man's shoulders, "I lost you that day too, Simon."

"Let go."

"We need to talk about this, Simon. We both loved him - I understand-"

"You don't understand a fucking thing!" Simon suddenly exploded, shoving Price until he had the man pinned up against the wall, barking in his face, "You didn't fucking find him Price. I did! I was the one that found him, clinging to life. I saw what he'd done to himself. He didn't even tell me why - he just - he - I - I saw the lights go out. I heard his last breath. I was the one that held him, when he..."

He trailed off, his voice cracking as his hands began to tremble. Those faded, lifeless eyes burned themselves into his brain, the breathless, choking voice playing on repeat in his skull. He clenched his jaw, lowering his head as a sob rattled through his body. He remembered how cold his skin was. That was never Gary. Gary was always so warm - a human furnace. He had always wrapped his hands around Simon's, held them tight, blown hot air against them, whispering sweet nothings... The man Simon had held in his final moments, was a shell of the man he loved. He was still alive - but he was gone long before his heart stopped beating.
Simon felt nauseous as he stifled another sob. He felt a hand on the back of his head, cradling it into Price's shoulder.

"It's alright, son... you're alright."

"Why... why did he do it?" Simon choked out, his breath catching against the cotton of his mask.

Price was silent for a long before sighing again, "He was in pain, lad. It's no ones fault. There's nothing anyone could've... Nothing you could have done."

But he should have tried. He should have seen the signs. He should have reached out. He spent every waking moment with him. He had known him since they were children; they had practically been brothers. He knew him inside and out - how didn't he see? He should have known. He should have done something. Anything.
He pushed Price away.

"Simon-"

It was already too late, Simon skulked down the hallway, slamming the door behind him. And Price just stood in the hallway. That was the closest he had gotten. But he had lost Simon again.

***

"So, how did you meet them?"

Gaz glanced back at Rudy. He hadn't even realised he'd been watching the pair as they laughed with Alejandro over tall glasses of lemonade. Both Konig and Horangi seemed to have integrated themselves quite nicely with the rest of the group; Gaz wasn't surprised. Rudy and Ale got on with pretty much anybody, and it wasn't like Konig or Horangi were disagreeable people. Though Konig was a little withdrawn. He mulled over the question for a moment, watching Rudy shaping up Johnny's mohawk.

"Horangi and I go way back," Gaz shrugged, "We met online - used to play games together and chat when I was... fourteen? Fifteen? Met up maybe once or twice, but we lost touch over time. Just stumbled across him by chance, last night."

"Small world," Rudy acknowledged with a hum, "And the tall one?"

"Konig," Gaz shrugged, "Mate of Horangi I assume."

"You don't know him?" Johnny asked, craning his head. Rudy tapped his head, scolding him for moving, "Sorry - sorry."

"Nope. Never met him in my life," He chuckled, casting his glance back over the pair. He watched Konig lean over, allowing Nieve to sniff his hand before petting her ever so gently, "Seems nice enough, though."

"Any friend of Nieve is a friend of mine," Rudy laughed, smiling warmly at the interaction between cat and man.

Gaz returned the smile, before pushing off of the counter where he sat. Excusing himself, he made his way over to the trio - just as Alejandro excused himself to take a phone call. Konig had taken a seat on a nearby stool, allowing Nieve to curl up in his lap, purring loudly.

"We should get a cat," Horangi grinned at the giant.

Konig didn't answer, but offered a soft reserved smile as he stroked her silky white fur.

"Well - Rudy'll be looking to get rid of a few in a couple more days," Kyle spoke up, leaning against the door frame.

He glanced Horangi over. The man had certainly changed in the years since they'd last seen each other. He wasn't much taller, but his hair was longer and he'd earned himself a handful of scars across the left side of his face. Gaz tried not to stare at the thin fleshy white crisscrosses and hatches that cascaded over Horangi's jaw, cheek and nose - but he found his eyes occasionally landing on the area, more for curiosity's sake than anything else. They almost looked like the slashes of claws or blades of some sort. At some point they both met eyes - and Gaz froze, realising he'd been caught out. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Horangi had already raised his hand to stop him.

"Car crash."

Gaz furrowed his brow, "Excuse-"

"The scars?" Horangi cut him off again, gesturing to his face, which Gaz had very clearly been staring at, “Happened a few years back. Some asshole in a truck. He cut through a red line, slammed into the passenger side where I was sat, sent the car flying. All the glass and tarmac shredded up my side and… well.”

Gaz opened his mouth again to say something, but found nothing to say. He stared, wide eyed and speechless. Horangi stared back at him, his expression a mixture of amusement and endearment. Konig reached out, clasping his shoulder gently, and Horangi craned his head, kissing the giant’s knuckles.

“Was worse for him,” Horangi gestured to Konig now, “I was passed out - but he was awake through it all. Broke his damn nose on the wheel, was trapped upside down in a ditch for an hour or two. He thought I was-”

Konig squeezed Horangi’s shoulder, stopping him from saying more.

“It was… not easy for either of us,” Konig interjected, his eyes shifting over Gaz, observing him carefully, “It was out of nowhere. Und dem Bastard tat es nicht einmal leid.”

“He paid enough, 왕,” Horangi stroked the man’s hand, flashing him a gentle but stern look, “He was arrested - that’s what he deserved.”

Konig scoffed, “He deserved-”

They met eyes. Horangi’s gaze was soft but he left no room for misinterpretation. Leave well enough alone. Gaz could tell this was a conversation they must have had before - and one they didn’t agree on. Konig’s eyes twitched from Horangi’s gaze to the glass-bitten portion of his jaw, making a disapproving noise and shaking his head. Irritation lapped at his tightened chest as he thought back to the moment his eyes had swivelled to his boyfriend, pinned upside down with half of his face sparkling under pale moonlight. He remembered being disoriented and confused, blood streaming from his broken nose. But as he became more aware, the sparkling made itself known as glass and gravel, embedded in his lover’s skin like rhinestones. His stomach had churned, horrified screams erupting from him as he tried to imagine a future without the man he loved. Fortunately, this was a future he didn’t have to face.
Even still, the memory made his stomach churn.

“Er hat dich verletzt – und nie die Verantwortung übernommen, Tiger,” Konig grimaced, "Du kannst nicht erwarten, dass ich ihm so leicht verzeihe.”

Horangi shook his head, looking away, “거울 속에 사는 사람은 자기 자신만을 본다. 그리고 당신이 그들을 노려볼 때, 당신의 반사도 당신을 노려봅니다.”

Konig stared at him, “I don’t understand.”

Horangi chuckled, stroking his cheek, “There’s no point in being angry at a man who only thinks about himself. You’re only upsetting yourself, Konig. He doesn’t care that you’re angry.”

Konig huffed, folding his arms and looking away. Horangi offered a sympathetic look before turning back to Gaz with a shrug.

“He gets himself so worked up over things he cannot control.”

“Yeah,” Gaz chuckled, his gaze twitching to Johnny, “I know the type.”

Horangi followed his gaze to the Scotsman. His brows raised and he opened his mouth to ask about the younger man, but the conversation was cut short as their new acquaintance, Alejandro, returned, looking frazzled.

“Everything okay, love?” Rudy frowned.

“It’s Farah,” Ale sighed, “She’s stranded in Bradford. I’m going to go pick her up.”

“Can she not get the bus?” Gaz cocked his head, “There’s one that goes directly from-”

“She was mugged.”

“Of course she was, she’s in Bradford,” John muttered to himself, checking his phone again.

“Holy shit,” Gaz pushed himself up, “Do you want me to come with?”

“No, no, she’s a little upset,” Alejandro shook his head, “I don’t think she’ll want you to meet her like this.”

Gaz nodded, understanding immediately. Alejandro threw him an apologetic look, before bidding the rest of the group farewell and quickly leaving. He grimaced to himself as he climbed into his car, trying not to think about how scared and alone Farah must feel right now…

Chapter Text

Farah leaned against her broken-down car, her face twisted into a vicious scowl. Saying she was in a fowl mood was an understatement. She was livid. First, she had been sent to run chores like her employers’ damn skivvy, only to find out she couldn’t do half the chores without Alejandro or Rudy present to confirm identification, then her car broke down, then she got mugged. Honestly, how bad could one day get?

“Hey there, pretty lady,” A voice crooned from the otherside of her car.

“It was rhetorical,” She mumbled to herself.

“...What?”

“What do you want?” She snapped, turning around abruptly.

She paused, meeting the gazes of several others behind her. It was just her luck that the petrol station would be completely empty, save for her and this small group - and of course the small group would decide to fill up directly beside her, despite her clearly emitting a beacon of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’.
The group consisted of two men and two women. They had all climbed out of the car for whatever reason and now stood around, watching Farah, their expressions ranging from concerned to curious. The man who had addressed Farah was American, and from what she could tell the majority of the group were too.

“Uh,” The man chuckled, a little caught off guard by Farah’s unpleasant response. He stepped forwards slightly, glancing at her car, then back at her, “Car trouble?”

“No, I just decided to push my car two miles to the nearest gas station, and then stand here like an idiot, for the fun of it,” She snarked, “What. Do you. Want?”

“Just tryin’ to help,” The man mumbled, shrugging, “Christ - someone’s a little agro, huh?”

Farah felt her patient thinning to slithers. She set her jaw, her gaze stoic and unimpressed as it locked onto the man.

“Phil, leave her alone. She doesn’t want to talk,” One of the women spoke up.

Farah’s eyes shifted over the lady - she was clearly older than the other three, her light, thin hair tied into a low bun, tucked into her coat. The lady’s gaze was gentle as it swivelled back to Farah, apologizing voicelessly, before she stepped forwards cocking her head.

“Are you okay out here?” She asked, her tone light and inviting, “Do you need to call someone?”

“My boss is on his way,” Farah shook her head, her tone just as polite as the one the lady had used.

“Do you want us to stay with you, whilst you wait?” The other woman spoke up now, her voice tinted with a strong accent. She was a little taller than the first woman, her skin a warm tan colour and her black hair hanging in a straight bob around her jaw, where it met a white scarf, “I don’t know much about this place - but it doesn’t seem the safest area for a young woman to be on her own.”

“I can take care of myself,” Farah shrugged.

If she was honest, she was still a little shaken from having her bag snatched only an hour or so ago, and she wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of standing here alone until Ale arrived. But at the same time, she didn’t know these people. She wasn’t too keen on the idea of making herself look like an easy target to them.

“Still, it’s good to have company, no?” The younger woman walked around the car, holding her hand out, “Valeria.”

Farah hesitated, pursing her lips as she looked the woman over. Her eyes twitched to the rest of the group who were observing her silently. The two men had taken a step back, leaning against their car as they watched. The one who had first spoken to her, Phil as she recalled, was a shorter man with silvering blond hair and a smug expression permanently printed onto his warm face. The man next to him was slightly taller with darker sand-coloured hair and a thick well-groomed goatee. When he saw her eyes land on him, he straightened up slightly, raising his hand in greeting and nodding with a friendly pursed-lipped smile.
She didn’t respond, looking back at Valeria. The man sank back down, rubbing his neck sheepishly whilst Phil elbowed him with a teasing grin.
Farah may have been stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She was outnumbered by these strangers, and getting on their bad side wasn’t the brightest idea. Especially considering how alone she was right now. Plastering a taut smile on her face, she shook Valeria’s hand.

“Farah,” She nodded.

“Farah - pretty name for a pretty girl,” Valeria observed before turning around and pointing at her group, “Kate, Alex and… you’ve met Phil.”

Valeria flashed Farah a knowing look - a look common among women who agreed that a man was an idiot. And Farah couldn’t help but blow air out of her nose, slightly amused.

“We’re just passing through,” The woman continued, crossing her arms and leaning against Farah’s car, comfortably, “On our way to the next city over. Stopped for some gas - sorry - petrol.”

“The next city over,” Farah raised her brow, “Leeds?”

“You’re headed there too?” Alex spoke up, intrigued.

“I live there,” Farah affirmed.

Alex’s eyes lit up, “Really? What a coincidence, we’re actually-”

Kate cut him off, “Visiting old friends.”
Farah watched the group exchange looks. She could tell there was more that they weren’t saying, for one reason or another, but she didn’t push. Not her circus, not her monkeys. An awkward silence fell over them all for a couple of seconds - Farah felt her skin crawling slightly in the strange atmosphere. She shifted from foot to foot before clearing her throat again to speak.

“So you’re Americans?”

“Uh-huh. Born and bred in the great U-S of A,” Phil grinned, “Yourself?”

“Urzikstan,” She folded her arms with a shrug, “But I came to England when I was a little girl. It’s quite a long trip from America. You must have really missed your friends.”

Phil chuckled, as if laughing at an inside joke. If it were an inside joke, the rest of the group didn’t find it funny; both women shot him fierce glares whilst Alex shift uncomfortably. Farah was growing slightly tired of the pussy-footing and secrecy. She opened her mouth to express as much, but froze when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“¿Qué carajo?”

Farah straightened up, relieved as she turned to see her boss standing behind her. Her expression dissolved into confusion when she saw the wide-eyed look on Alejandro’s face. His eyes weren’t on her, but on the woman before her. She heard Valeria suck air in, sharply, and turned to see she wore a similar shocked look. She glanced between their pair, baffled - then Alejandro’s gaze shifted to Phil. And it was like a bomb went off inside of him. He stormed forwards, shouting in Spanish - a language Farah wasn’t well versed in - but she could tell by his tone that he wasn’t inviting Phil into a warm embrace.

“Ale! Ale!” Farah gasped, trying to stop him.

“Alejandro!” Valeria whispered, helping Farah hold Alejandro back.

Alex and Kate stood up, putting themselves between the two men as Phil began to pace towards Alejandro, clearly looking for a fight.

“Alejandro, detente. ¡Esto es una locura!” Valeria yelled, trying to push him back.

“¿Loco? ¡Te lo mostraré jodidamente loco!” He snatched Valeria’s wrist, pulling her to him until they were face to face.

Farah let out a sharp sound, completely aghast. In the short time she’d known Alejandro, she’d never seen him lash out like this. He was always the level-headed one; calm, collected and friendly until provoked. This sudden change had come out of nowhere. She grabbed Alejandro’s arm.

“What are you doing!?” She pleaded, “Ale, stop!”

“¿Cómo te atreves a venir aquí? ¡Después de todo lo que hiciste! ¿Todo lo que hizo y ustedes muestran sus caras como si nada hubiera pasado?” Alejandro snapped.

He brushed Farah off as he pressed forwards until Valeria’s back was pressed against the car. Without warning, he slammed his fist into the roof of the car, next to her head. She didn’t even flinch - which only made Farah’s stomach churn. It scared her how calm Valeria was - as if this was to be expected. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This was not the Alejandro she knew. Valeria stared back at Alejandro, unphased. Her gaze twitched to Farah momentarily, before turning back on Ale.

“Esta chica. ¿Es ella tu última conquista?”

Alejandro sneered, suddenly letting go of Valeria and stepping back. He looked disgusted, glancing at Farah, then Valeria.

“¡Es lo suficientemente joven para ser mi hija!” He hissed, before scoffing, “Además. No finjas que no sabes a quién pertenece mi corazón.”

“How is Rodolfo?” She smirked, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Alejandro stepped forwards again, enraged - but Farah was quick to stop him, grasping his arm. He hesitated, before shaking his head at Valeria again.

“Mantén el nombre de mi marido fuera de tu boca, perra.”

“¡Ay!” Valeria chuckled, “When did you become so vulgar, Alejandro.”

With a final sneer and a murderous look flashed at Phil, Alejandro turned around. He grasped Farah’s arm, dragging her to the car. He made his way to the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him with a brutal force. Another first - Alejandro loved his car, and was always so careful with it. Farah swallowed, glancing over her shoulder at the group. Kate, had taken to Valeria’s side, checking her arm for any injury whilst Valeria and Phil whispered to one another. Alex was watching Farah, equal parts concerned and resigned. His expression softened as they met eyes and he raised his hand again, waving goodbye. She hesitated before nodding stoically at him, and climbed into the car. She had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they met.
Alejandro was mostly silent as he started the engine and peeled out of the petrol station. His hands white-knuckled the wheel, his chest heaving and nostrils flared. He gripped the wheel with such intensity, Farah was sure she could hear bone groaning under the strain. It wasn’t until they were in Pudsey that he seemed to have calmed down completely. Then, he just stared ahead, a frown etched into his tired face.

“I’m not proud,” He whispered.

Farah paused, furrowing her brow and glancing at him in the corner of her eye, “I… What?”

“The way I acted to day. It wasn’t acceptable. It wasn’t… me. I was just caught off guard and…” He looked at her, his expression and gentle and calm like she was used to, “Those people. You know them?”

“No. No, I… they were just… there,” She shrugged, tucking hair behind her ear as she stared at her feet.

He watched her quietly, before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her answer. After another beat of silence he cleared his throat.

“Farah. Don’t tell Rudy,” He whispered, “About what you saw today. About Valeria or… how I acted. Can you promise me that?”

Farah shifted in her seat, not exactly comfortable with the idea of lying to one of her bosses. At the same time, she’d never seen Alejandro act the way he had acted back at the petrol station. She knew he wasn’t quick to anger - not like that - and there must have been some reason for his response, and the secrecy around it. With a sigh, she nodded slowly. Alejandro relaxed a little more, smiling gratefully.

“Thank you… I’ll - uhm - I’ll go pick up your car in the morning. I had planned to help fix it, tonight, but… well…”

“You decided to dent the roof with your fist, instead?” Farah asked, cautious humor in her tone.

Alejandro chuckled, glancing at his bruised knuckle. That would be hard to explain to Rudy.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe how different I look,” Johnny chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he checked himself out in the mirror. He still had a mohawk, but the buzz had been evened out and the longer strands were less wild and sporadic, “Looks good, aye?”

“Yeah, mate. It’s cracking,” Gaz nodded in agreement - but his tone was slightly… off.

John glanced over his shoulder, meeting his gaze. He could see the uncertain expression on Kyle’s face, and immediately recalled the look he had given him at the shop. He grimaced, looking back at the mirror.

“Say what you have to say, Gaz.”

Kyle hesitated, folding his arms and watching his friend for a long moment. They sat in the bathroom together, Kyle seated on the toilet lid whilst Johnny fiddled with his hair by the sink. This wasn’t exactly a comfortable conversation for him either. He and Johnny had always been open and comfortable with one another, but even still… Nobody liked dredging up the past.

“I don’t know where to start, really,” He admitted.

“Wow,” Johnny scoffed.

“No - I don’t mean - I just meant - I…” Kyle sighed, scratching his head, “Are you alright?”

Johnny hesitated, glancing at him in the mirror for a long moment. He traced the inside of his mouth with his tongue, considering the question, as his eyes flickered down to the sink.

“Aye - yeah - I’m fine.”

“That’s convincing,” Kyle rolled his eyes, but regretted it when he saw irritation flash over the Scotsman’s face, “Johnny… You’ve been acting weird again. You’re… ticking like you used to-”

“It’s not a tick,” Johnny turned around, scowling.

“Fine - picking, scratching, fussing, whatever you want to call it,” He stood up, looking his friend over, “I just want to make sure you’re not - uhm…”

“Cutting myself?”

Kyle winced, putting a defensive hand up, “I was gonna say ‘spiralling’, Johnny.”

“Say whatever you’d like, we both know what you really mean,” Johnny’s expression had darkened, his mood clearly soured by the line of conversation, “So go on, Gaz. Speak.”

“Mate - I’m just worried about you,” Kyle put a hand on his shoulder, but John evaded him, stalking out of the bathroom. With a sigh, Gaz followed him into the living room, “John - I know it’s been rough lately. With the break up, and the new job and… everything feeling new and strange. I know what that shit does to you.”

John scoffed, making himself busy in cleaning the kitchen. If he didn’t think it would earn him a left hook, Gaz might have pointed out that Johnny was exhibiting the exact behaviour he was talking about, fussing over what was in his control when things became too hard or messy.

“I know you feel like you’re losing control, but-”

“I am completely in control,” Johnny snapped, straightening up and pointing at Gaz with a roll of bin liners, accusingly.

“Oh, come on, mate,” Garrick huffed, “You slept with Ghost for god sake!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know, Ghost was a very gentle-”

“I really don’t need to hear that,” Kyle grimaced.

“Oh suddenly you don’t want to be all up in my business?” Johnny folded his arms, glaring at Kyle.

The pair stared at one another, Kyle’s lips pressing into a firm line as he watched Johnny. They were both all too aware that Kyle was right - but Johnny, being Johnny, was too proud to accept it. He had worked hard to keep himself stable and at the top of his game. A setback like this was just too wounding to lay down and take. Even if the signs were all there. His need to fix and make everything perfect, when he felt he was losing control. The reckless behaviour. Sleeping with Ghost…
It seemed like such a small indiscretion on the surface - but Kyle had the unfortunate burden of knowing John MacTavish better than that. He had the awkward experience of having a deep conversation with Johnny when they were both drunk. And somewhere between the blurred lines, the conversation turned to their respective views on sex. It was that night that Kyle learned more about his friends ‘coping mechanisms’ and sexual activity than he ever wanted to.
Sex wasn’t just for pleasure for Johnny. It was a need. A vice. A way to destress and loosen his need for control. Between the sheets, Johnny belonged fully to his partner - willing to be used however they saw fit. And the less control Johnny had, the better it felt.
So Kyle knew all too well why Johnny had been so enamoured by the 6 foot masked man with obvious anger issues. He knew what John had been looking for that night. But, the way Johnny was acting, all tense and shifty and twitchy… it told Kyle he mustn’t have found what he was looking for.
That might explain why Johnny was so withdrawn - but it didn’t explain why he was so defensive all of a sudden. He and John spoke about everything. Everything. And now suddenly, he was being all snappy and aggressive, because Kyle was expressing concern?

“Why are you being such a dick, John? I’m trying to help,” He reasoned, his gaze shifting across Johnny’s body. He looked uncomfortable for a moment as his eyes landed on the long sleeves of the flannel Johnny wore, “Can… can you…?”

John followed his gaze, looking amused - but not a warm, funny amusement; a cold, sharp, amusement, mixed with disbelief. He shook his head, stunned, before tearing his jacket off, revealing the white skin of his arms, little in old wounds. Other than the old wounds, they were clear.

“Happy?” He demanded.

Kyle hesitated. He wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t stupid - he knew Johnny was more than capable of hiding inflictions, if he really wanted to. He wasn’t about to push his friend any further… but he couldn’t stop the skeptical look on his face - or the way his eyes twitched to John’s legs. John looked outraged now, catching the glance.

“Really?”

“Johnny-”

“Fucking really, Kyle?” Johnny snapped, before shaking his hand reaching for the button of his jeans.

“John-”

“No! No, let’s do this!”

Johnny discarded his jeans, holding his arms out and turning around on the spot. Admittedly, his legs were also clear of any injury, self-inflicted or otherwise. When he’d made his point, he snatched his pants off of the back of the couch and stepped back into them, seething. Kyle just watched him. He felt guilty for this - he stood by what he’d said, still concerned over his friend’s well-being, now more than ever - but it didn’t change that Johnny felt like he had to do this. To prove himself. To humiliate himself, just to make a point. When he was fully dressed again, he glared at Kyle, looking wounded.

“Why would I lie to you, Gaz?” He hissed.

“I didn’t… I never-”

“Just fuck off, Kyle,” He shoved past him, heading straight out of the door and letting it rattle off of the hinges as he left.

Kyle stood in his living room, rubbing the back of his neck, before flopping down on the couch and groaning into his hands.

Chapter Text

“I was so close, Nik. I mean - so close,” Price whispered.

He was exhausted, laid on his side on the bed, staring at his screen. On the other side of the dark pixels, he could see his lover also laid on his side. Nikolai was in bed, like Price, but a million miles away. His chest was exposed revealing thick curly black hair across an expanse of pale skin. If Price had been in a better mood, he’d have made work of his free hand as he looked at his lover like this - that’s usually how these late night video calls went. But not tonight. It had been a long, sleepless 48 hours.

“I literally had him in my hands. He was talking about it, and then he just…” Price looked irritated, his eyes flickering away as he shook his head, “Well he did what Simon always does. He fucking ran away.”

Nik didn’t say anything, resting his head on his fist as he listened to his husband talk. Even through the phone, he could feel his pain. His heart ached for Price. He knew just how much the man cared. He saw the strong, emboldened way John presented himself to his boys - to Gaz and Ghost… and Gary when he was alive. But he knew that wasn’t really John. At the end of it all, Price was just as scared and lost as the rest of them. And when it came to this? To Gary’s loss, and Ghost’s absence? It was always going to be another stitch pulled from an unhealed wound. Every time.

“I don’t know what to do, Nik,” Price whispered, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “It feels like I’m chasing him in tides. If I don’t reach out, he drifts away, but when I move closer, I’m pushing him further out…”

“Then,” Nik paused, his voice low and soft, “Maybe… maybe it’s time you came back to the shore.”

Price looked up, tearfully. He furrowed his brow, “What… what do you mean?”

“You can’t save someone from drowning, when they’re choosing to swim deeper, Плюшевый мишка,” He tried speaking gently, but their was conviction in his tone, “You know I like Simon… but I hate sitting here, watching you trying to save him, when he’s just pulling you under.”

“Nik, he’s not-”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to,” Nik spoke again, firmer now, “He’s a good man. But he’s in pain - and pain makes good men blind. He doesn’t see what he’s doing to you. I don’t even think you see what he’s doing to you. But I do. And though both of you are drowning, Simon Riley is not my priority. You are, John.”

John fell completely silent. He could tell by the way Nik was talking, this had clearly been on his mind for quite some time. He swallowed, wondering how long this had been going on - not just Nikolai’s silent resignation, but all of it. How long had it been since he’d resurfaced? How long had he been holding his breath, or trying to push air into Simon’s lungs? When was the last time he had tried swimming to sure, instead of wading deeper, trying to save Simon? How long had he been blind to his own pain?
The tears fell freely down his face now and he had to stifle exhausted whimpers, so that Simon didn’t overhear. Through the blur of tears, he could see Nikolai’s expression turn soft - and he heard him gently whisper to him in his mother tongue.

“I… so… what? I just leave him to-”

“Yes,” Nik nodded.

“Nik-”

“You asked, John,” He whispered, “And I’m saying yes. I know you feel like you have to - I know how badly you want to - but you can’t save him, Плюшевый мишка. God knows, you’ve tried… I think it’s time we began working on your healing. And Simon will find his way back to shore, on his own. He has to.”

Chapter Text

SR: R U up?

John stared at the message through bleary eyes, not fully convinced that it wasn’t just a figure of his imagination. He scrolled through the messages he had sent, from telling Simon ‘last night was fun’, to apologising if he’d crossed any lines. All of them were ignored. And now, out of nowhere…

You: Yes. What’s wrong?

SR: Where R U?

His lips drew into a thin line, his eyes twitching to the figure at his side. The Stranger he was coming to know again. He wasn’t proud of it. He knew it made him weak, crawling back to the stranger, the moment things go rough. But Johnny never claimed to be a strong man. Or an honest one either, it would seem.

You: At Gaz’s place, lol. Why? Where are you?

SR: BS.

You: ???

SR: Gaz messaged me, asking 4 U.

He scoffed. Why would Gaz assume he was with Simon? He’d had a one night stand with him - it didn’t mean anything. He and Simon weren’t even friends, let alone… anything else. Maybe Gaz had too much faith in Johnny; maybe he had hoped Johnny would climb into any other bed, than the one he laid in now.

You: Sorry about that. Don’t know what he was thinking.

SR: Prbly worried bout U.

You: I’m fine.

Johnny’s brows drew together. He again looked back at the stranger. The man slept peacefully on the opposite end of the bed. He always did, after he and Johnny had finished with each other. He probably shouldn’t have expected it to go any differently, this time. Still, it was a little wounding, considering Johnny had turned up at his door, distraught and desperate. A part of him - a small, stupid part of him - had hoped the stranger would be kinder to him this time; maybe held him, or spoken to him afterwards. But no. Of course not.
Johnny slowly sat up, shifting his weight so as not to wake the stranger up. His body ached from the misuse, but he tried not to think about it as he pulled his jacket over his tanned, cold shoulders.

SR: K

K. Yeah. He should have probably expected that too. He wasn’t sure why the message brought a lump to his throat. He wasn’t sure why he shuffled into the bathroom, and sat down on the tile floor with his back against the door. He wasn’t sure why he just stayed there, crying for as long as he did.
He was supposed to feel better by now. That’s how it worked - how it had always worked. He’d feel low, find the nearest warm body, let them use him until he was floaty and free. And then he’d carry on, better than ever and ready to tackle the next uphill battle.
But not now.
Not tonight. Tonight, he stayed low - and no hands reached out to pull him back to his feet. Everywhere he looked, he found cold shoulders and careless one word messages, all screaming ‘I don’t care’ into his face. They had got what they wanted from him - Ghost and the stranger. They had done their jobs. He knew he couldn’t ask for more than that, but…
His mind dredged up Kyle.
And he let out a shaky sound.
Kyle had cared. Kyle had reached out - and Johnny, being the fucked up, selfish animal he was, had bit the hand. He winced at himself. Why had he done that? He knew Kyle was trying to help - Kyle always helped and now…
And now.
He swallowed, his hands shaking as he tried to navigate his phone through teary eyes. It rang once… twice… thr-

“Johnny?”

“Kyle,” Johnny whispered, his voice quivering and low, “I need help, mate.”
***

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I said I’m fine,” Valeria rolled her eyes, “Seriously Kate - he just grabbed my arm; it;s not like he had me in a chokehold.”

“Still,” Kate sat down on the double sofa bed, crossing one leg over the other, “It was scary… Was he always like that?”

Valeria made a flippant gesture as she recalled how Alejandro used to be in their youth. Back then it wasn’t ‘her’ and ‘them’. It was just them. Alejandro, Rodolfo and Valeria. Inseparable. When one of their names left a person’s lips, the other two names were sure to follow. Now it was Alejandro and Rodolfo. And Valeria.
Sure Alejandro had been a hothead when he was younger - but so was Valeria. Alejandro was a tornado, always on the move, ready to tear down anything that stood in their way. Valeria was a volcano, simmering and bubbling and exploding when she needed to. The glue that had held the two together was Rodolfo. The calm tides that cooled Val’s magma into igneous rocks - the mountain that broke Alejandro's gale forces. Ironically enough, Rodolfo was also the one that broke them all apart. Or rather, broke Alejandro free of Valeria’s influence.

Shaking her head, Val sighed, “Not with me. Not like that.”

“Where did it come from?” Alex spoke up. He stood against the wall, arms folded as he watched the two women, “A man doesn’t act like that for no reason.”

“A man most certainly does,” Valeria scolded, before her expression shifted to one of resignation, “But Alejandro doesn’t. He has his reasons.”

Her gaze shifted slightly to Phil, who sat on the bigger bed, his own eyes locked onto the TV screen on the opposite wall. He wasn’t really watching it, more just staring as he listened to the conversation around him.

“We all have our reasons,” He muttered, his eyes flickering between Kate and Valeria, “It’s why we’re here right? History… Well. Maybe not you, Keller.”

Alex made an unimpressed face, whilst Kate patted his arm, softly.

“We’re all here to right wrongs,” Phil carried on, looking back at the TV, “Val - leave Ale to me-”

“Because that went so well last time,” Kate interjected, “Don’t think Alex and I forgot that we had to stop you from trying to fight Alejandro at the gas station.”

“Meh, that was just a…” He pursed his lips, his head cocking back and forth as he tried finding the right words, “Momentary lapse in judgement. Won’t happen again. We both have our fights with Alejandro, Valeria. And he made it clear he ain’t ready to let bygones be bygones just yet. Let me talk him down a little, before you-”

“You’re going to get your head caved in, cabrón,” Valeria climbed to her feet, pacing around the room, “But… better you than me I suppose.”

“Thanks,” Phil grimaced, unimpressed.

“Besides - I have another fire to put out first…” Her gaze shifted out of the window as she felt the weight on her shoulders grow just a little bit heavier.
***

Farah was completely silent as she watched Rudy fawn over the small white cat on the couch at his side. Rudy was talking to her - telling her that he was sure tonight was the night. Considering how lethargic Nieve was acting, Farah reckoned he was right… but she didn’t say as such. Honestly, right now, she couldn’t care less about the cat. Her mind was plagued with the fresh memory of Alejandro’s outburst. The raw, animalist rage he had displayed…

“What’s wrong, mi querida?” Rudy’s voice broke her out of her stupor.

Her gaze flickered up to his gentle face, to find a concerned expression staring back at her. He could see the burden she was carrying - she was quiet. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. Most of the time Farah didn’t speak unless spoken to. But that was just it - he was talking to her and she was… somewhere else, entirely.
Farah didn’t answer for a long moment, guilt gnawing at her. She had promised Alejandro she wouldn’t say anything… but the way he had been. She didn’t want to overstep, but she liked Rudy. She liked Alejandro, too, but if he was capable of acting like that, out of nowhere…
She didn’t want to believe Ale would ever do anything to hurt Rudy. But after what she had seen today, she wasn’t sure. Promises, be damned, she couldn’t rest until she was certain.

“Has… uhm…” She cleared her throat awkwardly, “Has Ale been acting strangely around you, lately?”

Rudy stared at her for a moment, perplexed, before bursting into laughter. She stared back at him, dumbfounded and a little insulted by the response.

Picking up on her discomfort, he stopped, rubbing his chest, “Oh, I’m sorry Farah. Let me guess? Flirty jokes?”

“What? N-no, I-”

“It means he’s gotten comfortable with you. He talks to everyone that way. But it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll tell him to stop-”

“It’s not that, Rudy, he…” She cut herself off, biting her lip as she sank back into the couch looking defeated, “Nevermind.”

Rodolfo had stopped laughing completely now, looking a little more serious as he saw the genuine upset on Farah’s face. He glanced down at Nieve, stroking her head as he thought for a moment. Had Ale been acting strangely? Not that Rudy could recall. Then, Rudy had been very busy. Between the influx of business, fussing over Nieve, working out bills and expenses… he hadn’t made much time to check in with his lover.
Farah stared at Rudy for a moment. She wished this awful feeling would go away, but it loomed over her like a shadow. Was Rudy purposely being evasive? Or had he really not noticed Alejandro’s short temper? Maybe he was covering for him? Maybe he knew exactly what Farah was referring to? Maybe he…

“Has he ever hit you?”

Rudy’s eyes widened, his gaze sharp as he looked back at Farah. There was an amused disbelief in his face - for a moment he wondered if this was some big joke. When he met her eyes, the humor died and he was left insulted.

“Eh?”

“It’s… you can tell me, Rudy. If he has-”

“No. Que? No!” Rudy stood up, “What the fuck, Farah?”

Farah fell silent, averting her gaze to the floor. Rodolfo paused, staring down at her as something crossed his mind. His heart sank slightly.

“Has… Farah, has Ale put his hands on you?” He whispered, his voice deadly low.

Farah’s eyes shot open, her hands coming up defensively, “No - no, no, no!”

He sighed, relieved, before his tone sharpened again, “Then where is this coming from?”

Farah shifted, nervously, fiddling with her sleeves as she mulled over the question. She had got her answer; she wasn’t trying to drag Alejandro through the mud, she didn’t want to risk saying nothing if Rudy was suffering for her silence. She almost regretted it, now that she was certain that Rudy was okay. Clearing her throat, she shrugged softly.

“Do… do you know someone called, uhm… Val? Vallery?”

The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Rudy stared at Farah, dumbfounded. Slowly, he sat back down, rubbing his hands over his thighs as they had become clammy very suddenly.

“Valeria?”

“Yes! Valeria. You know her?”

“How do you know her?” He asked, almost accusatory in his tone.

She hesitated, “I… don’t. Alejandro and I were talking in the car and her name popped up and… He got really angry. Really angry. I… I was a little frightened actually.”

He didn’t respond, just staring at Farah with narrow brows. She wanted to shrink under his gaze.

“You’re lying to me, querida. Why are you lying to me?”

She blinked, taken aback. She had always been such a good liar - and this one wasn’t even a hard one to lie about. Seeing her surprise, Rudy made a ‘tch’ sound, shaking his head.

“My husband doesn’t talk about Valeria. Neither of us do,” His gaze shifted to the floor, looking off morosely for a moment, before firming himself and staring back at her, “She’s Alejandro’s ex.”

“Oh…” Farah cleared her throat, “Right.”

“And she was a friend before that. To both of us. But… we all went down different paths. She was… let’s be polite and say ‘ambitious’. But her ambitions were in the wrong place. It blinded her and she made mistakes she could not afford to make. Made friends in high and dark places and,” He looked down at his feet, “She broke Alejandro’s heart.”

Farah nodded slowly, “And… Phil?”

Rudy lips tightened, “How do you know these names?”

She didn’t answer, shrugging slightly.

With a disgruntled sound, Rudy carried on, “Phil was one of the friends Valeria made. I don’t know how they met - but I know they worked closely with one another. Too closely. He was the one to help Valeria break Alejandro down.”

“You mean… they-”

“Yes,” Rudy grimaced, before looking up at her again, “Now. Your turn, Farah. How do you know these people?”

Chapter Text

The shop was quiet as usual. Simon had made himself busy, counting stock and making sure all the surfaces were cleaned down, his ears plugged as music blasted through them. Just the way he liked it. Johnny looked like he was at death's door. Whether it was the stress of the last few days, or the anxiety of working for the first time, he was a nervous wreck. He loomed over the chunk of synthetic skin, his hand shaking slightly as it gripped the pen.
Kyle and John stood together - well, John stood, his arms holding the majority of his weight as he leaned on the front counter. Kyle sat at the piercing station, resting his head on his fist as the pair watched Johnny with keen eyes.

“You sure he’s fit to work, son?” Price asked, his brows drawn together.

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be fine. Just nervous,” Kyle reasoned, looking over his shoulder at his boss, “Besides - he’s only training. He can’t possibly fuck that up.”

Price slowly looked back at Kyle with an incredulous expression, “Need I remind you of your first time-”

“No, you need not,” Kyle quickly cut him off, cringing at the memory of his first day on the shop floor.

Like Johnny, he had been training on faux skin. But back then, Simon and John had been a little bit more… hostile. Between his first day and his co-workers cold shoulders, Kyle managed to waste two wells of ink, snap a needle and accidentally break a pen by wrenching it out of a socket. But - that was Kyle. Johnny was different. Kyle knew how meticulous and precise and keen on details his friend was. And if he knew Johnny, he would do everything within his power to make sure everything operated smoothly today.
Simon, overhearing the conversation, glanced over at Johnny. From where he stood, he could see the intricate patterns and scribbles Johnny had managed to sketch into the canvas. He was good, Simon had to admit. Maybe not perfect on a technical level, but there was certainly skill behind the drawings.
Feeling the eyes on him, Johnny’s gaze twitched to meet Simons - they met eyes - and Simon looked away, returning to putting the inks in order.
Johnny sighed, rolling his eyes - and then paused. His eyes fixed on the shelves of inks… and he felt his skin crawl. He wished - wished with all his heart - that he had never bothered to look up at the mess Simon was making. But now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t look away. The tiny pots of ink were out of order - there was no rhyme or reason to them. The colours weren’t in order, they weren’t ordered by size or shade or… or anything. And they weren’t evened out either; some of the wells were further forwards on the display, some of them pushed back, some of them hung dangerously close to the edge.
He just watched, his entire body itching, completely unaware of the needle eating into the faux skin.

“Johnny-!”

John jumped, his arm jolting and the needle snapping at it’s middle. Kyle was staring at him, with a frown, his eyes shifting between Johnny, the canvas and the shelves of inks. Price was watching him too, more intrigued than anything. Simon had stopped stacking - he was staring at the broken pen in John’s hand.

“Shite,” John hissed as ink pooled and dripped from the reservoir.

“It’s okay, lad,” Price sighed, shifting off of the counter to help Johnny clean the mess up.

“Sorry,” The younger man muttered, setting the pen down.

He wiped the ink from his hands onto a paper towel, grimacing at the stains it left behind. He made a mental note to scrub his hands clean, whenever he had the chance. As he cleaned, Price chuckled and recalled a story of a time he had covered himself in ink by accident - but it fell on deaf ears, Johnny’s eyes had already swivelled back the shelving unit. By the time Price realised this, he’d already shoved the towels into a nearby bin. He straightened up, observing Johnny for a long moment, before clearing his throat.

“Something wrong?”

Johnny pursed his lips, shaking his head. Simon folded his arms, glaring at the new colleague, before both men looked at Gaz for some sort of explanation. Gaz shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably.

“He, uhm, has a thing,” He mumbled with a shrug.

“Kyle-” Johnny frowned, looking betrayed.

“It’s fine, mate,” Kyle laughed, sheepishly, “They’re gonna find out eventually. It’s nowt to be ashamed of.”

“What ‘thing’?” Price asked, his expression stern.

There was a beat as Johnny and Kyle stared at one another - and, of course, Johnny was the first to break.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” He ran his blackened hand through his hair, “I like there to be a bit of… order to things.”

“Like OCPD?” John cocked his head.

“No. It’s - it’s not a disorder, or anything, it’s just…” Johnny hugged himself, his fingers itching at his skin without him even realising it - but Kyle saw it. Gaz didn’t bring it up - not in front of Price and Simon - but he made a mental note of it, “I just like it when things… make sense? Like those ink pots. They’re not in the right order, and they’re all over the place and - and - it just doesn’t look right!”

Price stared at Johnny with raised brows. If he didn’t think it was a cruel observation, he might have pointed out the irony in Johnny being so hellbent over ‘order’ and ‘neatness’, considering the way he presented himself when they first met. Instead, he just pursed his lips, nodding with an understanding expression. Simon, however, scoffed.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a control freak.”

In the corner of his eyes, Price saw Kyle’s eyes widen slightly - and a moment later he realised why. Johnny’s eye twitched - he swung around on the spot, coming face to face with Simon.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” He sneered with a new-found venom, “I’m not a control freak.”

Simon didn’t flinch, though his expression darkened to obsidian, “Get out of my face.”

“Woah! Woah, woah, woah,” Price stepped between them, gently pushing them both apart, “None of that, boys. None of that.”

Simon and Johnny glared at one another - Simon, cold and calculated as he watched Johnny burn and seeth. He hadn’t intended on upsetting him - from what he could tell from their few, brief interactions, he thought Johnny could take a joke at his own expense. He had never expected him to snap like that. And it intrigued him. Such an offhand nothing pair of words, such as ‘control freak’ eliciting such a heated response? How bizarre.

“Johnny, go to a break, son,” Price clapped his back, “Kyle go with him - I’ll join you boys in a minute, ey? Simon, with me.”
***

“He was just joking, mate.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t mean owt by it.”

“I know.”

“He wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“Fuck sake, Kyle, I know!” Johnny broke again, his gaze scorching as he locked it in on Kyle, “I fucking know, alright? I get it…”

They both fell silent. The cig bounced between Johnny’s fingers, letting ash trickle from the glowing cherry. He drew it to his lips, letting it illuminate before the spark died down on exhale. Retracting his hand from his mouth, he blew the second hand smoke out into the cold air of England, his eyes glued to the black pumps Kyle had lended him.
Guilt encroached on his gut as he stared at the shoes, reminding himself that Kyle was only trying to help. He wasn’t sure what was making him so short with him - but he knew it wasn’t deserved. After a moment, he rubbed his brow with his thumb, glancing back up at Gaz who was hugging himself in the brisk early morning breeze.

“How badly did I fuck it, pal?”

Kyle’s brows drew together, before he snorted, “What you on about? That? Mate, that was nothing. You should hear half the shit we say to each other in there. We’re constantly at each other’s throats - Price and Ghost more than anyone else. Trust me, they’ll have forgotten about this by lunch.”

He wasn’t sure if Kyle was just saying that to make him feel better, but it was certainly working. Or maybe it was the nicotine. Either way, he managed a soft smile.

“You, uhm… you were scratching in there.”

Johnny frowned, “Was I?”

“Yeah. Your arm, again,” Gaz nodded at the flesh.

Johnny followed his gaze, finding faint raised white lines where his nails had chewed at the skin. He sighed a profanity, licking his thumb and running it over the lines, smothering dead skin beneath the pad of the digit. Kyle watched with a sympathetic expression. He knew Johnny wasn’t doing it on purpose - but he also knew how little control Johnny had over the nervous habit. And he knew how much that must have eaten at him.

“Maybe you should try those exercises again?” He suggested, his tone soft.

“What? The ones from when I were a kid?” Johnny scoffed, not looking up from the small scratches, “Nah, mate, I’ll pass. Cheers though.”

“It could help, Johnny.”

“And it could be a massive waste of my time,” He looked back up at Kyle now, his expression firm, “I’m fine, Ky-”

“You don’t look fine.”

That stopped Johnny in his tracks. He frowned, staring at Kyle, a little wounded. Gaz, himself, regretted the words as they’d left his mouth. But he was sick of beating around the bush, or pussyfooting his way around this conversation. He had tried being gentle and patient, but Johnny made it clear he was going to avoid this, even if it sent him spiralling.

“John. I’m not trying to upset you, mate. You know that. And you know what this is. You’re not thick,” Gaz folded his arms, leaning back against the wall, “You’re spiralling again. And it’s okay to admit that. Things have been changing lately, and I can tell you’re struggling… talk to me. You’re my best mate, I don’t want you to just… Just, please, Johnny.”

John’s chest tightened. So the cat was out of the bag. Try as he might, he knew he couldn’t avoid this any longer. He never liked making his problems other people’s burden, but Kyle had a knack for drawing it out of him. Just like when they were kids. Swallowing softly, Johnny nodded. He dropped his cigarette under his heel, snuffing it out against the gravel.

“Kyle… nothing’s working anymore.”

Gaz furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I… how I, uhm…” He bounced on his feet, uncomfortably, and cleared his throat, “You know how I usually cope?”

“You mean… the sex?”

John nodded with a shrug, his cheeks burning, “Yeah. Well… it’s stopped… It…”

“You don’t feel the same about it?”

He shook his head, staring at the floor.

“It just doesn’t work anymore. And I sort of just… feel trapped. I’m just constantly itching and I’m picking up on more problems - and I can’t fix them - and I can’t stop it - I can’t fix myself Kyle. I’m losing it and I just - I just - can’t-” His voice broke as he sucked in air.

“Woah - woah. Okay,” Gaz grabbed his arm, his eyes growing wide, “Johnny?”

“I can’t do it anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t know what to do, Kyle,” Johnny sobbed, “I feel so fucked up. And it just. Won’t. Stop.”

Gaz’s heart sank. He snatched at Johnny, pulling him against himself, firmly and holding him as though he’d slip away if he let go. His hand raked up Johnny’s neck until it found his hair - and he held him like that, swaying softly as he hushed him.

“You’re okay, Johnny. You’re alright mate,” He whispered.

John didn’t respond, his head sinking into the man’s shoulder as sobs rattled through him. His own shaking hands rested on Gaz’s back, the coarse material of his jumper feeling good and solid beneath his palms. He took a deep breath, letting the aftershave Gaz wore sinking into his senses. And for the first time in a long time, Johnny felt present. With his eyes closed and his body resting in the arms of his only friend, nothing felt wrong anymore. There was nothing to fix - and the only thing he had to hold onto was Gaz, himself.

The moment was shattered, however, when the door creaked on it’s hinges. John stepped back, quickly wiping his face on his sleeves and firming himself. Gaz turned, his gaze falling on the man standing in the doorway. Price watched the pair, his brows raised and lips pursed.

“You - uh… you boys alright?”

“Yeah. Solid,” Gaz cleared his throat, glancing back at Johnny who leaned against the railing with his arms folded, “He just needed some air.”

“Right…” Price glanced between the pair with an amused sparkle in his eyes - one the Gaz didn’t miss, but wished he did. Price nodded Johnny’s way, “Ready to try again, lad?”

John hesitated, his own gaze shifting between his friend and his boss. After a moment he nodded, shakily.

“Aye, sir. Ready.”

Chapter Text

Alejandro knew something was wrong. He didn’t clock it, straight away; he’d put Rudy’s cold shoulder down to the stress and lack of sleep - Nieve was acting oddly and Rudy was ‘sure she was about to pop’. But then Rudy was sure of that every night. He only really realised that something was awry when Rudy slept on the couch.
Yes, he might have been a little bit obsessive when it came to Nieve, but it never stopped him from coming to bed before. The night was Alejandro’s sanctity - the asylum that stopped Alejandro from losing it completely. During the day, Rudy was busy with the cat and work and whatever other excuse he could find to keep moving - but at night, Rudy was his - and he was Rudy’s.
It was awkward the next morning - and that only solidified Ale’s notion that Rudy was upset with him. Everytime Alejandro tried to talk to him, he was met with half-arsed ‘hmms’ or complete silence. He tried remedying it; he went to the shop and bought some bacon and bread rolls - he even made sure they were both vegan, just to appease his health-nut husband. But as he handed the breakfast to him, and leaned in to kiss his temple, Rudy leaned away, throwing him a look.
The look left no room for misinterpretation. I’m mad at you - and you know why.
And then, Alejandro was certain.
He internally cursed Farah for her loose tongue as he put the sandwiches down on the counter, clearing his throat awkwardly. Rudy’s eyes stayed glued to him, expectantly.

“It was nothing, mi amor-”

“You punched a fucking car.”

“¡Ay!” Alejandro threw his hands up, exasperated, “I lost my temper! It was… nothing.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Rudy stood up, folding his arms and setting his jaw.

“You know why.”

“Because of her?”

Alejandro put hand on his hip, squinting as he rubbed his brow with his free hand. After a moment, he shrugged, making a vague gesture.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say?” He sighed, shaking his head, “It’s not like I knew she’d be there, Rudy. We moved five-thousand fucking miles away! How was I to-?”

“I’m not mad that you saw her, Ale!” Rudy looked astonished, squinting at his husband as if he’d lost his mind, “I’m not fucking crazy. I don’t care that she’s here! I don’t care if you speak to her. I trust you. I’m mad because you completely lost your shit the moment you set eyes on her.”

It was Alejandro’s turn to look shocked, “Que?”

“I thought we’d moved past this,” Rudy carried on, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding his husband’s gaze, “We worked so hard, Alejandro. For what? For you to just throw it all away, the moment you see Valeria?”

Alejandro stared, aghast. He had been so certain that Rodolfo would be upset by the news of Valeria’s return. It was the very reason he had asked Farah not to mention it! And yet, here he was, being scolded like a little boy because he had a moment of weakness? He felt his blood boil under his skin, his chest tightening.

“So… what? I’m not allowed to be angry? After everything she did?”

“You are allowed to be angry, mi cielo. But you’re not allowed to throw your fists around!” Rudy stepped forwards, cupping Alejandro’s cheeks, “You’re not a child anymore, Ale. When you lose your temper, you’re not an angry little boy - you’re a scary man.”

“Tch,” Alejandro pulled out of his touch, looking incredulous.

The softness faded from Rudy’s expression, “Did you know Farah was scared of you? You frightened her, Alejandro!”

“Farah knows I would never hurt her!”

“The Alejandro she knows, yes. But she’s never seen you like that! I’ve never seen you like that, not as a man. I remember how you used to be, I can’t imagine what you must have looked like now!” Rudy scowled, “You are a grown man, you need to get a reign on-”

“On what? My temper?” Alejandro was ballistic now, his face red as a sneer formed on his lips, “I have a reign on my temper! Day in and day out I watch you scamper around like a headless chicken, fussing over our friends and your business and the fucking cat and I reign in my temper! I barely get to speak to you or touch you anymore, because you’re so preoccupied with everything else, and I don’t say a damn thing!”

“Alejandro,” Rudy frowned, stunned.

“¡No! Si quieres hablar de mi temperamento, ¡hablemos de mi maldito temperamento! ¡Estoy enojado todo el puto tiempo, Rudy! ¡Trabajo duro todos los días y lo hago sin quejarme! ¡Llego a casa y el trabajo no para! ¡Siento que te estoy perdiendo porque ni siquiera puedo besarte sin que esa pequeña perra peluda se interponga en mi camino!” Alejandro snarled out - and Rudy could see the rage building behind his eyes, “Quiero decir, ¿soy yo? ¡Siento que me estoy volviendo loco! A nadie más le resulta extraño lo apegado que estás a un maldito gato. ¿Se supone que debo encontrarlo lindo? ¿Soy yo el loco?”

“You’re… mad at the cat?” Rudy raised a brow.

“I’m mad at everything, Rudy!” Alejandro bellowed, feeling as though he was screaming into the void, “I am angry all the time. I’m fucking exhausted. And I keep a lid on it all - except for this one time! It was one time. I lost it once and you’re looking at me like I’m some sort of… monster.”

Rudy shook his head, his gaze twitching to Nieve who slept on the couch, none the wiser, “You’re not a monster, Ale. But you just can’t lose it like that. You can’t.”

Alejandro felt a lump form in his throat. He had poured his heart out to Rudy. He had screamed how alone he felt - how neglected, cast aside, angry, upset, tired he felt… and that was all Rudy had to say to him? He swallowed, his eyes stinging as he shook his head.

“I can’t do this,” He whispered, his voice wavering, “I - I can’t, Rudy, I… You’re not listening to me.”

“I am listening-”

“No. You’re not. I’m tired, Rudy,” Alejandro let out a shaky breath as tears flooded his eyes, “I am so tired, and you’re not listening. I can’t do it.”

Rudy’s eyes widened as Alejandro turned away, snatching his jacket off of the counter, “What are you doing?”

No answer.

“Alejandro?” Rudy pressed forwards as Ale slammed the door in his face. He wrenched the door back open, just in time to see Alejandro climb into his car, “Alejandro!”

He tried to open the passenger side door, pounding his hand on the window. Ale didn’t even look in his direction as he turned the key and pulled the choke - and a moment later, he was peeling out of the drive. Rudy stood by the wall, shaken as he watched the car disappear around the corner, the tires squealing under the haste. His chest tightened painfully as he was left standing, alone. Running a frantic hand through his hair, he let out a weak sound and darted back to the shop to grab his phone.
***

Gaz didn’t catch the news until it was time for him to clock out. He had just told Johnny he’d see him back at the apartment, stepped out of the door and glanced at his phone in time to see it flash with seven missed calls and sixteen messages. Most of them were from Rudy - but one or two came from Horangi.
He spent a good minute scrolling through Rudy’s distressed incoherent babble; from what he could gather he and Alejandro had fought and Ale had been missing for the last ten hours.
Then he turned his attention to Horangi’s messages. It didn’t give him any more information; only that Horangi had joined the Ale-hunt-party.
He wasted no more time, climbing into his car and racing off to join them, his heart pounding with every passing second. He had known the couple for quite some time now; he’d even witnessed a few of their arguments, but he’d never seen or heard of Alejandro storming off and making himself disappear.
They were always so good at resolving their issues and… something wasn’t right. He gripped his steering wheel tighter, trying to shake off the bad feeling blossoming in he pit of his stomach.

Chapter Text

“I think you should apologise to him, son,” Price muttered.

His voice was oddly low, as if he was worried about offending the silent street they stood in. The night - if you could really call it that - was clear and warm. It was only eight O’clock and the peak of summer, so the only indication of the oncoming dusk was the solitude they found themselves in.
Simon paused, watching Price make his way around the car. Price glanced his way, unlocking the door.

“Why?”

“Ey?”

“Why should I apologise?” Simon scoffed, “I made a joke. Wasn’t even an offensive one at that.”

“I know, I know,” Price leaned forwards, folding his arms over the roof of the car, “But he seemed really upset.”

“Last time I checked I wasn’t his fucking therapist - and neither are you, Price,” He made a vague gesture Price’s way, “Stop getting in other people’s business. People get upset, Price. Shit happens. He’s a big boy and he’ll get over it. Now come on.”

He climbed into the passenger side, slamming the door behind him. Price muttered ‘close the door, Simon’, under his breath as he climbed behind the wheel. For the first couple of minutes, they were both quiet as Price started the car and peeled away from the shop. He had left Johnny behind to close up - and John seemed more than happy to do so. In fact, Price would have ventured to say he was… ecstatic. He tried not to think about what state he’d find the shop in tomorrow, instead thinking about Johnny himself.
His first day had gone pretty smoothly, except for the blip between him and Simon. Price thought back to how he found Johnny; the young man weeping softly as he clung to Gaz. Kyle, rubbing Johnny’s back and whispering reassuring words. The way they had pulled away from one another when they realised he had seen them.
It was awfully nostalgic - and Price couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to Simon. He remembered how little mister Riley had been just as sheepish and defiant when Price caught him and Gary making out by the bins in their early days. A soft smile fell over his face as he recalled how Gary teased Simon over it. That was their Gary. Unapologetic, confident, a walking ray of sunshine…

“I think ‘im and Gaz are an item, anyway,” Price said out of nowhere.

Simon, who had been silently watching buildings pass them by, quirked a brow, “Y’what?”

“Johnny. I think him and Gaz-” Price paused when he heard Simon chuckle. He glanced over and saw him shaking his head, “What?”

“Gaz is not Johnny’s type,” Simon muttered, confident and visibly amused.

“How so?”

“Our Gaz is too soft for Johnny,” He went on, “He prefers his men a bit bulkier and meaner, it would seem.”

“Oh?” Price looked back at the road, pondering this, “Didn’t realise you and Johnny were so close?”

“We’re not.”

“Well, clearly you are, if Johnny’s telling you what sort of men he…” Price trailed off, realisation suddenly crossing his face. He was so taken aback, he nearly missed a red light. He slammed his foot on the break, sending himself and Simon careening forwards, “You and Johnny?”

“Fucking Christ, Price!” Simon grimaced, rubbing his arm which had slammed against the dashboard during the abrupt halt. He hesitated, meeting Price’s shocked stare, “It’s not like we’re… It was one time - we were both drunk.”

“You slept with him?” Price raised his brows.

“Once.”

There was a long pause as Price’s expression gradually changed from shock to a subtle… Simon couldn’t describe it as anything other than indignation. As if Simon sleeping with Johnny was somehow a slap in Price’s face. He wasn’t able to make heads nor tails of it as Price set off again, under the permissive green light. They were both silent for a long moment, before Price sighed. His expression had changed again, into something softer. He looked resigned - and a little… relieved.

“Good for you, Simon,” Price nodded, slowly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“Getting back on the saddle. After all that’s happened, you don’t know how worried I’ve been for you. You have no idea how many sleepless nights-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No, you-”

“John,” Simon cut him off, looking his way now. They met eyes, “The walls are fucking paper, mate. You think I don’t hear you skulking about, talking to your husbands about me? I hear you. I see you. I know what you’ve done for me… I know.”

Price became quiet again, his hands tightening on the wheel. Simon watched his face closely, before turning to look back out of the window. Price was at war inside of himself. He felt that same awful burning in his throat as he did last night, talking to Nikolai. Like someone was squeezing all the fire out of his chest. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
Simon was the only thing Price had left of Gary. Him and the memories. How warm and inviting Gary had been. His sunshine smile. The raw heat he radiated. He could fuel the energy of the entire room, just by being there - there were no frowns around that man. Charismatic and ecstatic and so… so good. No one had expected him to do what he did. No one suspected there was anything going on behind those smiles he decorated his face with. Hell, Price had been more concerned about losing Ghost that way. Even before Gary had taken his own life, Simon had been sulky and withdrawn and quiet. The only person who seemed to thaw Ghost was Gary himself…
And Price knew, deep down, by pulling from Simon, he would be losing Gary a second time. But maybe that’s what he needed. Maybe Nik and Simon were right. Maybe it was time to give up the ghost… and give up Ghost.

“I’m moving.”

Simon didn’t react. Price hadn’t expected him to. He knew Simon well enough now to know how he’d respond. It didn’t stop him from talking.

“Nik’s coming home. And… we’re talking about settling down,” He glanced Simon’ way, then back out onto the road, “We want to start a family, buy an actual house and… and Nik thinks it would be good for me to, uhm, get away from that place.”

“Get away from me, you mean.”

There was an edge to his voice, causing Price to frown.

“No. He just thinks… it’s time I began moving on. Working my own shit out and-”

“Stop the car.”

“Si-”

“Stop the fucking car, Price,” Simon snapped, yanking the wheel from Price’s hands.

Price barked something out, slamming onto the breaks as Simon steered them into the wrong lane. Fortunately, the roads were empty tonight - it didn’t stop that outrage on Price’s face as he glared at Simon.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Riley?” He bellowed, “You could’ve-”

Simon was already climbing out of the car. He slammed the door and began storming his way away from the car. Price wasted no time. He flung the door open, charging after Simon. He wrenched his shoulder back so they were facing one another - Simon shoved him away. And then they stood, both breathing heavy and glaring at one another as if both ready to kill.

“What the fuck is wrong you?”

“Oh fuck off, John.”

“I am so sick of this needless hostility. I have been nothing but patient and open and- and-” Price let out an enraged sound, throwing his hands in the air, “You just don’t want it Simon!”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Simon snapped back, just as volatile, “You’re finally wrapping your thick fucking skull around it! I don’t want your help, Price-”

“Thank God - because you are so beyond help it’s un-fucking-believable!” Something in Price had snapped, his rage so blinding that he missed the wounded expression that crossed Simon’s face, “You walk around feeling sorry for yourself all day, pretending that no one in this damn world has poor Simon Riley’s back. And I follow you around like a lost puppy, constantly reaching out and you push me away. Everytime.”

Simon rolled his eyes, making a ‘tch’ sound and turning to walk away. The rage in Price grew to an unmanageable climax and any self-control or filter he might have had, was dissolved in a moment's notice. He followed Simon through his red tunnel vision.

“Y’know - you’re so fucking selfish, Simon. And I wish I could blame it on the grief, but you were like this before we lost, Gary too,” He spat venom through his trembling lips, “So wrapped up in your own bullshit, you don’t give a fuck about who you’re hurting along the way. Hell, if this is the cold shoulder Gary got when he tried reaching out, no wonder he-”

Price cut himself off.
Simon froze, going rigid.
Neither of them moved.

Slowly, the red-tinted blinders receded and Price was left stunned at his own outburst, and just how far he’d gone to get a response from his estranged friend. No. They weren’t friends. Not after this. Friends didn’t use their dead friend’s name on each other as a weapon. That was exactly what he had just done. He felt his heart sink as he watched Simon crack his neck, his body easing slightly.

“I’m… so happy for you, Price,” Simon’s voice was low and dangerous, “I’m so glad you get to move on. You get to go home to your husband. You’ll have kids. Raise them to be better sons that Gary and I ever were-”

“Simon, I didn’t mean-”

“You get to do that,” He cut him off, turning around to look at Price, his eyes glassy and dark like those of a shark, “Good for you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are hands reaching out to help me. Yours. Garricks. Niks. Fucking dandy. The one set of hands that I actually want to hold are six feet under, attached to severed wrists, so excuse me for not jumping into the arms of the next best thing.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Price stepped forwards, holding his arms out to assure Simon this wasn’t an attack, “I need you to know that I don’t think that. I was just angry and-”

“Oh fuck sake, Price, come off it, mate,” Simon cackled, shaking his head, “I’m glad you said it. Actually fucking being honest with me for once. It suits you.”

“Simon. No. Please. Neither of us knew what Gary was planning. He didn’t reach out. It wasn’t your f-”

“Go home, Price,” Simon hissed, turning back around.

“Simon!” Price snapped again, this time his voice shaky and desperate, “Please, son. Promise you’re not about to do something stupid.”

There was a beat, as Simon stared at the ground, unmoving for a moment, “Go home.”

Chapter Text

The small barrels of ink were arranged by shade and hue. The floor had been scrubbed clean, surfaces wiped down and everything arranged neatly in its place. The shop was almost unrecognisable. And Johnny still wasn’t done.
He found himself back in the crew room - the place that had eaten at his mind since the first time he had stepped into the shop; the place that Price had stripped him down to pieces over how he presented himself to the potential employers. He’s already pushed the furniture around, rearranging it all until it all made sense and looked like it belonged in the same room. Then he had taken to cleaning.
He was on his hands and knees with a scouring pad and a handful of chemicals, scrubbing at the floor with such manic aggression, you’d have thought the tiles had personally offended him. He wasn’t angry at the floor - obviously - more just irritated with the circumstances around him.
After Gaz had saved him from himself, last night, he had sneaked out of the stranger's apartment, and promised Gaz he wouldn’t talk to him again. A promise more difficult to keep than he had realised. Through no fault of his own. The stranger had messaged him, before his shift, asking where he was - and he had sent one long, detailed message about his commitment to staying away. Last night was the last time he would see the stranger.
That didn’t stop the next twenty messages and five missed calls, the stranger pleading for them to talk it through, to make it work. They didn’t have to be in a relationship, the stranger reasoned, but he didn’t want to lose Johnny completely.
John wasn’t stupid. He knew what that meant.
The guy didn’t want Johnny to leave - he didn’t care about actually loving him, or giving him the time of day - but he liked having a warm, tight place to fuck his stress out. But that’s not what John wanted. Maybe he had thought that, once. But it wasn’t working anymore. And Johnny knew it wasn’t good for him. It wasn’t what he wanted.
All of that, on top of the ‘control freak’ comment, had made Johnny’s skin begin to crawl and itch. So when Price suggested leaving the keys with Johnny, and instructing him to ‘give the shop a once over’ before he left, Johnny had leapt at the idea.
And here he was.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, causing him to jump and-

A sharp gasp exploded from him as his hand slipped across the wet tile, a loose piece of upturned threshold jamming itself into the flesh of his wrist. He immediately yanked his arm back, tearing the skin. He grasped his arm, stunned as he felt the warm red blood already streaming between his fingers. He eyed the gash, a familiar sense of calm washing over him as he watched the crimson mix with water and chemicals on his skin, dancing in a glorious swirling pattern.
The sound of his ringing phone blurred into the background and he ran his thumb along the edge of the cut, mesmerised by the length and depth. Some sick part of him - and he knew it was sick - missed this feeling.
He swallowed.
Fuck.
Fuck - no.
Not this.
A shiver ran through him as panic set in. He knew what this meant. He wasn’t an idiot. The sense of calm that washed over him through the pain - it wasn’t a friend. It was his disease in disguise. And he was so close to giving in to it.
He was back at square one.
As tears stung his eyes, he reached for his phone, smearing blood across his shirt as he wrenched it from his pocket. Another missed call from the stranger.
He tried not to think about it as he shakily punched Gaz’s number into his phone.
He just needed to hear his voice. He didn’t need to tell him what happened, or why he was sobbing. He just needed to talk to his friend.

It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four…
Five…

Johnny felt his chest getting tighter and tighter, a desperate sound escaping him as the phone rang to voicemail. He tried again. And again. Over and over until he was a sobbing, lonely mess. And by then, it didn’t even matter if Gaz answered. He was too far gone.
***

“We can check the museum again,” Horangi suggested, “He could be moving about - maybe he circled back?”

“Why would he be at the museum?” Rudy snapped.

Gaz threw Horangi a sympathetic look as the man shrank slightly. Rudy wasn’t trying to be hostile - they both knew that - and Horangi didn’t blame him for the sharpness in his voice. If Konig had stormed out, upset, and been missing for twelve hours, Horangi would be stressed too.

Calmly, Horangi pointed out, “You said that’s the first place you two went on a date, when you came to England? I thought maybe he’s just trying to find a place to calm down, and-”

“No. Alejandro’s not like that,” Rudy grimaced, stepping forwards and looking around as if praying Ale would magically appear if he willed it hard enough, “When he's angry, he doesn’t look for a way to calm down. He wants to feed the fire, get angrier, to burn out. He… God, where is he?”

“We’ll find him, Rude,” Gaz clasped his shoulder, “I promise, we’ll-”

A phone started ringing between the three men. Gaz and Rudy looked at Horangi with raised brows; Gaz’s phone had died and Rudy knew his ringtone was very different to the screaming rock song that played from Horangi’s. The man looked sheepish as he answered the call, placing it to his ear - then abruptly pulling it away as Konig’s voice erupted from the other end.

“Horangi!”

“Konig?” Horangi frowned, “What’s-”

“Garrick’s friend is here - and he’s lost his fucking mind!” Konig sounded panicked, his accent thicker and his breathing heavy as he seemed to struggle with something.

The background noise was almost as loud as Konig himself, screaming and shouting and things smashing in the background. Somewhere among the carnage, the three heard a familiar voice screaming Spanish profanities. Relief crossed their faces, then mortification as the shouting grew more intense.

“We’re on our way!” Horangi exclaimed, before hanging up and glancing at the others, “Let’s go.”
***

Nikolai hummed softly to himself as he stirred his coffee into the hot water. Above his head, a clock ticked idly, a happy reminder that his husband was on his way home. He hadn’t seen him in a month, and it was hard to deny the excitement blooming in his chest as he watched the clock count down the seconds.
A cheeky part of him considered stripping down and arranging himself on the bed for Price to find when he walked in. He quirked a brow, considering this as he sipped the magma coffee like it was a refreshing beverage on this fine day. The idea was dismissed however when he heard the door unlock on his right. A wide grin crossed his face as he craned his head to meet his husband's gaze.
Then the smile dropped.
Price looked demolished, his eyes red and burning and a vacant expression on his tired face as he loomed in the doorway. Nikolai scowled, dropping his coffee on the side and barrelling towards Price. He pulled the man in, cradling him as he closed the door behind him. Price melted into his arms, squeezing Nikolai as if he could slip away at any moment. He tried fighting the tears, but on they came - treacherous bastards. He let out a helpless sound, muffling into Nik’s thick jacket.

“John,” Nik whispered, wrapping an arm around his waist and running his free hand through his husband’s hair, “It’s okay. What’s wrong, плюшевый мишка?”

“I fucked up, Nik,” Price’s voice was thick and uncontrolled, wobbling and shaking in his burning throat, “I fucked up. Simon, he… he…”

Nik tensed, pulling Price back and staring at him with wide eyes, “Did he… is he… gone?”

Price swallowed, the words dying in his throat - and Nik’s heart sank into despair. Price had loved Gary and Simon, as if they were his children. He had seen how hard Price took it when one of them took their own lives. The idea of both of them meeting such an awful demise… He felt guilt seize him as his husband tried to catch his breath. He grasped Price’s face, holding him firmly as he stared down with encouraging eyes.

“John. Has Simon hurt himself?”

Price shook his head, feeling nauseous. Nik let out a relieved sound, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cascading across his husband’s dampened face.

“But I’m scared he might,” Price forced out, “I… I told him it was his fault. What… what happened to Gary. I told him he was selfish - and that Gary…”

“Why would you do that?” Nik looked perplexed. He watched Price flinch - and it was answer enough in itself, “I told you this was too much for you, Price. Postponing your grief to help Simon. I told you it would come to this. Grief isn’t something you can put off - it rots you.”

Price choked, nodding with a broken expression, “You think I’m rotten?”

“I think you’re grieving,” Nik pulled him back into the hug, “And I think you waited too long to do so… Stay here. I’ll go find Riley.”

“Let me come with you-!”

“No,” Nik guided Price to the couch, “You stay here and sleep.”

Price’s face crumbled as he stared back at Nik. He still had hold of his arms, as if terrified to let go. He was terrified to let go. And Nik could see it on his face.

“There’s nothing more you can do Price. Whatever he has or hasn’t done, it’s out of your control,” Nik hummed, cupping his cheek, “And if he has… if he has hurt himself, I don’t want you to be the one to find him.”

Chapter Text

He was frozen.
He wasn’t sure why he came back here.
He wasn’t sure what his plan was.
Price had pleaded for him to promise not to hurt himself - and he hadn’t made that promise. Purely he wasn’t sure, himself, what he was going to do.
Part of him - a spiteful, twisted side of him - wanted to do it. Wanted to throw himself in front of a car, or off a bridge, or… find some creative way to take himself out of this miserable world. But another part of him just couldn’t.
He thought about how he had found Gary. Cold and bloody and on the brink of death. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to someone else. He knew how that shit clung to a person. He still saw Gary’s lifeless form when he closed his eyes at night…
But now, it seemed, he didn’t even have to close his eyes.
He was standing in the doorway, frozen on the spot, eyes glued to the shaking, bloody form before him. He didn’t see the person’s face - their back was to him, hood pulled up over their head… but he could see their arms.
The sleeves were rolled up, revealing warm, desomated skin. Blood ran down their fingers, dripping onto the wet, polished floor beneath their palms. They were breathing like they’d just ran a marathon. At the figures side laid the offending needle - 7 RS from what Ghost could tell - still dripping fresh red from the assault.
Simon’s stomach churned.
Was this some cruel cosmic joke? A phantom coming to haunt him, remind him of what he had done? Maybe he had finally cracked? Maybe his brain was trying to dissuade him from actually going through with…
He let out a shaky breath, and watched the figure jump at the sound. They swung around, trying to stand, but slipped between the polish and their own blood. They hit the floor painfully hard and scrambled back until their back met the couch, a trail of red following them, reminding them they could escape what they had just done. Not this time.

Johnny and Simon met eyes, both wide and shocked.

There was a thick silence. A suffocating tension between them as they both came to terms with the situation at hand. Johnny was the first to break the silence, a choking breath rattling out of his tight lungs as his heart threatened to explode in his chest.

“H-help…”

Simon was before him in an instant, a snarl embedded in his face as he grasped the man by he front of his hoodie, “You fucking idiot.”

He hauled the Scotsman’s to his feed, smashing a door open on his shoulder and rushing him to the bathroom. He ran the taps, pushing Johnny’s demolished arms under the running water and holding him there.

“What were you thinking?” He growled.

“I… I…”

“Are you that fucking deranged? What was your plan?” Simon bellowed, panic filling him as he realised what he had almost bore witness to for a second time in his life, “Slice yourself open for one of us boys to deal with, when you’re gone? Are you seriously that self-”

“I wasn’t trying to k…” Johnny snapped, tears springing down his face, “I just… I just needed it, Simon. I needed it.”

The masked man stared back at Johnny, stunned. He didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to do. He watched the red flow down the sink diluted by warm water - and wondered if he was doing this right. Pressure. Pressure, right? He remembered Price telling him that, once. If someone was bleeding, you were supposed to apply pressure with a cloth or towel. He pulled Johnny’s arms away from the sink, pulling the jacket off of his back and winding it around the man’s arms. The deep crimson began biting into the light grey fabric, immediately. He saw Johnny cringe at the change, as if ruining Simon’s jacket was the closest thing to important right now. Simon might have found it funny or endearing, if he wasn’t so fucking angry at John for this.

“Right. Stay here. I’ll call Price, he’ll know what to-”

“NO!” Johnny darted forwards, grabbing Simon’s arms.

Simon froze again. Johnny’s hands… They were so cold. His vision blurred slightly as he gazed down at the cold hand on his arm, blood staining both of their skin. His mind pulled him to a dark place, and his eyes flickered up to meet Johnny’s.

“Get. Off.”

After a beat, Johnny relinquished his grasp and stepped back, clinging to the jacket on his arms.

“Please don’t tell Price. If Price knows, then Gaz will know and… and…”

“Who gives a fuck if Kyle finds out, Johnny. You’re bleeding!”

“I tried ringing him,” Johnny pleaded, trembling, “If he finds out I did this, when he didn’t pick up the phone-”

“That’s why you did this?”

“What? No!” Johnny crumbled, falling back against the tiled wall as the distress became too much, “But that’s exactly what he’ll think… I was spiralling. I tried ringing him. He couldn’t answer and… I just lost it, okay? It’s not his fault - but I know Kyle. He’ll think…”

“He’ll think it’s his fault,” Simon whispered.

Johnny nodded, glaring down at his brutalised arms. Simon followed his gaze, feeling sick to his stomach. He pursed his lips, running a hand over his face. Okay. Okay. He could do this. He’d order a taxi - he’d take Johnny to the hospital… except he left his phone in Price’s car. Shit. Okay. Then they’d walk! His eyes flickered back to Johnny, who looked a little paler than he did before. They wouldn’t make it before he collapsed. An ambulance? Johnny might not have Price’s number saved in his phone, but they could still make use of it. Before he could even open his mouth to ask Johnny where his phone was, he heard the familiar sound of the front door opening.
He and Johnny froze, their blood turning to ice. Simon shot Johnny a look - telling him to stay put - before he slipped out of the bathroom into the crew room. From where he stood, he made out a familiar figure. Nikolai was pacing around, searching the shop cautiously as if worried about what he might find. They met eyes, and Simon saw something cross Nikolai’s face. Relief, maybe?
Nik made his way closer, opening his mouth to make some smart-ass comment, before freezing. His eyes twitched to the blood on the floor, then to the crimson decorating Simon’s sleeves. Realising what this must have looked like - and what Price had likely told Nik about their argument - Simon stilled.
Shit.
Without warning, Nik darted forwards, grabbing Simon’s arm. Simon resisted, trying to pull back, but Nik was quick to push him against the wall, scrambling to lift the man’s sleeves.

“Fuck sake, Nik, I didn’t-”

“Let me see!” Nik snarled, slightly pale.

“It’s not my blood!” Simon snapped, admittedly intimidated by how rough Nik was being with him.

They stopped struggling, Nikolai looking baffled by the claim. Simon pulled himself free, rolling his sleeves up to satiate the Russian man’s uncertainty. Simon’s arms were slightly reddened with excess blood, but Nik could tell he was unharmed. He sighed, stepping out of Simon’s personal space and raking a hand through his hair.

“Дерьмо, Riley,” He rasped, “Do you know how scared my John is - because of you!”

“Apparently he’s not the only one,” Simon hissed, staring Nik down, “What the fuck are you doing, roughing me up like that?”

“I was worried you’d…” Nik paused, realisation dawning on him, “Who’s blood is this?”

Simon pursed his lips, looking a little uneasy. Nik’s expression darkened further.

“What have you done?”

Both their attention was pulled away as they heard a sickening thud from the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Kate saw him before anyone else did.
Phil and Alex were too busy out-manning one another over drinks, and Valeria was distracted as she flirted with the oversized Austrian man behind the bar for free drinks. But Kate’s eyes were locked on him. The familiar man that she had watched pin her friend to the car. They had spoken about it. Her little group of stowaways and herself. Before she’d ever even seen the infamous ‘Alejandro’, she had been briefed on how he would probably behave and respond to their presence. Her briefing was accurate, it would seem.
She hesitated, elbowing Valeria’s side. Valeria followed her gaze and tensed slightly as she found Alejandro. Graves and Alex also watched him now. If he’d seen them, he didn’t react, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar and keeping his tired gaze low.

“Small world,” Alex hummed, quietly.

“Small country more like,” Phil scoffed, before glancing Valeria’s way and making a gesture for her to follow him.

She grabbed his arm, “Wait.”

“Wait? Wouldn’t you rather get this over with?” Phil raised a brow at her, “That’s the whole reason we’re here, right? Making amends… Well, except for you. I still don’t know why you’re here.”

Everyone glanced at Alex, whom Graves had addressed. Alex stared back at them pausing the sip he had taken of his beer. He shrugged, looking dejected, and mumbled ‘never been to England’. Kate offered a sympathetic smile, patting his arm gently. Valeria and Phil turned their attention back on each other.

“I just… don’t think we should do this now. Not both of us, at the same time,” She reasoned, sipping her drink.

“Aw. He got you spooked, huh?” Graves cocked his head with a sly grin.

“No, I just don’t want him thinking we’re ambushing him,” She sighed, glancing back at Alejandro.

“Well… you’ve got your own demons to fight,” Graves acknowledged, “Why don’t you go pay a visit to your other hombre. I’ll deal with Ale for now, huh?”

“He’s going to kick your ass, Phil,” Valeria warned him as she stood up, pulling her jacket over her shoulders.

Alex and Kate followed suit, standing up and readying themselves to leave. Kate might have stayed, upon hearing Phil was about to have his ass handed to him, but she knew she had her own toll waiting for her at another bridge she had burned. Phil made some ridiculous remark as they left to deal with their own problems. As the door swung shut behind the trio, they heard voices being raised and threw each other knowing looks.

“We’ll reconvene at whatever hospital or jail cell Graves finds himself in,” Kate sighed, before flashing a look Valeria’s way, “Good luck.”

“You too,” Val nodded.

The two women parted ways, leaving Alex standing between them, glancing back and forth like a lost puppy. Great. What does he do whilst they’re slaying their dragons?

Chapter Text

“What do you do nowadays?”

It was a dumb question to ask; they both had kept tabs on each other when they went their separate ways, and they were both well aware of that fact. But he was exhausted and it was the best he could muster.
He couldn’t imagine what Kate must have thought of him, now. The last time they had seen each other, he was held together pretty well, considering the circumstances. He was stable and level headed and stoic. And now here he sat, draped over his couch in his mismatched pajamas, sucking on a cigarette and clearly on the brink of tears.
He wouldn’t cry - he had spent the last hour or so sobbing his heart out, and he had nothing left to give.

“Police,” She answered like he didn’t already know.

He was glad. If she was willing to act like he didn’t know every detail of her life, she was probably willing to pretend that he wasn’t a complete mess right now.

“Nice.”

“Hm,” She nodded, “It isn’t, but it pays the bills.”

Price chuckled, dryly, before letting smoke hang above their heads, “I’m still at the shop.”

“How is it? Still busy?”

“Most days,” He nodded.

“Good. Good,” She smiled, tightly, “How’s Simon?”

Price’s heart clenched. Why did she have to come back now? Any other day, he’d have been thrilled to meet his old friend. They’d have laughed over stories of the past, cried over memories of what they lost, got drunk until they were throwing up. Any other day. But no. Of course not.
Today.
Whilst Price was emotional over the return of his husband, distraught over the idea of everything changing so fast, grieving over a son he wasn’t sure he even had anymore. He flinched, scolding himself. Simon wasn’t his son… was there even a Simon left to call his son anymore? He swallowed, unable to stop the sob as it escaped him.
Kate’s polite smile fell from her face. She watched Price cover his eyes, the cig still burning between his fingers as he shuddered and grimaced through gritted teeth. Her heart dropped through the floor.

“No,” She whispered, reaching out to take his arm, “God, Price. Tell me he didn’t.”

Price didn’t say anything for a moment. He sniffed, clenching his fist and looking back at her through puffy eyes and a thin-lipped expression.

“He… I don’t know, Kate,” He whispered, “Nik’s out looking for him.”

“I don’t understand,” She frowned.

“We got into a fight. I said something… something I should never have said. I didn’t mean it, I just… God, he looked so…” Price sucked in a shaky breath through his cigarette, “I don’t know where he is, or what he’s done. But Nik’s gone radio silent, and…”

“You think he could have…?”

Price shook his head, “All I know is that Nik would have told me if he was okay.”

“Maybe he’s still looking?” Kate stood up, pulling Price to his feet. She dusted ash off of him, before holding his shoulders firmly, “Get your coat and shoes, we’ll help look for him.”

“Nik told me to-”

“Nik isn’t here,” She interjected, “And if he’s not answering his phone, what else can we do?”

Price hesitated, Nik’s words ringing in his ears. If he’s hurt himself, I don’t want you to be the one to find him. But what if he hadn’t? What if Simon was alive out there somewhere, alone and on the edge of being lost. Simon and Kate had been close when they worked together - closer, Price would argue, than he and Simon had been. Maybe that had changed over the years, but something told him seeing Kate’s face again might have been a good refresher for the younger man. He nodded, slowly, whispering an ‘okay’ as he began collecting himself.
He managed to pull on a coat and one of his shoes, when the knock came.
He froze on the couch, his eyes swivelling to the door. Kate watched him. He knew he should stand up. Answer. Face the music that waited on the other side - but that was harder to do when you were expecting funeral music. And Kate knew that.
Slowly, she made her way over and tugged the door open in one swift movement. She felt her stomach churn, the strength escaping her legs as she came face to face with Nikolai.
Blood.
So. Much. Blood.
Up his arms, staining his jeans, smeared across the black and white striped jumper he adorned.
Everywhere.
He looked shaken and tired - but admittedly surprised when he saw Kate. He would have greeted her, if his attention wasn’t immediately snatched by the horrific sound that escaped Price. He looked at his husband just in time to see the man stumble back, falling onto the arm of the couch and clasping his mouth at the sight of him.

“Fuck,” Nik surged forwards, grabbing Price’s arm and pulling him up, “No. No, John. It’s not what it looks like.”

“N-Nik,” Price wheezed, clinging to the man’s bloody sweater.

Nik grasped him by the jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze, “Simon is alive. He’s fine, плюшевый мишка.”

Kate let out a shaky, relieved breath. Price choked on a sob, his head falling against Nikolai’s shoulder. Nik could feel his husband’s heart racing. His own heart ached for the man. He couldn’t imagine what distress he must have been in, seeing Nik walk in smeared in blood after waiting almost two hours for news of their high-risk friend. After a moment, Price steeled himself. He swallowed, taking a step back and looking Nik over again.

“Has… did he hurt himself?” He questioned, his gaze dancing along the bloodied patterns.

“No,” Nik shook his head, thumbing tears from his husband’s cheek, “This isn't from Simon. It’s… Perhaps we should talk about this later?”

“No,” Price looked sharper now, frowning, “My husband just walked in caked in blood. You’re gonna tell me where it’s from.”

Nik hesitated, glancing at Kate, then back at Price. He cleared his throat, before nodding.

“It’s… the new boy?” Nik winced, cautiously, “I forget his name.”

“Johnny,” Price answered, before his eyes grew wide at the revelation, “Johnny? Was he attacked? I left him to clean the store up! What the bloody hell-”

“He had an accident,” Nik replied, gently, “Simon tells me he was scrubbing the floors and caught himself on the doorframe. I didn’t get to see it, myself, but I saw the threshold. It’s upturned and bloody, so it checks out.”

Price’s breath caught in his throat, so many emotions hitting him at once. He wanted to feel worse for Johnny, having an accident like that on his first day. But honestly, he was just relieved that Simon was still with them. Slowly, the strength returned to his legs and he let go of Nik, nodding.

“Where is he?”

“Hospital,” Nik smiled, rubbing his back, “Simon’s staying with him.”

“We should go see him,” Price stated - or more demanded.

“You should rest, John,” Nik insisted, shaking his head, “You’ve stressed enough today. And I see you didn’t sleep, as I advised.”

Price hesitated, looking guilty. Part of him wanted to argue. He wanted to go see Simon and Johnny, make sure they were both okay… but now that his heart wasn’t trying to tear through his ribs, he felt the exhaustion hit him like a freight train. He nodded, weakly, leaving to trek down the hall without even a goodbye. Honestly, he was so tired, Kate assumed he’d forgotten she was even there. When he was gone and the bedroom door was closed, her gaze switched to Nik.

“It’s a lot.”

Nik scoffed, running a hand through his hair, “It always is with this place.”

“I mean the blood,” She added, a knowing look on her face, “For a scratch from a door frame? An awful lot of bleeding.”

They met eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. Her shoulders sagged as she shook her head.

“I swear. Your husband’s like a distress beacon for the lost and troubled.”

“How do you think we found him?” Nik chuckled, folding his arms. After a moment, he looked back up at Kate, “Don’t tell him. He already has enough on his mind, without having to adopt another hopeless stray.”

“Hopeless stray? That’s cold even for you,” Kate raised a brow, but there was no judgement in her tone, “You think this one’s hopeless?”

“I think…” Nik rubbed his jaw, “It’s best my husband starts trying to save himself. I don’t care if Johnny has hope or not. My John does. And I’ll be damned if he loses another ounce of it over these boys.”

Chapter Text

The bar had filtered out, leaving only them behind. The police had been called, of course, but things had calmed down by then and between Konig and his boss, they had managed to dissuade them from making any arrests. Konig had been pulled into the office - and he had yet to come back out, causing Horangi to anxiously pace back and forth whilst the others made themselves busy elsewhere.
Alejandro sat in a booth, seething as Rudy cleaned his face up. He had taken quite a few hits, his right swollen shut under a bust brow and over a split lip.
Graves sat on the other end of the bar, looking even worse - his nose was bust open and he had a long gash across his cheek, where Alejandro’s ring had spliced through. Gaz stood over him, but did little to help the man. He just glared down at him with a cold expression reserved for those who fucked with his friends.

“What were you thinking, disappearing on me, like that?” Rudy whispered, pressing damp cotton wool against his husband’s brutalised face, “You scared me, Ale.”

Alejandro didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up at Rudy. His eyes were glued on Graves, silent and undying rage simmering beneath the surface. Graves caught his glance, smirking and feigning a friendly wave his way. Ale immediately tried to climb to his feet, dead set on making good of Grave’s name. Rudy was quick to shove him back down.

“For fuck sake, pendejo!” Rudy snapped, grasping Alejandro’s jaw and forcing him to look up at him. Alejandro seemed stunned, as if he’d only just realised Rudy was there. But he couldn’t even get a word out, before Rudy was barking at him, “¡Estúpido pedazo de mierda! ¡¿Estás siquiera escuchándome?! Yo era sagrado. ¡No pude encontrarte! ¡Pensé que te había pasado algo y-!”

He trailed off, as his voice broke, tears stinging his eyes. After a second, he turned away, leaning against the table and hiding his face in his hands. Alejandro was frozen, watching his husband fall apart in front of him. Rudy had never spoken to him like that before. Usually his husband was soft and passive. At the worst of times, Rudy could be sarcastic and dismissive, but he’d never stooped to name calling or insults. Ale was a little stung - but he was more just plain shocked by the display.
The rage subsided, as he reached his hand out to touch the small of Rudy’s back. He felt his husband tense slightly - and for one sickening moment he worried he’d gone too far and lost it all. But then, he watched rodolfo unfurl the hands from his face. One of them reached down to cup Alejandro’s jaw.

“I was scared that I was going to lose you,” Rudy whispered, tearfully.

Ale winced, shaking his head. He turned slightly, kissing the man’s hand, “Nunca podrías perderme, mi vida.”

Rudy let out a shaky sound, dropping his gaze. He withdrew his hand and stared down at the floor, folding his arms. Alejandro swallowed, a little colder in the absence of his husband’s touch. He knew this wasn’t the end of it; he knew he’d have a lot to answer for when he got home… but he knew he deserved it, too. He shouldn’t have stormed out like that. No matter how low he was feeling, Rudy was his man. He deserved to know what was going on in that head of his.

“You.”

Ale looked up again, but found Rudy’s gaze was fixed on Graves. He followed the eyeline, seeing Graves shifting uncomfortably under the couple’s gazes. Gaz, caught in the crossfire, stepped back, smiling to himself. He had only ever been on the wrong end of the couple's stare once - over something small and meaningless in retrospect - and he knew it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He sat back, watching Graves squirm.

“What do you want with my husband?” Rudy hissed.

Phil hesitated, shuffling in his seat as he glanced between the two men.

“He asked you a question, puta,” Alejandro sneered. Rudy squeezed his shoulder - a gentle reminder to stay calm. He obliged, leaning back and letting Rudy take the reins.

“To make amends.”

Rudy scoffed, incredulously, “What? After everything you did, you think you can just waltz in here and say sorry? Expect everyone to just move on? Estás loco, Graves.”

“You know my name,” Grave’s brows perked, before he smirked, “You must be Rodolfo, huh?”

Graves stood up, raising hand. The moment he did, Kyle stepped forwards, snatching his wrist - and Alejandro rose to his feet, a feral look in his eyes. Graves snatched his hand back, raising them defensively.

“Woah, woah. Easy there,” He chuckled, “I’m just trying to shake his hand.”

“Tócalo a él meteré tu mano tan adentro de tu trasero que estarás dándote la mano a través de tu sonrisa, pendejo!” Alejandro barked out, but was again put at ease as Rudy’s hand fell on his chest.

“I’m not going to shake the hand of the man who hurt my husband,” Rudy grimaced.

“Hey, your husband got a lick or two on me as well, okay?” Graves gestured to his face.

“I’m not talking about the cuts and bruises, Phillip,” Rudy doubled down.

The men stared at one another. In the corner of his eyes, Rudy saw Alejandro flinch and look away. Graves’ cocky smile faltered as he glanced between the pair. Gaz’s expression shifted as he saw something cross Alejandro’s face. Disgust, maybe? Pain? He furrowed his brow, his protective nature rearing it’s head.

“This guy hurt you, Al?”

Alejandro swallowed, looking back at Kyle, “It’s a long story.”

“And one I had very little part in,” Graves interjected, causing Rodolfo to sneer. Meeting his gaze, Graves insisted, “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Bullshit,” Rudy snapped, “I don’t believe in coincidence, Phil. What happened to my husband lines up very closely with all the rest of the shit going down between you two at the time.”

“Just because you don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” The American man took another step forwards, and Rudy felt Ale stiffen slightly. Graves’ eyes swivelled to Ale, “I’m very sorry about how shit went down. I won’t lie. The things going on between you, Val and I, that’s on us. We were fucked up kids, doing fucked up kid things. But… what they did to you… that had nothing to do with me and Val, Al. You gotta believe me.”

Kyle furrowed his brows, glancing between the three of them. He’d admit, Graves looked… sincere. He was ballsy too. Considering the gravity of whatever they were talking about, he had gotten dangerously close to the couple, who were clearly still on edge. Gaz was surprised when Graves touched Alejandro’s shoulder - but he was even more surprised when Ale didn’t punch him in the mouth. Alejandro just stood there, staring with an unreadable expression.

“You don’t have to forgive me for the things I did. But don’t blame me for something I didn’t do,” His voice was low and sombre, “If… If Val and I knew what they’d do to you, we would never have left you behind, Ale. We didn’t know. I’d never wish what happened to you on anyone. I may be an asshole sometimes, but I’m not a monster.”

Gaz swallowed, feeling a little uneasy. The more and more of the exchange he caught wind of, the less he liked what he was hearing. He caught Rudy’s eyes. He could tell from the harrowed expression on Rudy’s face that the situation was as bad as he was imagining. He threw a sympathetic look Alejandro’s way. Finally, he spoke.

“You wanted my forgiveness?” Alejandro whispered.

Graves met his eyes, his expression affirming this. Rudy and Gaz watched Alejandro carefully, uncertain of what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Go fuck yourself.”

They probably should have expected that. Graves clearly had. He didn’t look surprised, but couldn’t disguise his disappointment as he glared at the floor.

“Leave me, my husband and my friends alone. And tell that bitch to do the same. I want nothing to do with her. Or you,” He shouldered Graves out of the way, before leaving the bar.

Rodolfo followed him, resisting the urge to spit at Graves as he passed him. Gaz followed suit, not even bothering to look the American’s way. He followed Rudy and Ale to the car, sparing a passing glance to the carpark and spotting Konig’s car tucked away among the rest. That made him feel slightly less guilty for leaving Horangi at the bar. He climbed into the back of Ale’s car, taking note of the way Rudy rubbed his husband’s thigh in silent comfort. As Gaz plugged his phone into the charging port and Alejandro started the engine, they all sat in uneasy silence. In fact, it wasn’t until they were half way to Gaz’s apartment that anything was said at all. And what was said was the last thing Gaz had expected.

“He was telling the truth… It wasn’t his fault.”

Gaz raised his eyebrows, glancing at Alejandro through the rear-view. Rudy stiffened his upper-lip, frowning at his husband.

“It certainly wasn’t yours.”

“I know. I know,” Ale nodded, reaching down to squeeze Rodolfo’s hand, “I just mean… We were all kids. Stupid, stupid kids. None of us knew of the consequences awaiting us. They couldn’t have known what would happen to me.”

“They still abandoned you,” Rudy hissed, his fist tightening without him even realising it, “They might not have known what the consequences would be. But they certainly knew you’d meet them. And they fled, like cowards, leaving those men to…”

Rudy paused, his gaze flickering out of the window as rage threatened to consume him. He became very aware of Gaz listening from the back, and stopped before he said anymore. Alejandro kissed Rudy’s knuckles, laughing - but it was a sad, resigned laugh.

“Kyle came all this to find me, mi amor,” He whispered, “He deserves to know what I was running from… if he wants to?”

Gaz met Alejandro’s eyes in the mirror. He hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though he had to admit the grim curiosity was eating at him. After a brief pause, he nodded slowly. Rudy shifted in his seat, his gaze glued to the lonesome streets of Leeds as Alejandro began relaying his story.

Chapter Text

There was a time when they were inseparable.
Alejandro, Rodolfo and Valeria. They had grown up in the poorer parts of Mexico, Las Almas, where there was an unending list of trouble to make for three bored teenagers. It had been a good life, one Ale looked back on fondly…
It was a shame that those polaroids in his mind were smudged by the one memory that overshadowed them all.

He had been no older than eighteen, still that fiery hot-head that Valeria had fallen in love with. The pair had been attached at the hip, childhood sweethearts, promised to one another from the tender age of fourteen. Wherever one went, the other followed.
So Alejandro hadn’t expected a thing, when Valeria introduced her new friend. Phil.

Rudy didn’t trust him. But at the time, Rudy was small and voiceless and way too polite to be anything less than friendly with the man. Behind closed doors, however, Rudy would constantly be warning his older friend ‘careful with that one’. Ale would shrug it off, blaming Rudy’s nerves on jealousy. They boys were practically brothers, growing up; he couldn’t blame Rudy for being a little intimidated by this older American boy’s presence.

And then… the night came.

It had been like any other mission.
Alejandro wasn’t proud of it, now, but at the time he most certainly wore his title of ‘criminal’ with pride. He, Valeria, Rudy and Graves were all part of it in one way or another. Small tasks given by bigger dogs to earn them a bit of extra cash.
Rudy had stayed behind, after a nasty argument between himself and Valeria. To this day, he regretted not going on that damned mission. Part of him wondered if things would have turned out differently. No. He knows they would have.

Rudy wouldn’t have let Alejandro go into the cargo crates alone. He would have been sharper - he would have heard the footsteps. Or he’d have pulled Alejandro away, the moment he heard the alarms going off. He’d have shoved Ale outside, before the doors could close around him. He wouldn’t have run away - he wouldn’t have abandoned Alejandro when he needed him most, like Valeria and Phil did.
Hell if it came to it, he’d have stayed with Ale. He’d have endured every beating, every hour of torture and solitude. They’d have been locked away, together - Rudy would have gone down with him, if that’s what it took.
He’d clean Alejandro’s wounds - and Alejandro would do the same for him. He’d have soothed the man after every beating. Kissed all of the bruises and lacerations until they healed under his will alone. He’d have cried with the man as they shared each other’s pain and humiliation over the unspeakable things that were done to them.

But no.

Alejandro had gone through it all alone. And all Rudy could do was the things he would have done, too little too late. He never lived through it. And he couldn’t begin to understand the pain his husband was in.

When Alejandro was finally released, he was… different. Changeable. Unpredictable. And not in the awe-inspiring, enigmatic way he had been before. The fire he had once had, constant and loveable, had dissipated into brief explosions and outbursts. Sometimes he was completely extinguished and unresponsive. Other times, he was ablaze and angry and terrifying to be around.
Nobody could touch him, that was the one constant.

Whether he was numb or explosive, if anyone tried to put their hands on him, it was on sight.

Too much for Valeria, it would seem. She gave up on him after only a week. She and Phil continued their work - whispering over Alejandro’s sudden volatility and making jokes as if Ale wasn’t even there. Then, Rudy supposed, they were still just kids. They didn’t understand what those men had done to Alejandro.

Hell, Rudy didn’t understand until three years later. Long after he and Ale had cut Val and Phil off completely. Long after they had first slept together. Long after Rudy had called him ‘mi amor’ for the first time. Long after Alejandro called Rudy his boyfriend.
And it was so… quiet.

If he didn’t know Alejandro inside and out, he’d never have even picked up on it. His boyfriend was smiling and laughing at him as they shared a bowl of churros and ice-cream in the beating sun of Mexico. His eyes had twitched in the direction of a nearby officer, and all the joy was sapped from him in an instant. There was no rage or venom. Just silent resignation and something… frightening. As if he had just turned off all of a sudden.
That’s how the rest of the day was spent.

And most of the night.

It had gotten to the point where Rudy became desperate. He found himself pleading with Alejandro to talk to him - to say something - anything. He never expected to look up and find his boyfriend sobbing and broken. It was that night, through gentle, guarded touches and soft whispers that Rudy heard the full story for the first time.

He remembered how he had seethed, after hearing all the filthy, disgusting ways the officers had used Alejandro. The things they had said to him. The way they hurt him. All in the name of their sadistic pleasure, and Alejandro’s cruel undoing. He remembered how his stomach churned as he stroked Alejandro’s hair. How the pain clung to him as his boyfriend wept into his chest, a burden lifting from his shoulders. He wondered for how long Alejandro had carried his weighted silence - and how much longer he would have, if Rudy had not begged him to share it.

It was that day that Rodolfo promised to take Alejandro away from all of this. He vowed it. One day, he would take his love away from Las Almas. Away from Mexico, away from the United States, away from the place and people that had taken his body and childhood from him. He would move across the world, if that’s what it took to save his Alejandro…

And then, after three long, painstaking years of work and sacrifice, Rudy and Alejandro found themselves in England.

Chapter Text

Kyle was silent as he laid in his bed. He assumed Johnny had found some other warm bed to occupy for the night, as he wasn’t on the couch when Gaz got home. That, and the fact that Gaz had the only keys to his apartment. If he wasn’t still wrapped up in the story Alejandro had told him, he’d have felt a little guiltier for forgetting that John couldn’t get in. He had been so caught up in finding Ale, with Rudy and Horangi, that he never even considered how John would get in.
He turned his phone on, and was unsurprised to see the barrage of miscalls from his friend. He reasoned he’d better call him back, to tell him he wasn’t dead, and make sure Johnny wasn’t either.

“Kyle?” John’s voice asked through his phone, cautious and meek - and not at all what Kyle had expected to hear.

Any jokes that had been formulating in his mind, or niceties he had planned to smother Johnny in (in the vain hope John wouldn’t be too mad that he’d been locked out all night), crumbled away.

“What’s wrong?” Gaz asked, sitting up in bed.

“Nothing,” Johnny’s response came with that same uncertain edge to it. His voice was weak and tired.

Gaz felt himself becoming unsettled. He swung his legs over the bed, straight into a pair of boots that he began lacing as he listened to distinct chatter and noise in the background.

“Where are you, John?”

“I… I’m…”

“He’s with me.”

Gaz almost jumped out of his skin as a familiar gravelly voice spoke over John’s. He paused, his fingers still dancing with his laces, “Oh. Hey Si… Where are you guys?”

“My place,” Simon answered with unshaking conviction, “Watching some shite on TV. That a problem, Garrick?”

Gaz pursed his lips, “Since when did you two become so chummy? Maybe I’ll pop over since you’re suddenly inviting people around.”

“It wasn’t an invitation.”

Garrick hummed. He didn’t believe a word Simon was saying. He was convincing, Kyle would admit that. But he knew Ghost - and he wasn’t a socialite. He also knew Price; and he wouldn’t let people just randomly pop in if he could help it. And it didn’t sit right with him. Why would John lie about this?

“Where are you?”

“I told you, we’re-”

“Simon,” Gaz’s voice was strangely sharp. This was a tone he used his nephews or niece - and it was a well crafted one that Simon wasn’t used to being used on him, “You have my best mate with you. Cut the shit. Where are you?”

There was a beat, and Gaz could hear muffled whispers through the phone. He felt his shoulders growing tenser by the second… and the panic hit furrowly when Johnny’s weak reply came through.

“LGI.”
***

Gaz was like a bullet as he whipped from room to room and demanded answers from doctors. By the time he reached Johnny’s room, he had already assumed the worst. As soon as he saw Johnny, laying half-cocked on the bed, arms bound in clean white gauze, his heart broke.

“Johnny…” The word escaped his mouth, pained and hapless.

John could have fallen apart then and there. Guilt wore away at his soul as he watched Gaz’s eyes run over his arms. The man slowly approached, running his fingers over the soft material that shielded the damage from him. Ghost sat across from him, arms folded and eyes sharp on Garrick. He knew how distressing this must have been - for both Kyle and Johnny. He just silently prayed that Garrick didn’t snap. Not here. Not when Johnny was so vulnerable to the negative response.
He watched Garrick’s dark skin meet the gauze, his thumb gently stroking over it with an easy tenderness. He couldn’t help but think back to what Price had said, earlier, about Gaz and Johnny’s relationship to one another. He could see why that was so easy to believe. The way they looked at each other, their gazes soft, understanding, shared. As if they knew one another on a deeper level that no one else dared reach.
Hell, even knowing what he knew about Johnny, Simon was even questioning it himself.

“You daft twat,” Gaz laughed suddenly, his eyes pricking with tears, “What’ve you gone and done that for, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

Gaz shook his head, taking Johnny’s shaking hand into his own, “It’s alright, mate. You’re alright, yeah? What happened?”

He took his seat next to John, stroking his arm affectionately. Simon shifted in his own seat, drawing Gaz’s attention to him. They met eyes - Simon nodded in brief greeting - Gaz nodded back, before they both looked back at Johnny who was trying to find his words.

“It was an accident-”

“Johnny-”

“It really was!” John exclaimed, before simmering down, “At first. I was cleaning and I slipped and caught my arm on the threshold.”

Gaz hesitated, his lips pulling into a thin line. He thought back to the shop and knew exactly what Johnny was talking about. Too many times that damn strip of metal had pierced a hole in Garrick’s shoes, or snagged at the cuff of his jeans. It was completely plausible… but as his eyes twitched to both arms, the plausibility became weak.

“Twice?” He questioned.

John winced, averting his gaze, “It sort of just spiralled from there. I didn’t mean for it to go so far. One thought lead to another, and before I knew it…”

Gaz nodded gently, “You should have called me…”

There was a thick silence. Johnny’s eyes slowly lifted - and by they met Gaz’s face, he could already see the horrified realisation on it.

“You did call me. Oh fuck. Johnny, I’m so fucking sorry, mate,” He rubbed his brows, guilt weighing down on him.

“No. Kyle, it’s not your responsibility to come running after me, everytime I-”

“Yes. It is. You’re my best mate,” Kyle’s hands tightened around Johnny’s, to reinstate this fact, “It’s my job to be there for you when you need me. I completely dropped the ball.”

“No,” Johnny was firm now, his own grasp tightening, “No, Kyle. You do enough for me. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. This is on me, pal. It was a moment of weakness - there was nothing you could have.”

Ghost tightened slightly as he watched the two. All this talk of blame and fault and responsibility to one another. It was hitting a little too close to home. He stood up - Johnny and Kyle looked over at him, as if they’d only just remembered he was in the room.

“Well, if you two are done verbally fingering one another, I’ve gotta be off,” He made a vague gesture, trudging to the door.

“Ghost,” Gaz spoke up, stopping Simon in his tracks. He waited, half expecting Kyle to tear a new one into him for lying earlier. But when he saw the gentle expression on Gaz’s face, his prepared ‘fuck off’, died in his throat, “Thanks. For staying with him. I really appreciate it, mate.”

He hesitated, before shrugging, “I weren’t just gonna let him bleed out, were I?”

“Aw. You do like me,” Johnny grinned, teasing.

“I like you alive,” Simon said, before he could even consider the words.

There was an awkward beat as John’s smile grew, “Now who’s getting verbally fingered?”

Simon scoffed, a genuine smile cracking under his mask. Gaz’s brows shot up as he saw the wrinkles in the corners of Ghost’s eyes. Realising he’d been caught out, he steeled himself, clearing his throat.

“Get some sleep, Johnny,” He grumbled as he finally departed.
***

He didn’t believe it. She stood right in front of him. And he didn’t believe it. She wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him in a warmth familiar and foreign to him. And he still didn’t believe it.

“I was so worried about you,” She whispered, pulling away and touching his cheek over the black cotton mask, “I missed that skeleton smile of yours. I didn’t know if you still wore that old thing.”

He didn’t answer, staring at her in shock. He didn’t let his face convey it, just blinking at her slowly. She still had the same bright, loving gleam in her eyes. All as warm and safe as the day she had left. Kate. She had finally come home.

“How is your friend? Johnny, right? I heard he got himself a little scratched up at work today. I hope he’s okay,” She smiled, rubbing his shoulder.

He looked down at her hand. Solid. Real. Here. On him. She was right here. After a year without her, she was back - it was as if she’d never left… But she had. She had left. She watched him, drinking in his silence, her smile slowly wavering as she scanned his face for something. Anything.
She wanted something from him? Fine.

“Kate.”

“Simon.”

“Do us a favour and fuck off back to America,” He hissed, “You’re a year too late.”

She looked stunned, her mouth falling open before closing again. He pushed past her, into the hallway until he was in the sanctity of his room, where he slammed the door. Kate stood alone in the living room, lost.

Chapter Text

He listened to the hot water running from across the hallway, a smile stretching across his lips as the sun hit his cheek. When his eyes cracked open fully, Ale took a moment to appreciate the early morning tranquility, watching specs of dust float through the sunlight. If he squinted just right, they looked like the fireflies he used to watch during the warm summer nights at home.
His attention was whisked away as he heard purring at his side. His expression shifted and he let out a sigh, craning his head to look at the offending creature. Nieve. He flashed her an unimpressed look as she mewed softly. She was laid on Rudy’s pillow, watching Alejandro with intrigue. He considered, for a moment, shooing her away. But… as his eyes strolled her comfortable position and swollen belly, he didn’t have the heart to do so.
Resigned, he reached out his hand to rub under her chin. Her purring intensified and he chuckled fondly, before stroking her back, watching her tail whip out with each motion of his hand. When she turned onto her back, exposing her belly to him, he pressed a gentle kiss atop her head.

“No le digas a Rudy que me gustas, ¿vale?” He demanded of the muted creature, “This is between you and me, cat.”

With that, he rose from the bed, stretching. Nieve watched him leave, laying her head back down on the pillow, content in the sun. Alejandro made his way to the bathroom, cracking it open to get a peak at his husband through the fogged glass of the shower. Rudy wasn’t doing much, just standing under the head, letting water spray down on him.
With an evil grin, Alejandro stepped into the bathroom, climbing out of his underwear and quietly sliding the shower door open. Rudy craned his head, his eyes catching his husband’s face - before twitching down - then back up at his face, a smile of his own growing. Wordlessly, he reached out. Alejandro took his hand, kissing his knuckles as his lover guided him under the water.
The moment the glass door was closed, they were pressed together, lips locked and hands sliding across wet skin. Alejandro shivered as the water hit his back, his damp hair sticking to Rudy’s forehead as he broke the kiss to look into his eyes.

“Mi hermoso príncipe,” He mumbled, before craning his head to kiss the man’s neck. He rested his hand on the man’s waist.

“You’re going to make me big-headed,” Rudy chuckled, brushing the man’s hair out of his eyes.

He let his own eyes flutter shut as he embraced him, breathing his scent in as it mixed with the rising scent of their shampoo. Alejandro stepped forwards, until he could press Rudy’s back to the wall. His hands slipped to the man’s outer thighs, pulling him up until his legs were wrapped around his waist.

“Ale!” Rudy chuckled, caught off guard by the bold move.

“Si guapo?” Alejandro grinned into his lips, “Admit it. That turned you on, just a little bit.”

With a devious grin of his own, Rodolfo kissed his husband again. He moaned into his mouth as he felt Ale’s hand slip down his back, before gently kneading against his cheeks. He felt himself growing hard against Ale’s stomach - and by the smirk on his husband’s face, he hadn’t missed it either.

“Mírate. Todo cachondo para mí,” He muttered into Rudy’s ear, his free hand sinking between them to run his thumb over the man’s stiff cock. He chuckled as Rudy jolted into the touch, eager and flushed, “Tan hermoso…”

“Alejandro,” Rudy rasped. He felt himself slip down the wall slightly, his hand snapping out to grasp at Ale.

Ale caught his arm, helping prop him up, before turning him around completely. Rudy’s legs felt weak - but it didn’t matter for long. In a moment’s notice, he felt Ale’s chest on his back, and something firm pressing into his lower back. He bit his lip, pressing his forehead against the tiled wall as Alejandro kissed his shoulders and the back of his neck, muttering to him in their shared tongue. Rudy’s own hand slipped down between his legs, massaging himself as he listened to his lover talk. He could have gotten himself off from that alone - and he would have if he didn’t think it would only inflate Ale’s ego. He instead worked slowly, entertaining himself as Alejandro began toying with his entrance with practised fingers.

“Ay dios mío…” Rudy panted, as he felt the man’s fingers easing into him, “No me hagas esperar, Alejandro. You know I can’t take it.”

“Qué impaciente, chiquito,” Ale laughed, deep and tantalizing, as he retracted his hand, instead beginning to stroke himself. He pressed his head into Rudy’s shoulder, breathing his husband in as he teased himself against his lover’s opening.

“Fuck… Ale,” Rudy arched his back, his face becoming heated, “Te sientes tan bien.”

Ale felt his loins burn at the praise. He bit back a groan, pressing his hips forwards until he felt his husband’s body give. He relished the whimper that escaped Rudy as he finally pushed into him, his body aching over the tightness surrounding him. He offered an experimental roll of his hips, earning another weak sound. And that was enough for him. He took another step forwards, closing any space between and grinding himself into his husband.

“Ah! Ah!” Rudy reached back, grasping his husband’s arm, “Ale- ah! Alejandro!”

“That’s it, chulo,” Alejandro grunted, wrapping his arm around the man’s waist, “Di mi nombre.”

He sank his teeth into Rudy’s shoulder, almost losing his mind at the sound that erupted from him. Rudy arched his back again, writhing against Alejandro as he felt himself beginning to slip. Ale ran his free hand up the man’s chest, until he found his neck. He forced his head back, attacking the exposed skin as he continued thrusting into him. He relinquished his lover’s waist, his hand sliding over Rudy’s, which still stroked his twitching cock. Rudy let go, allowing Ale to take over. His hips bucked into Ale’s hand on their own accord, causing both men to moan into each other.

“Fuck, I’m…” Rudy cut himself off, feeling his stomach tighten.

“Mierda, me encanta tu cuerpo,” Ale panted, feeling himself getting lost in Rudy’s helpless moans and hushed gasps, “Me encanta tu verga. Me encanta tu trasero.”

Rudy’s breath hitched, feeling himself coming apart in his husband's arms, “A-ah! Ay! P-papi, sí, sí, así! Me vengo! M-me vengo-!”

Alejandro groaned, listening to Rudy’s voice raise an octave. A moment later, he felt Rudy crumble against him. He moaned into Rudy’s neck, feeling warm cum spill between his fingers. He kept Rudy’s cock between his hands, offering occasional tugs, just to hear that beautiful voice, and feel his body clench around him. It wasn’t long before Alejandro followed him over the edge, pulling out just in time to watch himself paint the back of Rudy’s thigh white. Rudy didn’t seem to mind, leaning against the wall, still coming down from the cloud Ale had dropped him on.
Seeing the weakened state he’d left him in, Alejandro grinned, kissing the man’s shoulder blades.

“Te amo, mi principe.”

Rudy let out a satisfied sigh, leaning his head back on Alejandro’s shoulder, “Te amo más cariño.”

Alejandro could have afforded a round two. He was considering it as they stood under the tepid water, letting their breaths mix together, their hands exploring a vast canvas of tan skin. The idea was squandered, however, when they heard the front door open. Alejandro went rigid immediately, a protective flare firing up in him as his arm tightened around Rudy’s waist. Rudy only laughed, playfully tapping Alejandro’s chest.

“It’ll be Farah, tonto,” He muttered.

“She has a key to our house?”

“She was babysitting Nieve, whilst I was out looking for you, yesterday,” Rudy flashed him a look, only laughing again when Alejandro pursed his lips, unimpressed, “You’d rather I leave our pregnant baby alone?”

“I’m adding ‘pregnant baby’ to the list of things I want you to never call your cat again,” Ale flicked his nose playfully, before kissing it.

Rudy rolled his eyes before making a shooing gesture, “Go - Farah will be waiting for you.”

“What? Like this?” Alejandro teased with a smile, gesturing to his naked still semi-hard form.

“Ay! My eyes only, pendejo!”
***

Alejandro froze in the doorway. In the time he had taken to calm his body down, dry off and get dressed, Farah had made herself at home… And so, apparently, had her guests. His eyes swept over the room, catching two other familiar faces. Horangi had taken a seat on the counter, whilst Konig loomed by the door. Konig looked tired and sore - he sported a large bruise on his mouth, the lip freshly healed from the split. Alejandro silently cursed himself, remembering how he had launched his head back, in his rage, as Konig had tried restraining him. He never looked back to see whether the hit had actually landed.
He supposed, now, it must have.

“Heard you went awol.”

Ale’s eyes twitched to Farah, who held out a hot cup of coffee, “Que? Oh. Uh… yes.”

“Glad you’re back,” She remarked with a shrug, “I still need my car back from Bradford, remember?”

“Wow. That’s cold,” An American voice cut in.

Alejandro’s gaze swivelled to the man on his right. Alex was leaning against his counter with a friendly smile. He offered an outstretched hand, clearly either too dumb or naive to notice the unimpressed expression on Ale’s face.

“Alex,” He introduced himself, smiling like an idiot.

Ale just stared at him, before looking back at Farah. Alex hesitated, before lowering his hand and clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You’re hanging out with this man, now?” He demanded, throwing a disappointed look Farah’s way.

“He’s not that bad,” Farah shook her head, “Besides, he was walking the streets like a lost puppy, asking strangers for help. What was I supposed to do?”

Alejandro blinked at her, dumbfounded, before rolling his eyes and turning on his heel, bellowing for his husband’s support. Alex turned to look at Farah, a little lost.

“Don’t worry,” Farah patted his shoulder, “He’s like that with everyone… mostly.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sure he just needs some time.”

“The way he looked at me, John,” Kate whispered, her hand clasping over the mug, trapping the heat beneath her palm, “He looked like he hated me.”

“Simon looks like he hates everybody,” Nik raised a pointed finger, wagging it in the air to accentuate his point, “Does not mean it is true.”

Kate didn’t seem convinced. She sighed, picking the mug up and sipping her coffee as she stared down at the table. Price watched her with a sympathetic look. He had been around to watch Simon’s decay. It hadn’t been an overnight thing. Simon had never been sunshine and rainbows, but there had been a time when he spoke more, and was softer. Day by day, in Gary’s absence, he’s become sharper to the touch, catching people on his edges. John’s hands were calloused and thick, familiar with Simon’s cutting words and sharp stare. But Kate? She had been gone too long. She wasn’t used to handling this new, painful version of the boy she had once seen as her own.

“I think he was just surprised to see you, Kate. I’m sure he didn’t mean-”

“He told to fuck off back to America, John,” She interjected, “It’s hard to read between the lines, when the words are written out so clearly for you.”

John looked away, humming to himself in discontent. Before another word could be uttered, they heard the door crack open from down the hall. They all became quiet as Simon’s hulking figure appeared in the hallway. His eyes swept over the people in the living room - and he immediately turned to skulk back to his bedroom.

“Simon,” John called after him, using the disappointed father tone.

He found it funny, really. For how firmly Simon reiterated that John was not his father, his fathering tone always seemed to work on him. Sure enough, Simon sighed, turning back around to join the others in the room. Kate offered a soft smile - Simon just stared at her.

“Coffee?” Nik prompted.

“Tea,” Kate, John and Simon answered in unison.

Nik stared back at them with raised brows, a little unnerved by the cult-like response, before stalking to the kitchen. John pulled a chair out, gesturing for Simon to sit. The younger man hesitated, considering defiance for a moment. He quickly realised it was only his own legs that would suffer from such a childish act of rebellion - he sat down between Kate and John, sulking a naughty child at parent’s evening.

“Some things haven’t changed,” Kate acknowledged out loud, trying to smile again at Simon, “You still love your tea.”

He didn’t give her anything, just shrugging and staring ahead like she wasn’t there. She met John’s eyes - he stared back at her, hoping the ‘leave it alone’ beacon in his gaze was enough to dissuade her. It wasn’t.

“Simon,” She reached out, resting her hand on his arm, “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” He grumbled.

“You seem… upset?”

Price wanted to sink into the floor as Simon’s withering gaze landed on Kate. She paused, before retracting her hand and leaning back in her chair. Simon returned to staring ahead. They were all quiet as the kettle boiled to a whistle. Nik returned with his third cup of coffee and a cup of tea for Simon. He dropped it down in front of the man, earning one, small appreciative nod. Then he took his place behind Price, his hand resting on his husband’s shoulder. Price craned his head, kissing Nik’s knuckles, more for his own comfort than anything else. Nik brushed Price’s hair with a warm smile before glancing at Kate who was watching them.

“Has John told you we’re moving?”

Kate’s brows shot up. Simon visibly tensed.

“That’s wonderful,” She beamed at the couple, “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere local,” Price spoke up - more for Simon’s sake. Part of him hoped the blow would be softer by the mention of proximity. If it was, Simon didn’t show it on his face, “Not quite ready to give up on the shop, just yet.”

“That’ll be nice. Getting away from… all of this,” She made a gesture to the apartment, “I think it’s about time you had a change of scenery. It couldn’t have been easy, living here all these years, after everything that happened with Roach.”

Simon’s heart stopped in his chest. Price’s eyes locked onto him - Nik, standing behind him, shook his head, signalling for Kate to stop talking.
Roach.
Oh god.
Oh fuck.
Simon’s eyes dimmed, his jaw setting. That name. How had he forgotten that stupid fucking nickname. It was the first time he’d heard it being used since he had died. Such an awful nickname that came about for such sweet reasons. His passion - his resilience. No matter how many times Gary was knocked down, he climbed back up again. He was persistent to a fault. One of the reasons he and Simon had got together in the first place.
Let me take you out, Simon. I fancy the arse off of you, y’know that Simon? Don’t be such a tease - dance with me, Simon. I proper love you, Simon.
Every time, it was met with cold, vague replies or doors slamming in his face. But he always came scuttling back for a second, third, fourth, hundredth try. And of course, Simon eventually caved.
Because that was Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson, through and through. Always dusting himself off, and climbing back up. Nothing could keep Roach down… except himself, apparently.

“Si. You alright mate?”

Simon looked at Price in the corner of his eyes, unresponsive. He didn’t have to say a word. Price could see the panic in his eyes - he could his heavy breaths hitting the mask.

“We should go to work, yeah?” He spoke up, clasping Simon’s shoulder and gesturing to the door, “Don’t wanna be la-”

He couldn’t even finish, Simon was already on his feet, barrelling to the door. Kate almost had whiplash as she watched him leave. She looked back at Price and Nik, her mouth hanging open.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” She whispered, “I didn’t realise-”

“He’s still… recovering,” Price cleared his throat, uneasily, “We don’t really talk about Gary. When we do, it usually ends in fighting or… this.”

She pursed her lips, staring down at her own coffee, “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Well.. neither does running 7000 miles away,” Price shrugged.

Kate caught his eyes and he turned to face her head-on. There was an awkward silence as she tried to read his tone - his face told her nothing.

“I don’t blame you for leaving, Kate. Really. I want to do the same,” Price went on, “But we could really have used your help. We already lost one friend and… you just left us here.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“I know, love. I know,” Price reached out, taking her hand into his own, “Just because a pill makes you better, doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. I get why you left. You had healing to do. And you couldn’t do it here. But understand Simon’s too close to this. He’s not ready to heal. I think a part of him wants to - and I think that hurts more when he sees how fast you healed, yourself.”

She winced, “It wasn’t easy. And I didn’t do it alone.”

“Aye, I know. You have your wife. I have Nik,” Price made a vague gesture, “Who does Simon have?”

“Us,” She furrowed her brows.

“Does he?” Price cocked his head, “You ran to America, Kate. He might’ve had my shoulder to cry on, when he needed it, but even I won’t be around forever. And he knows that. So who does he have, really?”

Kate opened her mouth. Then closed it. Her eyes trailed to the door that Simon had rushed out of, her heart sinking.

“No one blames you for leaving, Kate. I think if I could have, I would have done the same,” He whispered, “But you can’t blame Simon for sticking to the one person that has nowhere else to be. Gary might be gone, but he never left Simon behind."

Chapter Text

There were very few things Simon and Gaz agreed on. Gaz’s relaxed, empathetic nature often contradicted Simon’s apathetic, brutal, blunt-force approach. Garrick was an open book; Simon was an ancient tome locked in a chest somewhere deep in the mariana trench, ready to unleash its fatal curse. Kyle was a sweet, warm, sugary beverage ready to melt the hearts of anyone who met him, with his friendly smile and soft eyes. Simon was a black coffee that was ready to scold the throats of unsuspecting victims, or leave a bitter taste in their mouths. There were near to no parallels between the two of them.
But on this, they agreed: John MacTavish is a fucking idiot.
The pair met eyes, Simon looking unimpressed, and Garrick failing to hide the annoyance in his gaze, before they looked back at Johnny, who had just finished tying up a bin liner filled to the brim with sodden, blood-soaked wet wipes. If he had noticed their presence, he didn’t show it, humming softly to himself as music played through the headphones he adorned.
Simon noted the man’s outfits; specifically the long-sleeved jacket he was wearing in the heart of English summer. It made sense, he knew, but it did look awfully suspicious; he wouldn’t be surprised if Price noticed - and he’d be less surprised if it didn’t lead to some sort of interrogation. After everything that went down with Roach - no - Gary, Price left room for no error. Then again, Simon reasoned, as far as Price knew, Johnny was of no risk to himself and gave no reason for doubt.

As if on cue, Simon heard the bell above the door ring. He craned his head just in time to see Price trudging his way in, whistling to himself. Despite the tension this morning, both he and Simon were in fairly calm waters. The silent car ride had helped; a small bit of peace and normality after the sudden change in course in this endless sea of shit they found themselves in.
Garrick met Simon’s eyes again, looking uneasy. Simon just threw him an off glance, a silent reminder to keep calm and play it cool.

“Bloody hell,” They heard Price chuckle from the shop front, “The cleaning fairy’s paid us a visit boys!”

Gaz had to stifle his snort, unable to evade the image of Johnny in a tartan tutu and a pair of wings, waving his magic wand over the shop. Simon just rolled his eyes as Price finally made his way into the crew room. His eyes widened as they landed on Johnny. He was probably thinking the same thing Simon and Garrick were: what the hell is MacTavish doing at work?
Feeling three sets of eyes on him, Johnny finally lifted his gaze. His brows shot up as he peeled the headphones off of his head, offering a sheepish, crooked grin.

“Si, Kyle… sir,” He greeted, nodding at each of them in turn and pretending not to see the death glares Simon and Gaz threw at him.

“What are you up to, you muppet? You should be resting, Johnny,” Price tsked, folding his arms.

“Eh, it was just a scratch,” Johnny batted the concern away with a lame wrist, before straightening up and making a gesture around the room, “What do you think, boss?”

Price allowed his concern to subside, seeing Johnny’s nonchalance over the matter. He was upright and energetic, so Price had no room to second-guess. Gaz, not amused, shot Johnny a withering look as he sipped the iced-coffee he had been nursing all morning. Johnny caught his eyes, smiling apologetically, before looking back to Price for an answer. Price, himself, was busy examining the new and improved crew room.
The seating area had been moved to the corner closest to the TV, old furniture had been removed making the space less suffocating. The table had been pulled into the center, the chairs arranged accordingly. Hell, even the pictures and certificates had been rearranged on the opposite wall, no longer oddly splayed around the window but neatly lined up besides the bathroom door.
Price let out a low whistle, shoving his hands into his pockets and nodding in approval as he slowly turned on his heel, getting a full read of the room.

“You got an eye for this, Johnny. Ever consider becoming an interior decorator?” He asked, sincerely.

“Perish the thought. I’d go mad, sir,” John laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I believe you. Look at this place - spic and span,” He ran his fingers over the table, pinching hypothetical dust between them, “You can be our designated cleaner from now on, if it suits?”

Gaz made a disgruntled sound as Johnny’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. Sensing his friend’s hesitance, John reigned in his visible excitement, making a vague gesture.

“I’ll think about it.”

“How’s the arm, son?” Price asked, suddenly, catching Johnny a little off guard, “Our Nik says it was a little brutal; and if the stains on his shirt are anything to go by-”

“Nik, sir?” Johnny furrowed his brows.

Simon’s chest tightened, slightly. Johnny wasn’t conscious by the time Nik had reached him - and Nik had left long before John had woken. Clearing his throat, Simon spoke up.

“Yeah - you met him last night, Johnny. The one that drove you to the hospital. The Russian bloke?”

Simon’s eyes drilled into Johnny - and he got the message loud and clear. Play along.

“Oh! Right, course. Sorry, sir, I was a little preoccupied. Didn’t catch his name,” Johnny chuckled nervously, “He a mate of yours, then?”

“My husband,” Price nodded, his thumb instinctively stroking the silver band on his ring-finger

“Ah. Right,” Clearing his throat, Johnny sat down on the table, hands shoved into his pockets, “Thank him for me. I didn’t have the chance.”

“Course, son,” He nodded, before pointing to John’s arms, “Can I have a gander?”

It was Johnny’s turn to lose his breath. He opened his mouth, looking a little lost.

“Oh - he can’t, Price,” Gaz interjected, “Doctor says to keep it covered up. You know, away from the elements.”

Price furrowed his brow, “Aren’t you supposed to let a cut breathe a little?”

“Oh. Uh, well-”

“Not this one,” Simon cut in now, seeing Gaz floundering, “He caught his arm on the threshold, didn’t he. Already a risk of infection, without him leaving it in the open air.”

“Right, but-”

“Price. I think the doctor’s know what they’re talking about,” Simon said, suddenly sharp.

Garrick and Johnny glanced between themselves, a little awkwardly as Price pursed his lips. In reality, Price was used to Simon being short with him and easily irritable. It was nothing new. With a sigh, Price raised his arms in retreat.

“Fine. Fine. Doctor’s orders,” He nodded, before looking back at John, none the wiser, “Don’t push yourself, alright son? I won’t send you home, if you want to be here. But take it easy.”

“Yessir.”

Price clapped his hands together, “Right then. Let’s get to work, boys. What’s on the agenda?”

The atmosphere thinned out as Ghost and Gaz recounted their respective schedules for the day; Garrick having only four or five piercings scheduled, whilst Ghost had a small handful of tattoo appointments. Johnny listened, quietly. He found himself a little disheartened by their busy days, and was secretly longing for the day he too found himself fully booked with clients. It was a strange feeling; he’d never seen himself as an ambitious person. Hell - he hadn’t actively been seeking to land a job as a tattoo artist. Even still, now that he was here, he wanted nothing more than to dive into it all, head-first. Master his newfound craft.
When the piercer and artist dispersed to set up their stations, Johnny slugged his way to Price, looking uncertain.

“What am I doing today, sir?” He asked, cocking his head as he watched Price pick up a clipboard from one of the shelves.

“Same as yesterday, mate,” Price took a seat at the table, scribbling something down, “Practising on the faux skin.”

Johnny tried to disguise his disappointed look, his gaze shifting to the tattoo station that Simon was taking stock of. Price glanced up at the silence. He caught the forlorn expression, his own eyes twitching to Simon. If he was being honest, he was a little endeared by Johnny’s newfound eagerness. A part of him had worried, after the first impression he got of Johnny, that the man was as surface-level as he seemed. Just drifting by, waiting for the next job to come along. After employing and firing so many hopeless ne’re-do-wells, it was a breath of fresh air, finding a young man rearing to go.
With a hum, he placed his clipboard down, recapturing Johnny’s attention.

“Something troubling you, boy?”

Johnny shifted slightly, “No. No, sir. I’m grateful that you’re training me. Honest. It’s just…”

“You want to do more.”

Johnny tightened his lips, shrugging. Price chuckled, rubbing his beard and staring at him quizzically. Part of him was comfortable in the conservative. He had tried and tested this way of training people, over and over again - and the results were always telling. But he liked Johnny’s fire; and who was he, not to reward the initiative. After a moment of silent pondering, he sighed and rolled up his sleeve, exposing a clear patch of forearm. Johnny watched with intrigue.

“Grab a machine, Johnny,” He demanded, “And some black ink. You’re good at drawing vehicles, right?”

Johnny wasted no time, his eyes lighting up as he scrambled around the room, collecting everything he needed, including some paper towels and a pair of black disposable gloves.

“Aye, sir,” He grinned, “What have you got in mind?”

“You specialise in cartoons, right? How do you feel about drawing a little cartoon helicopter from memory?” Price watched him carefully as he set up, across the table.

“I can do that,” His grin grew wider.

Price could tell he was keen to impress. If he didn’t think it would completely crush the boy, he’d have told Johnny not to be so certain. It was nice, seeing him so eager, but Price knew better than anyone that overconfidence leads to mistakes. In this case, he supposed, it didn’t matter.

“You’re sure you want me to do this, sir?” Johnny asked, as he began wiping Price’s arm down, “What if I fuck up?”

“I do this with all the new employees - usually a little bit later when I’m more confident in their abilities,” Price explained, “My body’s full of their mistakes, son. So don’t think too much about it. Just have fun with it.”

“You did this with Kyle? And Ghost?”

“Mm-hm,” Price rolled his sleeve a little bit higher, gesturing to a crude doodle of a bucket hat, then to a cleaner drawing of a snake, coiled up and glaring out from between its rungs.

Johnny observed with awe at the small drawings in the skin. Then his gaze found something else. Beneath them was an ugly-looking bug, so detailed it looked like the animal itself sat atop Price’s shoulder.

“Oof - why would you ever want that thing on your arm,” He chuckled, absently running his thumb over the tattoo. He paused when he saw Price’s eyes dim slightly.

“It’s… it was for a mate,” Price shifted in his seat, looking a little uneasy.

“Oh. A roach? I bet he was thrilled,” Johnny laughed again, trying to lighten the mood.

Price pursed his lips, shrugging, “He - uh - never got to see it.”

There was a heavy silence. Johnny might have been a little slow at the best of times, but he’d have to be brain-dead not to read between the lines on that one. He retracted his hands, his brows drawing together.

“Shite. I’m so sorry. I dinnea-”

“No, no, son. It’s fine,” Price shook his head, “It were a while ago. And he’d probably have agreed with you - called me a wanker for getting such a stupid tattoo.”

John eased a little, but couldn’t stop the guilt bubbling in his gut. He wished he’d have just shut up. He began prepping the ink, his eyes low and shameful as Price watched him. Price, himself, was in a world of his own. His eyes found Simon, who was in the middle of briefing with a client. He supposed it was better Johnny found out the story of the shop through himself, rather than accidentally pissing Simon off.

“He was a mate of our Simon, as well,” Price said, catching Johnny again, “A real close mate… We called him Roach. The little bastard just wouldn’t stay down. Kept coming back, no matter how many blows he took for it. It’s how he got this job.”

“He worked here?”

“Oh, yeah. Gary was brilliant. Had such a drive. Such passion,” Price nodded, his fingers drumming against the table as he reminisced over his fallen friend.

Johnny pondered over this, as he started up the machine, dipping it into the inkwell. He was silent for a long moment, the question dancing on his lips. He’d never lost anyone - not in that way - and hadn’t been around anyone who had. He wasn’t sure how to ask the question - or if he even should.

“What… happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking?” He winced slightly.

Price’s lips twitched down, and for a moment Johnny braced himself for a cold ‘fuck off’, or reprimand for his insensitivity. Instead, he only found a remorseful look from his boss.

“He… he took his own life. Last year.”

John’s heart clenched at the soft way Price spoke. He was used to hearing Price’s firm, steady tone - he’d even heard the gentler, encouraging side. But this? It was raw. Weighted. Delicate. He nodded, slowly, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Price stayed still, barely even reacting as the needles began chewing his skin up, beneath Johnny’s hand.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend, sir,” John whispered, his focus split between his work and the sympathy he had for the man.

“No, it’s alright, son. He… he was in a lot of pain. And none of us could see it,” Price’s gaze twitched back to Simon, making sure the young man was far enough that he didn’t overhear their conversation, “I… Honestly, it broke my heart. Losing him… But I’m just glad he’s not suffering anymore.”

“Of course. For what it’s worth, boss,” Johnny looked up, meeting Price’s eyes, “It’s a sweet tattoo… Ugly as shite, but very sweet.”

Price chortled, pretending to bat Johnny over the head, “Prick.”

The pair fell silent again. Price watched Johnny working on the tattoo, admittedly impressed by how meticulous the young man was. He couldn’t help but smile as Johnny began to thicken the outline - a technique Price had yet to teach him. It was clear, to the older man, that Johnny must have at least a little bit of artistic know-how.

“Why a helicopter, sir?” Johnny asked, as he began working on the little spinning blades of his doodle.

“My Nik’s a pilot,” Price smiled, fondly.

“Oh, aye?” He quirked a brow, looking up at Price as he re-dipped the machine.

Price hummed, before his gaze flickered over John, “You seeing anyone, Johnny boy?”

“Oh - uh - no… it’s… complicated?” Johnny cocked his head back and forth in indecision.

“What’s that mean?”

“There’s this bloke,” John’s lips twitched downwards.

Price felt something small and dark begin to make itself known in the bass of his chest as he saw the discomfort in Johnny’s eyes, “Go on, son.”

“It’s nothing serious. We dated for a while, up until… Quite recently, actually,” He grimaced, “Just before I got this job. He decided he didn’t want anything serious - and I’m not the type to stay where I’m not wanted.”

“I see,” Price nodded, “That doesn’t sound complicated.”

“No… except… I had a moment of weakness, a couple of nights ago. Ended up in his bed again.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, son. It happens,” Price shrugged.

“Aye. But now he won’t stop messaging me. It’s my own fault. Sent him mixed signals. But I sent him a pretty strong signal when I told him I don’t want to talk to him anymore… and-”

“He’s still messaging you?”

Johnny hummed, looking discontent. Price felt that looming sensation growing broader inside of him.

“Can I see?”

“What? The messages?” John raised his brows, as Price nodded looking stern. He hesitated, before switching the machine off and delving into his pocket for his phone, “Sure. But, uhm, you should know, before you do… he, uh, talks to me in a weird way.”

“Weird?” Price questioned, taking the open phone from Johnny and looking down at the stream of messages.

“Aye. He’s a bit… unique. I know what it could look like, without context, I mean.”

Price’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls as he scrolled through the messages, each one more vulgar than the last. Johnny watched his boss, regretting ever entertaining this idea. He had to shove his hands down on his lap to stop himself from snatching the phone back.

“Fucking Hell, Johnny. What’s the context? He fucking hates you?” Price demanded, humorlessly.

But Johnny laughed anyway, “He’s just… that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t actually mean the things he says - it's just how he talks. It’s like an inside joke.”

“It’s not a joke, son. These are threats,” Price’s gaze twitched to a particularly brutal message, “I’m not just going to let you walk away from me like that, John. The next time you run back to me, I’ll break both your legs so you never leave again.”

“Well, when you read it like that-”

“What? When I read what he wrote, you mean,” Price leaned forwards, clasping John’s arm, “What are you seeing, that I’m not? How often has he spoken to you like this, that you’re not hearing what he’s saying?”

John was stunned. He stared back at Price, at a complete loss. He’d be lying if he said that the stranger never spoke to him like that. He did. Almost all the time. It was always just empty threats and a decayed version of flirtation to Johnny. A dark, fucked up way of saying ‘I want you - and no one else can have you’. He supposed from an outside perspective, this really did look bad. But that was just the relationship he and the stranger had - it was dark, twisted and fucked up. It was who they were, together.

“Has he hurt you?”

“Fucking hell, Price,” Johnny snorted, looking away.

“I’m being serious, lad. Has he ever put his hands on you?”

He opened his mouth to negate the question, but couldn’t. Of course, there were intimate moments, when Johnny laid down and let the strange slap or hit him as hard as he wanted. But… yes, there were times outside of that too. Times Johnny had never really put much thought into, because he was so used to the harsh stings and bruises from sex. But, thinking back now, there were at least three or four times he could recount when the stranger had hit him over small, trivial things.
Still, he reasoned with himself, the stranger probably wasn’t doing it maliciously. Like he had said, he was used to being hit and smacked during sex. So much so that when it occurred outside of the bedroom, he never really considered it an act of violence. He imagined the stranger must have felt the same way.
He shrugged, not exactly eager to get into the details of his brutal sex habits with his boss. This clearly didn’t sit well with Price, who’s expression darkened further.

“That’s not on, Johnny. If this man comes anywhere near you at work, or-”

“He’s intense, but he’s not crazy, Price. He’s not gonna attack the store.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the store, Johnny. I’m worried about you,” Price took both of his arms now, cradling them from across the table as he stared at the younger man, “If he comes anywhere near you at work, or when you’re away, you let me know, alright?”

“Price-”

“I mean it, son. We take care of our own here. You’re one of my boys now. And nobody fucking touches my boys. You understand?” He squeezed John’s arm, his expression fierce.

John hesitated before nodding slowly. He couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest as the man stared at him. It was nice - he couldn’t deny it - having someone worry over him. Even if, in his opinion, the concern was misplaced or unwarranted. It just felt nice to be part of a team, and have someone care for them. Finally satisfied, Price let go of the younger man. He sighed, his gaze flickering down to his new tattoo. Johnny followed his gaze, humming in discontent as he began wiping the blood that began weeping from the ink. As he did, he saw his boss’ eyes light up, a smile on his aged face.

“You’ve got the knack for this, Johnny. Look how neat those lines are,” He chuckled, approvingly, “Everything you do is clean, ey? Gonna have to start calling you Soap.”

Johnny beamed proudly, laughing off the nickname… big mistake.

Chapter Text

“Poor boy,” Rudy sighed, as he threw a sympathetic look at Alex through the mirror.

The young man looked like an eager puppy, desperate to earn his owner’s approval as he spoke to Alejandro. Horangi, who was sitting in the fine leather seat before Rudy, also watched the interaction, just chuckling knowingly.

“Your husband will eat him alive,” He smirked, his accent thick but nearly drowned out by the buzz of the electric razor that Rudy held to his head.

Right now, his hair was wrecked and misshapen. The top half was tied into a tight knot, holding it all in place, but the bottom half had been hacked at with scissors. On purpose of course - Rudy had told him it would be easier to shave it down, the lesser the length. Horangi had been there to witness Rudy work his magic on Soap’s hair - and if he could fix that, he could fix anything. He just had to trust the process.

“How is he?” Horangi continued, his voice soft so the subject didn’t hear the conversation.

“Better than he was,” Rudy muttered, “We haven’t really talked about what happened.”

“You haven’t?” He looked slightly alarmed.

“We will. I think we’re just waiting for the dust to settle,” Sighing, Rudy began buzzing the chopped bit of hair, following the curve of Horangi’s skull, “He’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to push him into running away again… How are you? And Konig? I saw that nasty cut on his face. I know Alejandro is so, so sorry about-”

“Eh,” Horangi waved his hand dismissively, “Konig saw how upset Al was. He doesn’t hold it against him. Besides - a split brow was not the worst thing to come of all of this.”

There was a brief pause as Rudy frowned, confused, “No?”

They met eyes in the mirror and Rudy watched realisation flash across Horangi’s face.

“You didn’t hear?” He whispered, “Konig was fired. His boss told him his ‘involvement in the bar fight’ was unacceptable.”

Rudy’s heart sank to his stomach, his head snapping in Konig’s direction. The group were sitting in the living room together, which Rudy and Horangi could see from the open sliding doors. Alex stood, motioning vigorously as he told a story that Rudy couldn’t quite follow. Ale was sat on the sofa, looking unimpressed - and Farah sat at his side, staring at Alex with an amused, albeit condescending, look on her face. And then, Konig. The giant of a man was sitting in a beaten-down arm chair, staring at the floor absently, as he picked at loose cotton on the arm of the seat. It didn’t sit well with Rudy. Konig was quiet most of the time, but he always had this vivid air about him. He was hard to miss, bulky and tall and emitting this nervous, lively energy. The man he saw sitting in that chair, despite his heinous size, had never looked smaller.

“I’m so sorry, Horangi,” Rudy grimaced, “This is all our fault.”

“No,” Horangi shook his head, “His boss never liked him. He’s been trying to get rid of him, ever since he found out that he was seeing another man.”

Rudy looked shocked, “Really?”

Horangi nodded, “Surprised me too. In this day and age? But it would appear so. The asshole couldn’t even refer to me as Konig’s partner or boyfriend. It was always ‘Konig, your friend’s here’. And he’d always pull a face if we ever so much as touched one another. I started really playing into it, kissing Konig everytime that bastard looked our way.”

“Good for you,” Rudy nodded, firmly.

“Well. Apparently not,” The Korean man sighed, looking deflated in the seat.

Rudy felt terrible. Despite Horangi’s reassurance, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for all of this. It was his and Alejandro’s argument that had pushed Ale to run away. And that led to the bar fight - and that led to this predicament his new friends found themselves in. He pursed his lips as he finished buzzing down Horangi’s new undercut.

“You know… Ale and I could always use a hand or two to keep things afloat,” He mused.

Horangi hesitated, “With the salon?”

“Si. But also Ale’s business, too,” Rudy made a gesture to his husband, “He’s a mechanic. Works with cars. Do you know anything about that?”

Horangi sank slightly, shaking his head.

“Well… he could teach you?” Rudy circled around, turning the razor off and sitting down in the seat opposite Horangi, “Or I could teach you how to cut hair? Or we could find you something else to do, or-”

Horangi put a hand up, suddenly, stopping Rudy in his tracks, “Rodolfo. You don’t owe us anything. You know that, right?”

There was a beat between them, Rudy’s guilt evident in his face. Horangi sighed, dusting hair off of the apron around his shoulders.

“What happened was not your fault. Or Ale’s. It was just an unfortunate situation,” He muttered, “Konig and I have been through worse. We’ll make it through this.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help,” Rudy insisted firmly, “Please, hermano. Let us help.”

“I don’t know the first thing about cars, or cosmetics.”

“You don’t have to,” He shifted closer, holding Horangi’s arm, “Konig’s a large man - I bet he’s strong too, no?”

Horangi nodded, reluctantly.

“See? So he can help my husband and Farah in the garage, moving heavy things. And Ale can train him the basics. And I’m sure you’re more than capable of making phone calls, and keeping records or… or, hell, picking up a broomstick every once in a while,” Rudy cocked his head, “I just don’t feel right leaving you both to fend on your own. You’re my friends, now. I couldn’t sleep at night, knowing you two were struggling.”

For a long time, Horangi said nothing at all. He had turned away in his seat, his eyes on his boyfriend who looked tired and desolate on that little couch he sat in. ‘Devastated’ didn’t even begin to describe how Konig had looked when he first told Horangi that he’d lost the only job that was keeping the pair afloat. Horangi, himself, hadn’t had a job in quite some time. He was a freelance photographer, when he actually had a job. But the commissions had run dry over a couple of months ago, leaving him feeling worthless and lacking.
Through it all, Konig had held his head above water, constantly reassuring him that his work was stunning, and that someone out there would come across it eventually, and see it for what it was worth. Not once did Konig ever express frustration or resentment for Horangi’s situation. On days when Konig would come back, exhausted and stressed from gruelling hours, awful patrons and taxing interactions, he never turned that pain or stress back on Horangi. They’d lean on each other, tired and worn down, but appreciative of what little they did have. Each other.
It had killed Horangi inside, seeing the fear on his boyfriend’s face as he left his manager’s office. He knew something was wrong, then, but just didn’t know how bad it was. They were quiet on the ride home - Horangi had noticed the way Konig gripped the wheel, staring ahead, looking shell shocked. Horangi had expected temporary suspension, or a written or verbal warning.
But he hadn’t expected Konig to fall against him, as soon as they were behind closed doors, shaking and breathing like he's just ran a marathon. He hadn’t expected the man to break down completely, repeating ‘what are we going to do?’ like a mantra as he clung to him. He hadn’t expected him to be fired.
Horangi had sat up the entire night, stroking Konig’s hair as the man slept restlessly. He had taken time to appreciate the bedroom they laid in, as if it were his first time seeing it. They had barely made ends meet when they were both working. Now neither of them were. He knew, then. He wasn’t stupid. If they didn’t find jobs, soon, they would lose everything. And even if they did find jobs, they couldn’t afford to keep living in this place.
They were already in debt - Konig’s wage was never going to keep them above water for long. But they had always shrugged it off, because why would they worry? They’d find a new place, eventually. Horangi would find another job. Bad things didn’t happen to people like them; they worked hard; they earned what they had; they’d work it out in the end.
And here they were. At the end. With nothing to show for it, and everything to lose.
Horangi was a proud man. He didn’t want handouts. Anything he had ever called his own, was his own fully and truly, and never to be owed to anyone else.
But there was no place for pride in the face of desperation.
He chewed his inner lip, slowly looking back to Rudy’s expecting eyes. He swallowed his pride.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The walk to the barbers was unusually quiet. Normally, Johnny and Kyle would be cracking jokes, pushing and shoving one another or sharing videos or music that they had respectively stumbled across to one another. But now there was a 6’2” masked man wedged between them, just as awkwardly quiet as they were.
To say Simon’s request to join their little venture ‘surprised’ them, was an understatement. It had taken every bit of Gaz’s energy not to grasp his chest, keel over and die from shock. Simon never wanted to hang out. With anyone. Let alone the people he was forced to work with for twelve hours a day. Johnny, a little taken aback by the request, has been more subtle in his approach, clapping Simon’s back and telling him he was more than welcome to come and meet their friends.
Simon couldn’t blame them for their reactions. In any other world, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of doing anything other than going home, curling up in his bed, and sleeping for the next ten hours, before the next shift rolled around. But in this world, Kate was still in his and Price’s apartment. And Nik. Of course, Simon had nothing against Nik - he actually appreciated Nik’s ability to just exist without annoying him - but as of late the man was nothing but a startling reminder that Simon was about to be made very, very alone.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. He always told Price to stay out of his business and leave him alone. And that’s what he was going to do. He should have been happy, really… Why wasn’t he happy?
This was exactly why he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to think about any of that shit. He just wanted to be away from it all - he wanted to not be himself for a little bit. Pretend to be a socialite with a room full of friends. Pretend he had someone else to turn to, who wasn’t an old man in a bucket hat who was about to leave him alone in that cold corpse of an apartment, haunted by the ghost of a man who decided to leave him all al-

“Simon, where you off to, mate?” Johnny chuckled loudly.

Simon paused. He turned around to see Kyle standing near the door of a barber’s shop, Johnny a few feet closer, adorning a shit-eating grin. Realising his mistake, he circled back with a shrug, avoiding the pair’s teasing gazes. If it weren’t for the foul expression on Ghost’s face, Gaz might have teased him for his absent mind. But he felt like keeping all his teeth, so for now, he just propped the door open, waving Simon and Johnny inside.

The shop was cozy and warm. Beige walls wrapped around a marble grey floor, pictures and neon signs hanging from them, giving the place a homely feel. Simon’s eyes swept over the area, taking note of the doors that clearly led into someone’s house. He looked at the small archway on the left, behind a counter, which led to a pair of stairs on another right or another doorway into a kitchen straight ahead. Then on the right was a large open pair of sliding doors, leading into a living room. He saw a cluster of people sitting around, talking to one another, none the wiser to his, Garrick, or Johnny’s presence.
He immediately felt uneasy in this foreign place. Johnny and Gaz made themselves right at home, pushing into the living room. He listened to the group exclaim and greet his coworkers, clearly pleased to see them. He lingered behind, looking at the station on the right wall where a long mirror resided above a counter. He could tell this must have been where the magic happened; boxes of hair products, dyes, scissors and electric razors lined the counter.
He moved away, about to make his way into the living room, when he felt something against his leg. He froze, hearing a protesting mewl in response to his movement, and found a pair of large green eyes peering up from a fluffy, clean, white face.
A cat.
Oh no.
He was not about to do this. Not when Garrick and John were literally three feet away. He had a reputation to uphold, and was not about to lose that reputation because of this cat.
This adorable cat.
This adorable, sweet little thing with bright eyes and soft fur and loudest purr and-
He was petting the cat.
He wasn’t sure when it happened. One moment he was frozen, staring down at her, refusing her attention - the next, he was on his knees, his hands raking down her back as she pushed her soft little face against his mask. He guffawed, feeling her tiny paws on his chest.

Someone cleared their throat.

His gaze snapped up, eyes landing on the offender. A tall man with tanned skin and a thin greying beard stood in the doorway on the left, in the middle of chewing a bread roll. He was watching Simon, deliberately, as he took another bite of the roll. They just stared at one another.

Then the man nodded in greeting - Simon hesitated before nodding back. And that was as far as their interaction made it, before Simon’s attention was snatched away by another voice.

“She’s beautiful, no?”

He looked back to the larger room, finding most of the occupiers were now gazing his way, some enderared, others amused. The man who had spoken was leaning against the doorframe with folded arms and an inviting smile.

“She’s alright, yeah,” Simon tried to stay stoic, but failed as the cat tapped his mask with her paw, curiously. He chuckled, smiling down at her and scratching behind her ears.

“Her name is Nieve. She’s a pain in my ass,” The first man - with the bread roll - grimaced.

“Nieve,” Simon nodded, appreciatively, “Fitting name.”

The man cocked his brow, “¿Hablas español amigo?”

“Sí, hablo un poco de español,” Simon shrugged, nonchalantly, pretending not to see the shock on Gaz and Johnny’s face, “Mi cuñada es de Ecuador.”

The man nodded in approval, shuffling across the room and wrapping his arm around the other man in the doorway. Simon stood up, glancing the pair over.

“Soy Alejandro. Este es mi marido, Rodolfo. Puedes simplemente llamarlo Rudy,” Alejandro turned around gesturing to different people in the room, “Farah, Konig, Horangi and Alan.”

Simon followed the gestures, placing each name to a face. When it came to ‘Alan’, he found a shorter white man with blondish-brown hair and a goatee. The man shifted uncomfortably as he was addressed. Simon furrowed his brow, glancing back at Ale, quizzically.

“Su nombre no es Alan, pero lo he estado llamando así todo el día y todavía tiene que corregirme,” Alejandro shrugged, smiling at Alex, who smiled back, none the wiser.

Simon raised his eyebrow, chuckling darkly, “Eso es asombroso.”

Ale grinned, “Me gustas. What’s your name, hermano?”

“Simon,” He held out his hand - Alejandro took it, pulling the man in so they bumped chests.

From the doorway, Johnny, Gaz and Rudy met each other’s gazes, all equally as surprised as each other. Kyle had spoken to Rudy about Ghost before, painting a picture of a moody, bitter young man who was a friend to none. He and Rudy had even joked that if Alejandro and Ghost were left alone together, they’d end up tearing one another to pieces, just because of how similar and cold they could be. This? This was the last thing they had expected.
With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head, Johnny departed from the scene. He turned around to look at the only two people he had yet to meet - a young lady with fair brown skin and long, wavy black hair; and ‘Alan’. Garrick followed after him, having also never met them.

“You must be Farah,” He held his hand out.

She took it, nodding graciously, “And you’re Kyle. The other poor bastard the Parras’ forcefully adopted.

Gaz chuckled, his gaze twitching back to Alejandro and Rudy who were chewing Ghost’s ear off. For once, Simon didn’t look like he minded very much at all. He turned back around, sharing a grin with the young woman.

“And he’s their next victim.”

She laughed - a loud abrupt laugh that caught Gaz and Johnny a little off guard. The man at her side watched her throw her head back, a fond smile on his warm face, before he held his own hand out.

“Alex,” He smiled.

“Kyle,” They shook hands as Garrick made a vague gesture, “Just call me Gaz. This is Soap.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, as he also shook Alex’s hand, “It’s John.”

“It’s Soap,” Gaz insisted with a wink.

Alex glanced between them looking lost, before his eyes lit up in misplaced recognition, “Oh! I get it. Cos your cut’s so clean.”

Johnny froze, his hand still locked around Alex’s. His eyes twitched down to his arm, finding the exposed bandage that wrapped it. He knew he should have kept his damn jacket on - but he hadn’t been expecting to see new faces. He had assumed he was in a safe place, with people he knew. People that knew better than to ask questions. People who wouldn’t judge. He snatched his back, frowning at Alex. Before he could say anything, however-

“Excuse me?” Gaz’s voice was unfamiliar and dangerous.

Johnny looked his way, surprised by the eerie tone his friend had adopted. Alex looked stunned as he glanced between them.

“Sorry?” He asked, suddenly very nervous.

Johnny felt a little bad, reaching to stop his friend, “Gaz, it’s f-”

“No. What did you just say?” Gaz demanded, his gaze burning through Alex.

Alex glanced at Farah for help - but she seemed just as dumbfounded as he felt. Had he said something wrong? Had he offended them, somehow? Was it weird to compliment someone’s hair in England? He was flabbergasted as he glanced between the two men.

“I said… I’m sorry, I just meant…” He hesitantly gestured to his hair, his cheeks burning red, “His name’s Soap because his cut’s so clean.”

A pause. Then realisation. Any tension in Gaz or Johnny dissipated immediately, leaving a lingering embarrassment and sympathy. Seeing the pair relax, Alex smiled awkwardly, still oblivious as to the reason behind the hostility.

“Your haircut,” Gaz clarified.

“My haircut,” Johnny nodded, “Right. Yeah. Obviously.”

Chapter Text

“So. How did it go?”

She stayed silent for a long time, just letting herself sink into her wife’s voice. In the background, through the static of seven-thousand miles, she heard the sound of laughter and excited chattering.

“Kate?”

“Yeah,” She smiled, her voice a little shaky, “John was happy to see me. I got to finally meet Nik in person. It was good. It’s nice.”

It was her wife’s turn to go quiet. She knew something was off. She always did. Kate’s wife could read her like an open book. Hell, most times she knew what Kate was feeling before Kate did.

“So what’s wrong?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes stinging slightly as she shook her head, “Nothing.”

“Kate. Baby…”

“I just…” She let out another shaky breath, wiping away her own tears and longing to feel her wife’s hands do the same, “I really miss you and the kids. Something… uhm, something happened and… I don’t know. It just made me realise how lucky we are.”

A lump formed in her throat as she recalled the pain she had seen in Simon’s face. It was easy for her to forget, sometimes, how big the loss was. She had run away. She had moved back home. America. Untouched by the tattoo parlour, and the friends she left behind, and Roach… She moved away, where she didn't have constant reminders of the friend that had left them too early. She had gone to forget.
And being back here now, away from the life she had built, and back in the trenches… She had forgotten - but she was foolish to think that the walls of this old apartment had forgotten too. Her eyes flickered to the room down the hallway. The door was sealed shut like an ancient tomb. Part of her wanted to see what laid beyond it. Another part of her recoiled at the very idea.

“We’ll be with you soon enough, Kate,” Her wife reassured her, soothing the burning behind her eyes, “We’re almost finished up, here.”

Kate hesitated before nodding, “Everything’s packed?”

“Almost everything,” Her wife laughed softly, “I’m still trying to convince Milo not to take the whole state with him.”

She laughed too, imagining her baby boy slinging his entire room over his shoulder and dragging it to England. He was a fierce little thing, his stubborn nature parallel to nothing, besides perhaps his mother.

“Have you gone to visit the new place yet?”

“Oh, uh, no. I haven’t had the chance,” Kate rubbed her face, silently scolding herself for letting it slip her mind.

“That’s okay. We can all see it together,” Her wife assured her. There was a break - and Kate heard carnage in the background. No doubt one of their three children was up to no good. Her wife’s sigh only solidified her assumption, “Baby, I have to go. Carmen and Milo are at each other’s throats again.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Kate hummed, resigning to another lonely night, “I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“I’ll see you then. Get some sleep, Kate. I love you.”

“I love you too, Trace,” Kate sighed into the phone, before listening to the line die.
***

Price’s breath rattled out of him, sinking into the pillow as he curled his fist against the headboard. He let his eyes flutter shut as Nik’s warm lips painted his back and shoulders in soft, sensual kisses. He was laid down on his side, his husband holding him from behind as their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. His breath hitched slightly as Nik’s hand roved down his stomach.

“Christ, love. You trying to kill me?”

He grinned, feeling his husband’s deep, gravelly laugh reverberate through his spine. His body was still trying to calm itself down from the last hour of excursion - but Nik’s gentle touches were proving to make it all the more impossible.

“Do you need a moment, плюшевый мишка?” Nik hummed into his throat.

John nodded weakly, and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his lover’s hand peel away.
He slowly rolled over onto his back, leaving himself exposed to his husband, who certainly planned on taking full advantage. Price let out a shaky exhale as Nikolai’s head sank to his chest, planting more warm kisses over his diaphragm. He raked his hand through the dark curls on his husband’s head, swallowing softly as his shoulders sagged.

“You’re getting old,” Nik teased, his breath mingling with the hair that laced his husband’s bare chest.

“Cheeky cunt,” Price muttered, but couldn’t hide the smile on his bearded face, “You’re older than me.”

“Hm. But I wear it better.”

“Well. Can’t argue with that.”

They both fell silent then, listening to one another’s breathing. These were the moment’s Nikolai fantasised over on his longest missions. When he was up in the air, with nothing to entertain himself but the thrum of the blades and roar of winds, it was these soft, gentle, quiet nights that enveloped his mind. When he could feel the warmth of his husband’s skin under his cheek, palms and calloused pads on his fingers, hear his heart pumping beneath his ear, see that beautiful face. He never found himself wishing for more than this.

“I can’t wait for this to be forever,” Nik said aloud, his hand raking down his husband’s ribs and stopping over his midsection to hold him as he nuzzled the man’s pecs, “We’ll spend days like this, John.”

Price’s lips curled into a content smile, “Oh, aye? You’ve got it all planned out for us, love?”

“Hmm,” Nik grazed his teeth against pliant skin, “I do. We’ll move. You’ll keep up the shop, obviously. I’ll do fewer shifts, so we can see each other more often. We’ll buy tiny shoes to fill.”

Price’s heart simultaneously fluttered and shuddered in his chest, his lips twitching slightly. Nik hummed again, his eyes flicking up to his husband’s face as he laid his head down over the racing heart.

“I’d love to see you with a baby in your arms, John.”

The man swallowed, his own eyes shifting away from his husband’s face. He laid a hand on Nik’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb as he pondered for a long moment. Nik just watched on with a knowing smile, sensing his unease.

“What is it?”

Price hesitated, his hand pausing the soothing motion, “Nothing, love. Just… thinking.”

“About our hypothetical baby?”

Price’s heart fluttered again. Our baby. He liked that. Hypothetical or not. His mind was sent adrift as he imagined what it would be like, cradling an infant against his chest; an infant that he and his husband were raising together. He’d always wanted kids. He imagined putting plasters over scraped knees, scaring monsters out of closets, brushing ringlets out of soft, fragile hair. He thought about dressing their baby up in a little striped jumper, to match Nik - or a tiny baby bucket hat - and his heart swelled.
It felt so domesticated, and up until recently, so out of his grasp.
But now, here he found himself, facing down an oncoming life of domesticity and conformality. His life felt so… normal, for once… and it was scary.
He’d never doubted wanting to be a father. But, like any man, he wondered if he should be one. His own upbringing was… unconventional to say the least. His father was only a cruel man in the sense of plaguing John’s life for way too long. He never raised his hand to his son - but he never used it to sooth John either. In many ways, John had no father at all. More just a shadow that observed from a distance, disappointed, detached and wholly lacking in love for the boy it put into this world.

“You’ll be an amazing father, John,” Nik whispered, as if reading the man’s mind.

John blew air through his nose - a quick, sharp exhale. It barely lasted a second, yet it told Nik more than John could ever say through words. Serious now, Nik slipped up his husband’s body, until they were face to face, chest to chest, heads pressed together and eyes locked. He cupped his husband’s face, kissing the man’s chapped lips.

“I wouldn’t dream of raising my child with anyone else,” He whispered into his mouth, “There is no one in this world I would trust more with my baby. You will be a good father, John.”

“I… I just don’t know, Nik,” He closed his eyes, rubbing his nose against Nik’s cheek, “I mean. I know. I know I’d never put my hands on the kid - never, ever, do owt to hurt’em. But…”

“But?” Nik coaxed his head up, so they were looking at one another once more.

“Beyond that, I have no fucking clue how to be a dad. Much less a good one.”

Chapter Text

Simon sat on the wall, his head tilted back and eyes sealed shut. He let his body rest against the wind, it’s soothing strokes raking through dirty blond hair. The mask he usually adorned, hung from one of his ears, lamely, its skeletal grin melting into the creases and leaving his face naked to any prying eyes that might have looked his way.
He didn’t care too much. He might have, had he been half a decade or so younger. But back then, he was a scrawny little shit bag with a middle finger to the world…
And now he was a brick shit-house with a middle finger to the world. Huge difference.
His drunk mind found that funny, and he found himself smiling, stretching the taut white lines that cut through the warped skin of his pocked cheeks. The city streets of Leeds were empty tonight, giving the world a liminal atmosphere. One that Simon was all too comfortable with.
Simon promised himself that when Price left, he’d do this more often. Go to a place he’d never been before and sit outside at night in the peace and quiet. He’d do it over and over until he knew every corner of Leeds - then maybe he’d stretch out, go to Bradford and Manchester and Birmingham - cover the entire North. Head down South. Hell, maybe he’d take a leaf out of Kate’s book and fuck off out of England. Out of the UK. Out of Europe. Out of the West… And then what?
And why?
What did it change, really, if Price left him all alone here? He never let the bastard talk to him anyway. Every time Price had tried reaching out, Simon would swipe and hiss like a vicious cat. And still, regardless of the scratches or bruised ego, Price would stick his hand out again and again and again. Simon had once heard ‘madness is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results’. If that was true, then Price must have been one crazy son of a bitch. Or maybe… just maybe he cared as much as he portrayed himself to.
He knew that was a stupid thing to think. Of course Price cared. Simon knew that. He knew, despite his rugged, seasoned demeanour, his old friend was a teddy bear. But Simon supposed it was always easier to remain sceptical, or cautious. Keep him at arms distance, try not to get too comfortable with the open arms and firm shoulders to cry on.
In hindsight, he was glad he never let himself get used to it.
If he had, he would have been in a lot more pain, now, than he was already.
And he was in a lot of fucking pain.
He knew what it looked like. To the outside world. From their perspective - Price, Kate and Nik - he knew he looked like a bell-end, stomping around and sulking because his only friend is moving a couple of streets away. He didn’t care, if that’s how they saw it. In fact, he preferred it that way.
It was less humiliating than the truth.
The truth was… he was fucking devastated.
How couldn’t he be? He was losing the only person left in this world that actually gave two shits about him. Everyone else had left, or pushed him away, or died. His mother, father, brother, boyfriend, friends. Everyone was gone - and Price was the only who had fought to stick around. He was the only one who thought that Simon was worth waiting around for… He must have gotten wise. Realised his mistake. Nik, bless him, had talked sense into him, finally.
Good for him.
He was happy for him. That’s what he told himself. It was a soothing lie - like a sweet beverage, washing the bitter taste from his mouth and making this particularly awful pill easier to swallow. He was glad Price was escaping everything. Escaping him.

He was jolted out of his thoughts, as he saw something slowly appear in his peripheral. His eyes twitched to his left, finding a white can with a gold and red crest printed over the front. He’d recognise it anywhere. He followed the can of Stella, to the hand that held it, to the arm attached to the man, himself. He graciously accepted the beverage, raising his brows in intrigue.

Catching his surprised expression, Johnny chuckled, shouldering the man, “You think I forgot you like drinking dog-pish?”

“Classy,” Simon rolled his eyes, cracking the can open, “What you doing out here, Soap? You’ll freeze your bollocks off, get back inside.”

“First of all, don’t tell me what to do,” John scoffed, “Second of all - you’re calling me Soap now too?”

“That’s the thing about Price’s nicknames. They might be daft - but they stick,” Simon sipped his beer, before sighing like he had been dying of thirst, “Fuckin’ell.”

“Spoken like a true alcoholic.”

“Piss off, I haven’t drunk in ages.”

“You drank three days ago, mate,” Johnny swung his legs over the wall, joining Simon.

Simon furrows his brows, throwing Johnny an off glance. How would he know the last time Simon had drank? The only time they’d ever gone drinking together was… His eyes widened slightly as he tilted his head.

“That was three days ago?”

“I know, it feels like forever, doesn’t it?” John scoffed, shaking his head absently.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Johnny took advantage of the silence to rove his gaze over the latter. Simon seemed a little more at ease now than he had been when Johnny first found him. A little more present. He took the occasional sip from his beer and every so often his hand would twitch to his pocket, pat it down, he’d make a disgruntled noise, then return to his beer.
Cigs.
He must have left them at work - or in Price’s car. Not willing to let a fellow smoker go without, Johnny reached into the pocket of his own jacket, plucking his own box of cigs out and offering one to Simon. The man hesitated, before accepting it. The Scotsman watched as Simon tried lighting it for a couple of seconds - but the damn lighter wouldn’t catch a spark.

“Hopeless,” He snorted, whipping his own lighter out.

He leaned in, shielding it from the wind, and clicking it a few times before it ignited. His eyes traced Simon’s face in the low golden glow of the stand-alone flame. Simon watched him too, his eyes never leaving Johnny’s softened features. Johnny lit the cig, watched the end fizzle on a deep inhale, then let his eyelashes flutter on the smoky exhale that Simon blew into his face. He couldn’t help the way his lips tugged upwards as he ran his tongue along his inner cheek, coyly.

“It was a good night,” John muttered, his eyes following Simon’s lips as they puckered and pursed around the cig.

Simon hummed, tilting his head, “Surprised you remember.”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were giggling like a schoolgirl, the entire time,” Simon scoffed, before catching himself, a little awkwardly, “Sorry. That was in poor taste.”

“Why? Cos I have a fanny?”

They met eyes - and immediately the pair were at ease, seeing the dry humor was shared. Simon chuckled behind his cigarette, his scars curling around that smile. God, that smile. Johnny soaked it in, suddenly wanting for nothing more than to feel that smile on his lips. He made a mental note to stop drinking so much when hanging around Simon Riley.

“It’s a very nice fanny,” Simon smirked, blowing smoke against a midnight black canvas above them, “If that’s any consolation.”

“Hmm. Is that so?”

“Yep. And I’d take my word for it. I’m somewhat of an expert. A connoisseur of cunt, if you will,” Simon’s smile broadened as he saw Johnny shake his head in disapproval, “Though I have to say, you’re a new first. Never bedded one of yours before.”

John looked unimpressed, “One of mine?”

“Hm. Scottish.”

“Oh fuck of, Simon.”

“I’m being serious,” Simon teased, earning more snickers from the Scotsman, “I was sort of scared I was gonna spread your legs and hear bagpipes.”

“You’re foul, you know that?” Johnny cackled now, almost to the point of tears.

“I am a little disappointed, if I’m being honest,” He shrugged, shifting closer, “I always thought your lot would taste like Iron Bru. I mean - you still tasted good… but…”

They met eyes again. Johnny could feel his chest tighten slightly at the way Simon was looking at him - and the dirty words he was whispering to him. He couldn’t tell if this was just what Simon was like when he unwound, or if he was trying to provoke him into round two of their previous venture. He was abruptly reminded, as Simon sipped his lager, that he could also just be drunk again. He suppressed a sigh, reaching out to take the cig from Simon’s lips, much to the Englishman’s dismay.

“Oi,” He batted John’s hand away.

“The fuck you mean ‘oi’?” He scoffed, “I lent you that cig.”

“You have plenty more.”

“Is the ‘plenty more’ in the room with us, right now?”

“I saw the box, Johnny.”

“What box? I don’t see a box,” His eyes lit up, “It’s like Schrödinger's box.”

“You mean Schrödinger's cat?”

“Well I don’t have a cat. I have a box - though. Or do I? Is the box real, if you can’t see it?” Johnny tapped his temple with his forefinger, wearing a shit-eating grin, “Schrödinger's box.”

“That’s not what…”

Simon paused, realising he didn’t have the energy to argue. He sighed, turning the cig around in his fingers and slipping it between Johnny’s lips. John’s brows shot up, a little caught off guard. He stared at Simon as the man kept hold of the cig, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger They met eyes - and Johnny saw Simon’s gaze become a little more provocative.

“Well, go on then, Johnny,” He prompted, his voice low and sultry, “Give us a blow.”

Johnny swallowed, drawing from the cigarette slowly, and letting the smoke dwindle in his mouth for a moment before blowing it back out through tight lips. Simon hummed in approval, placing the cig back in his own mouth. His eyes had yet to leave John’s.

“You must know how hot you are.”

Simon blinked, “Excuse me?”

“You have to know. This can’t be an accident. I mean… Just look at you,” Without thinking, Johnny reached out, his hand landing on Simon’s upper arm. He felt muscle ripple and tighten under his touch. He didn’t know what was making him ramble. Maybe it was the heavy atmosphere - maybe it was the way Simon was looking at him - maybe it was the drinks - maybe it was because Simon really was fucking hot - maybe it didn’t matter, because he was saying it, anyway, “Fuck, Simon. If you’re not doing it on purpose, this is seriously unfair. How has no one snatched you up yet, ey?”

“Cos I’m an intolerable prick?” Simon shrugged, the humour long-gone from his voice, though he couldn't deny the way his body responded to Johnny's light touch, “Or so I’m told.”

“Meh. At the worst of times.”

“Right.”

“I mean it,” Johnny’s hand wandered, tracing the intricate tattoos that lined the man’s skin. He wasn’t really thinking about what he was saying anymore - his words flowing out like a stream of consciousness as he found himself wrapped in the ink against pale skin, “You’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be, Simon. I don’t know who put it in your head that you’re not well-liked, but they were either dead-wrong or just plain evil.”

“Mm-hm,” Simon averted his gaze, “Cos I’m a real ball of sunshine.”

“You don’t have to be a ball of sunshine. Flowers can’t bloom without the rain, Si,” He stroked the two-dimensional skin of the ball python that wrapped around Ghost’s forearm, “You’re loved, mate. Kyle’s constantly on about how cool you are. Price thinks the sun shines out of your arsehole. Hell, Alejandro likes you. And he doesn’t like anyone. Stop thinking the world’s against you, mate. Cos it’s not. People like you. I like you.”

Simon swallowed, his eyes slowly drifting back to Johnny’s face. In that moment - that soft, inoffensive second - Johnny looked and sounded… too familiar. Not like Johnny MacTavish, the annoying Scottish prick who squirmed too much and spoke too loud. He sounded wiser. Softer. More determined. He sounded like someone Simon had loved - and lost. He sounded like something Simon hadn’t heard in over a year…
He lifted his gaze and paused, his grip on Simon’s arm loosening. Simon’s expression was unreadable. Deadpan. But the intensity behind his dark eyes was staggering. Johnny felt them burning into him - no - burning was too quick. This was slow. Deliberate. Painful. Like it was eroding him. He thought, for one scary moment, that Simon was about to lay him out. He opened his mouth to force out some sort of apology but-

“Si-!”

His breath was snatched from him as their lips smashed together. He couldn’t even process what was happening until his back was pressed against the wall, Simon’s hip rolling up against his, forcing him onto his tiptoes. A strangled gasp escaped him as he tried pulling away for air, only for Simon to capture his lips again. He whimpered into the kiss, his lungs screaming for oxygen.
A desperate hand grasped his hair, wrenching his head back and exposing the soft, vulnerable skin on his neck. He gasped for air as Simon’s lips finally detached from his own, now locking onto his throat. He raked a shaking hand through Simon’s blond hair, massaging his scalp in hopes to encourage the ministrations. His body lit up as the man deepened the kisses on his throat, gasping against the skin like he was starving for him.

“Fuck… Simon,” His voice broke, his head dropping back against the wall as his eyes fluttered shut, “That feels so fucking good.”

Simon’s breath collided with the flesh in shuddering, hungry rasps, “Johnny…”

“John?”

Simon froze. He felt John go completely rigid under his hold, his head whipping to the left so fast, it nearly smashed right into Simon’s. Following his gaze, their eyes landed on a stranger standing a couple of feet away. The stranger.

Chapter Text

The man before them was tall, fair skinned and sharp-featured. His skin was light and clear, a stark contrast to the clean black hair he sported and thin black brows. There was darkness in those eyes. Simon wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t believe in souls - much less that you could see someone’s soul through their eyes. Even still, he didn’t like this man’s eyes in particular. They were almost black in shade, sharp and poised, like a shark’s - and they were locked onto him.
He stared back, unintimidated but certainly not pleased.

“Mak,” Johnny’s voice escaped him in a shocked, shaky breath, “What are you doing here?”

Silence. Simon and ‘Mak’ continued their staring contest, neither one of them seeming willing to back down anytime soon.

“You didn’t answer my calls. Or messages,” Mak’s thick Russian accent rolled out, smooth as butter, as his eyes pierced Simon, “Now I see why.”

John swallowed, “No. No, Mak. This isn’t… I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore. This has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh? Just a coincidence that you stop talking to me,” Mak scoffed, his eyes unmoving, “And then I find you letting this fucker jam his tongue down your throat.”

Johnny didn’t reply. He was telling the truth; Simon really did have nothing to do with their ‘break up’. But he had lived with Makarov long enough to know when to shut the fuck up, no matter what the truth may be. This was one of those times. Clearly Simon didn’t get the memo.

“I heard him say he doesn’t want to see you, mate,” He grumbled, “Sounds to me, it’s none of your concern who jams what where.”

“Simon. Don’t,” Johnny whispered.

Simon broke the staring contest, his gaze shifting to Johnny. He heard Mak make an amused sound, clearly basking in this small victory over Simon - but Simon was more concerned with the fearful look on Johnny’s face. Not the expression of someone caught sticking their hand in a cookie jar - not even the expression of someone caught cheating on a partner. No. John looked like he was being held at gunpoint, pale and slightly shaky as he stared at Makarov.
Simon didn’t like that look. Not one bit.
He liked the look on Makarov’s face even less.
It was chillingly familiar to Simon; an expression he often saw on his father seconds before he blew up on the rest of the family. That terrible ticking time-bomb face. Those eyes that said more than words ever could - eyes that could splice through diamond like butter - those ‘I’m gonna fuck you up’ eyes. Burning into Johnny.
Instinctively, Simon took a step back in front of Johnny, grazing his elbow in a sign of solidarity. Mak’s eyes twitched between them, and before another word could grace their lips, the door to the shop swung open, revealing Garrick, Rudy and a stern-looking Alejandro. Over their shoulders, Simon could make out the curious faces of the rest of the group.

“¿Este tipo te está molestando, hermano?” Alejandro demanded, bumping his fist against Ghost’s chest as he threw a withering glare Makarov’s way.

“El hijo de puta está intentando intimidar a Johnny,” Simon grimaced, taking a sturdier step forward now that he a foot to stand on, “Ser todo amenazador para él y esa mierda.”

“Oh. No podemos permitir eso, ¿verdad?” Ale stared Makarov down, folding his arms with a grim expression.

“You alright, mate?” Gaz slipped behind Ghost, taking hold of Johnny’s arm.

Johnny nodded, meekly, a little embarrassed and endeared by how quickly the small group had leapt to his defence. He didn’t need it - he was perfectly capable of handling Makarov on his own. Even so, it was nice to know if ever a time came when he couldn’t, he had people to turn to. Gaz threw Makarov a vicious look, tugging Johnny to his side and guiding him back to the safety of the shop.

“John-!” Makarov snapped, abruptly, his voice cutting through the choking tension that had been building in the group.

He began storming towards the younger man, comparable to a juggernaut, and his eyes suddenly had a dangerous, searing glow to them - like hot metal ready to snap. Johnny staggered, as he felt Gaz’s weight shift over him, shielding Johnny with his body as he shoved him into the shop. Farah grasped Johnny’s arms, throwing him into the safety of the living room, where Horangi clasped his shoulder, their eyes widening as they watched Makarov yank Gaz back out of the shop by the collar of his shirt.
Gaz stumbled, his back hitting the concrete floor - and Makarov was on him in an instant, his hand like a vice on his throat in a brutal attempt to drag him to his feet. And his free arm reared back, ready to strike. Before he could even attempt to entertain the idea, Simon had darted forth, delivering a blow of his own, Ale hot on his tail. Gaz scrambled back, grasping the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. He almost leapt out of his skin as he felt Rudy’s hands on him - but he was quickly persuaded to stand, as Rudy drew him back to the shop.
Between them, Simon and Alejandro managed to wrangle Makarov away from the shop and half way down the stairs, before the slippery bastard snapped his first into Ale’s gut, causing the man to double over. Simon’s eyes flew open, but before he could do anything, he saw stars. His head snapped back as Makarov’s fist crunched against his nose. Then a sharp right hook to his temple sent him sprawling down the rest of the steps. Makarov let out a soft laugh, turning to try his chances with the shop again.

He froze in his tracks.

Huge.
No, that didn’t even begin to describe the man standing at the top of the stairs. Gargantuan, hulking, and ready to rock Makarov’s shit if he so much as thought about taking another step. Makarov sneered, as Konig stared down at him - the message clear in the giant’s eyes: Please, give me a reason. He swallowed, his eyes swivelling to the man on Konig’s left. Rodolfo was glaring back at the Russian man with venom in his eyes.

“The police are on there way, pendejo,” He snarled, “I seriously suggest you fuck off.”

Makarov opened his mouth to say something - but decided against it as he watched Konig crack his neck. With another grimace, he cast his glance to Johnny who was watching him with wide eyes from the window.

“Ты облажался,” He barked out, his grin growing as he saw Johnny flinch, “Ты раньше думал, что я плохой? Детка, ты даже не представляешь, насколько ты облажалась.”

“That’s enough,” Konig growled, taking a step forward.

Makarov stepped back, his eyes lingering on Johnny a moment longer. Then he turned - and he left. The only evidence of his presence were the claw marks on Gaz’s neck, Alejandro’s aching stomach and… Ghost.

“Holy fuck,” Gaz gasped, “Ghost-!”

Johnny followed him, his eyes wide as he threw the door open. Ghost emerged at the top of the stairs, cradling an arm that sat awkwardly in its socket, blood painting the right side of his face from a nasty gash in his forehead and his busted nose.

“Santa mierda. Mierda. ¿Estás bien, hermano? ¡Parece que te han arrojado a una licuadora!” Alejandro rested his hand on Simon’s back, helping guide him to the bench under the window of the shop,

“Si - uh - yeah. I’m fine,” Simon grumbled, gripping his - visibly dislocated - arm, gingerly.

“Simon!” Johnny fell to his knees in front of the man, “Oh my god. Mate. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so, so-”

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grunted, laying his head back and trying to breathe through the pain, “Al. Give us a hand, yeah?”

“With…?” Alejandro gestured to the shoulder.

With a grim expression, Simon nodded. Al didn’t waste any time, knowing the sooner it was over, the better. A quick, fast tug - a sickening pop - a shark bolt of pain and a hiss through gritted teeth. And it was over. Simon felt his stomach churn as he rolled his shoulder, wincing at the dull pain.

“Who did you bring to our doorstep, Johnny?” Rudy demanded, throwing an accusing glance John’s way, “Who was that man?”

All eyes turned on Johnny. The younger man shrank under their judgement.

“I… he’s an ex,” He whispered, staring at the floor as he folded his arms, trying to make himself as small and boxed off from the group as he possibly could, “Mak. Broke up with him, officially, a couple of days ago. I never expected him to…”

Simon pursed his lips, watching Johnny become smaller before his very eyes. He couldn’t deny he felt bad for him. It wasn’t like John had invited the bastard over, after all… or at least Simon assumed he didn’t. His brows drew together, his eyes sifting to Johnny

“Soap - how did he know you were here?”

Johnny opened his mouth - then closed it. He stared, dumbfounded. How did he know? A cold chill ran down Johnny’s spine.

“Do you reckon he could be tracking you? He bought you that phone right?” Gaz proposed.

“Tracking? Johnny - who have you been fucking?” Simon guffawed incredulously - but his humour, dry as it may be, dissipated completely when he saw the shame on John’s face, “Christ, Soap.”

“Never mind that for now. Alright? We’ll sort it, mate,” Gaz clasped Johnny’s shoulder, before he did the same to Simon, “We should get you to a bloody hospital.”

“Oh, fuck that.”

“Simon,” John furrows his brows, “You’re bleeding a lot.”

“It’s stop.”

“You dislocated your arm!”

“Doesn’t look dislocated to me,” Simon shrugged, ignoring the flare of protesting pain that ebbed at the joint as he did, “Schrödinger's arm, ey Johnny?”

He tried to stay firm, desperately clinging to his disapproving expression; but he knew he’d lost when he felt the edges of his lips twitch and curl in recognition. Simon just stared back at him, smirking through a stream of crimson.

Chapter Text

Okay. So - maybe he overreacted.
But honestly, could you blame him?
Between the ache in his loins, after his time spent with Johnny - and the tension in his shoulders after his fight with Makarov, it was safe to say Simon was on edge. And, in his defense, who sits in the dark, alone, at two in the morning?
Simon had barely even made it into the living room, when he felt a hand grope for him from the obsidian atmosphere. He shouted - he wasn’t even sure what he managed to bark out as he shoved the thing away, clambering back against the counter. He clung to the surface, his eyes wide as he surveyed the darkness that caped him.

“Fucking hell, Si!”

He paused.
Oh.
Right.
Of course.
Who else would it be?

“Price,” He sighed, relief and frustration immediately replacing the reason behind the hammering in his chest.

He heard Price shuffling in the dark, and - before he could protest - the room was bathed in pale yellow light. He saw the couch had shifted askew from its usual placement; likely from when he had shoved Price away from him, the charcoal-black cushions still slightly squashed and creased from the impact.
Price stood near the far wall now, his hand still resting on the switch as his gaze locked onto Simon. His expression was… odd. Simon had expected the man to be sporting his usual ‘underappreciated dad’ look - the one he always wore when Simon came home late with no explanation. But no.
This was worse.
Price looked mortified, his lips parted and eyes rounded. He looked like Simon had just punched him in the… oh.
Realisation dawned on Simon, immediately. In his panic, the adrenaline had washed away the throbbing pain in his shoulder joint, or the burning in the right side of his face. He couldn’t imagine what a state he must have looked, but Price’s horrified expression gave him a good enough idea.

“Simon,” Price was immediately upon him, his hand clasping the young man’s jaw as he brushed hair away from the sticky, steadily-bleeding wound above Simon’s brow, “How did you… Has someone hurt you lad?”

“It’s fine,” Simon grumbled, shrugging and pulling out of Price’s touch, “You should see the other guy.”

“Who is the other guy?” There was something dark in Price’s tone.

Rolling his eyes, the younger of the pair turned around, making his way to the hallway. He was tired. After everything that had happened tonight, he wanted nothing more than to shower everything off and climb into bed…
But something stopped him in his tracks.
A noise.
Almost completely inaudible.
If it had been any other night, Simon would have missed it. But tonight, his senses were heightened to the extreme. His ears were keen and immediately picked up on the soft, tired sigh. He paused… and turned to look over his shoulder.
Price was on the couch, slumped forwards, his head buried in his hands, the fingers curling into greying toffee-brown hair. Simon just watched him, his brows drawn into a frown. He looked so… drained. Simon had seen Price angry, tired, sad, ballistic. He had lived with the man for three or four years, now, gone through every motion, every storm, every shift and change and loss and… and he had never seen this.
Slowly, he turned around fully. How often had he missed this? How often were his ears filled with the static and chaos of his own mind? How often had he turned his back on Price and walked away? How often had Price reached out to Simon, only to have it thrown back in his face? How many others had done the same…
He swallowed, trying not to let his brain dredge up the inevitable question, but it hung over him. Had he always been so oblivious? Always missing the signs? Had he missed the signs with…
No.
If there was even the slightest foundation to that question - if he had missed all the signs, or turned his back on Gary - it would be a disservice to him to repeat the mistake. He couldn’t linger on that now. Not when he had finally caught it. Not when he was watching it happen, in real time, in front of his very eyes.
Against his nature, and despite the forefront of his mind screaming in protest, he pushed off of the wall and began making his way back to the settee. As inoffensive and quiet as he could muster, he sat down. Right next to Price.
The older man went rigid. He slowly craned his head to look at Simon, the surprise apparent on his face. Fuck. That hurt more than Simon cared to admit. Had he been that bad? So terrible that Price was surprised he cared? How long had Simon been shutting the man down to make him think-

“Are you alright, son?”

Simon’s lips twitched at the question. Of course the man would ask that. It was Price.

“Are you?” He asked back, his voice low.

They watched one another, a strange atmosphere growing between them. The air was thick. Tangible. Like something Simon could reach out and break over his knee. He wished. It didn’t feel right - this proximity - this… knowing of one another. Price had always made it look so easy, before. Whenever he found Simon broken on the floor, he picked him, dusted him off, polished him until he was shiny and new and ready to take on the next day. But Simon was completely lost as he stared at his boss now.
Price had always been strong. Thick skinned and skull thicker still. He never needed picking up. He didn’t need to be polished - his rust and dents were what made Price, well, Price. Or maybe that’s just what Simon thought of him.
The latter was easier to believe now, as he watched his boss’ eyes become watery and full, his lips pulling into a shaky thin line between his thick beard and moustache.

“I’ll be alright,” He whispered, a humourless laugh dying at his lips, “I’m just… I don’t know, son. I have a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about… You should go to bed.”

He wanted to. Oh god, he wanted to. He wanted to pull the sheets over his head, like a frightened child, and keep reality at bay for another night. But that was the thing about reality. It stopped for no one. And he could very well go to bed and hide. It didn’t mean things would be better tomorrow. In fact, often, he found it could be much worse.
So he stayed, ringing his hands and letting his legs bounce under his elbows. He stared ahead, silent and present. He didn’t want to miss a thing, if he were to stay. Price watched him, pensive at first, but slowly his tension resolved. He leaned back in his seat, letting his arms fall to his side as he smiled, softly.
Simon may have been nervous, but Price had never been more… relieved. After all that had happened - the constant cold-shouldering, the towering walls Simon was building, the fights, the bitter words, the… just the everything around Simon Riley - it was nice to just sit with him now. Even if it were in silence. It felt like the early days.

“It was douchebag ex,” Simon spoke up suddenly.

Price’s brows furrowed, lost by the sudden declaration.

“Not mine. Soap’s,” He clarified, gesturing to his face.

Ah. Right… Oh. Price snapped up, suddenly alert, “Is he okay?”

“The ex?”

“Soap, you muppet,” He sighed.

“Oh. Yeah, no, he’s fine. A little shaken, but he’s not hurt or owt,” Simon’s fingers grazed over his own torn up skin, “Garrick nearly got his head smashed in though. Bastard dragged him to the ground, nearly punched him.”

“Fuck, is he-”

“I stopped him before he could,” Simon nodded, putting a hand up, “Tackled the cunt.”

Price sighed, relaxing again with a nod. He gritted his teeth, however, as he recalled his conversation with Johnny, earlier that day. Johnny had seemed so certain that he was safe; he had even laughed off Price’s concern, and told him that this ‘ex’ wasn’t going to bother him. It gnawed at him, now, as he looked across Simon’s battered face. If this guy was so willing to assault a stranger, in public, what was he doing to Johnny behind closed doors? If the messages were anything to go by…

He shuddered, rubbing his beard as he shook his head, “You shouldn’t have walked home like that, boy. You should have rang me. Hell you should’ve rang me the moment that fucker-”

“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry mate, can you stop hitting me for a second, I need to ring my dad,” Ghost snorted, shaking his head at Price.

Price froze.
He felt his heart clench as he stared at Simon. If he had realised what he’d said, it didn’t show on his face. He mustn’t have caught it at all, Price thought. He knew Simon - that man practically chewed his head off when he called him ‘son’ - and he knew he’d be mortified if he picked up on his own freudian slip.
Trying to act like Simon hadn’t just made his entire night, Price tried to neutralise the stupid smile on his face. He pursed his lips, staring down at his feet with a smug satisfaction.

“Still, Si,” He shrugged, “You see that guy again, you let me know. I don’t want anyone messing with my boys.”

“I know, I know,” Simon scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he, too, leaned back on the sofa, “To be fair, it is - like - two in the morning.”

“Don’t care, son. My phone’s always on. And I’m always here for you boys. You know that,” He elbowed the man softly.

He watched the man nod, that proud feeling returning to him. Something must have been in the air tonight. Usually such sentiments were met with eyerolls or grimaces. Part of him was a little concerned with Simon’s newfound timidness. It had him worried that the fight was worse than Simon was making it out to be - perhaps something had happened, serving as a brutal reminder that Simon was only human.

Unable to ignore the feeling, he laughed softly, “This is the longest we’ve spoken in a long time, y’know?”

Simon hummed, nodding.

“Where’s this coming from?” He asked, knowing Simon too well to beat around the question. It took absolutes to pry anything from him.

For a moment, Simon didn’t respond - and Price’s heart sank slightly. Had he pushed it? He had, hadn’t he? He’d fucked it. He always did. They always came so close, and Price would just push it that bit too far and-

“I keep having nightmares about Gary.”

Price’s heart stuttered in his chest, kickstarting without warning. He tried not to let the shock show on his face - but he was sure Simon saw it. It was to be expected. A year of silence. A year of Gary’s name being a taboo, only for the man who made it as such to blurt it out like it had never left this house. As Simon’s words settled, Price took on their full weight. Nightmares. It wasn’t news to him. This shabby apartment was made of straw and cardboard, privacy not being a luxury that came with the purchase. He had heard Simon’s soft whimpers or heavy breathing or muffled protest, as it leaked from his mouth at night. And it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Of course they were about Roach.

“Oh,” Price nodded, his gaze turning soft, “Right. That’s awful, Si. I’m so sorry. What… what happens?”

Simon pursed his lips, shrugging, “It’s always the same. We’re laying in his bed. He’s talking to me, touching my face… kissing me.”

“Hm. That doesn’t sound like a-”

“And then I see him. And he’s…” Simon swallowed, his voice failing him. Price watched him, silent and patient. When Simon spoke again, his voice was small and hushed, “He looks exactly as he did the last time I saw him.”

The silence was telling. Price looked away, stroking his beard again as he mulled over the words. The last time Simon had seen him. The night they lost him. Price still hadn’t forgiven himself for that. It was a stupid thing to dwell on, he knew, considering the bigger impacts of that night. But still, that one small decision he made… the way it must have infested Simon like a plague.
He had wished he’d been the one to find him. Price was older - and he had served. He’d seen dead bodies hundreds of times before. Yes, he knew it was different seeing the war-torn body of a stranger, compared to seeing the in-tact, cleaner body of someone you knew. Both horrible in their own respect, and possibly incomparable at the same time. Price wouldn’t know. He wasn’t the one that found Roach.
He had given that ‘honour’ to Simon, when he sent him home early after a stupid fucking argument, that he couldn’t even recall now. He didn’t find out that Roach was dead, until he got home. Three hours later.

Chapter Text

That haunted him.
That memory of walking into the deathly silent apartment, turning into the hallway and seeing Simon.
He had been so dismissive of it, back then, seeing Simon leaning against Roach’s bedroom door with his head between his knees, his hands grasped around the back of his neck. He had even laughed, scoffing something about a ‘lover’s tiff’ before scooting into his own bedroom to climb into a more comfortable set of clothes.
Because that was just how it was sometimes.
Sometimes Simon was a pain in the arse. He was young and moody and melodramatic. So to find him, ‘sulking’ against his boyfriend’s bedroom door in such a dramatic fashion, it didn’t even register on Price’s radar.
He had showered, dressed, and walked past Simon to go to the kitchen. He had cleaned around the kitchen - then gone to the living room, puffing up the couch cushions and fixing the carpet, whilst plucking his phone up from where it had been charging all day. He, like an idiot, had left it at home whilst he went to work. As it lit up, he found around twenty to thirty missed calls from Simon. His brows twitched together.

“Why’ve you been ringing me so much?” He demanded, poking his head around the corner.

Simon didn’t answer, still as a corpse against the door. Rolling his eyes, Price mumbled an insult under his breath. If Simon was going to ignore him over some petty little argument, so be it. No skin off of Price’s back - he didn’t like the smug little prick anyway. And he went straight back to it. He made sure to be just a little bit louder - if only to irritate Simon - as he spoke down the phone to his husband.
It didn’t take much effort; he was always that bit louder when speaking to Nik. Likely due to the excitement; he only ever got to see and speak to Nik, when he visited him in Russia. He longed for the day Nik finally came to see him in England, and meet his friend and roommates, and-
He gasped as he tripped over a bag that had been left, splayed out across the floor. Collecting himself, he grumbled an apology and dismissed himself, hanging up the phone. He snagged the bag up, throwing an accusing glance at it. Roach’s bag. Messy little bastard. He was always leaving his shit around the living room, despite Price’s constant reminders against it. But what could he expect? He lived with a pair of new adults, these things happened.
With a huff, he trekked back to the hallway.

“Oi, Matthieu Ricard,” He scoffed, nudging Simon’s shoe with his own, “Shift it. Gotta remind Roach, again, that our living room is not his personal-”

“He’s dead.”

The statement was so small and choked that Price wasn’t sure he’d heard anything at all, at first. He wrinkled his nose, looking down at his roommate.

“Y’what?”

“He’s dead, Price,” Simon repeated, his voice strained and broken.

Slowly he lifted his head up from his knees. His eyes were red and swollen. He sounded and looked as if he’d been screaming and crying for a week straight. Price stared at him, completely stunned. He didn’t know what to think. As mentioned before, Simon was well known for his melodramatics - but Price doubted even he would go this far. Even still, he couldn’t help but doubt this revelation.
Dead? Roach? No way. Not Gary.
He’d only seen him this morning, and he was completely fine - better than ever, Price would argue. He and Gary had even had a wonderful conversation this morning; the younger man had randomly thanked Price for the ‘opportunities’ he had given him. The job, the apartment, the means to meet Simon. They had stood together, in this very hallway, smiling and reminiscing over their first impressions with each other. He had been so… happy. So lively and… well, he was exactly how Roach always was.
How could he possibly be…

“Oi,” Price scowled, “That’s not funny, Si. Move.”

He leaned across, trying to grasp the handle over Simon’s head. He had a moment of pause as he saw Simon’s eyes fly open - and then suddenly he was thrown back. Simon had launched himself from the floor, thrusting his arms out and knocking Price a foot or so away, against his own door.

“What the fuck, Sim–”

He went still.
Blood. All over. His hands. His jacket. Beneath his jaw.
Just so much blood.

“Fuck. Simon. Are you alright, mate? Have you hurt yourself? What have…”

Simon’s words rang in his head again. He’s dead…

“Don’t go in there, Price,” Simon choked out, tears erupting from his sore eyes, as his body trembled against the door, “You don’t want to see… I… I just didn’t… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do…”

“What have you done, Simon?” Price’s voice was shaking now, a cold chill running through him.

Simon didn’t answer him. He fell into a crouch, openly sobbing into his blood-stained palms, leaving Price to just stare at the door behind him. He could only imagine what laid beyond the threshold.
His chest tightened, as hundreds of possibilities ran through his head. How did this happen? Had someone broken in and attacked their friend? Has Simon finally snapped and…? That’s what it looked like. Price didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t like Simon, but he didn’t want to believe he was capable of doing this. Not to Roach. Not Roach, who had coaxed Simon out of his shell, who was glued to the man’s side, who did nothing but love and sooth the man. Price always knew Simon would bring trouble. He knew he’d snap one day. But not like this.
Not like this.

“I’m calling the police,” Price whispered, his eyes glued to the blood-soaked man, “Alright? Stay here, Simon.”

Simon nodded, not bothering to look up from his hands. And Price retreated into the living room, never turning his back on the young man. The moment the device was in his hands, he was punching the number in. The rest was a blur. He stood in the corner of the room, watching as paramedics carted a body bag out of his apartment on a gurney. He listened to the police questioning Simon, when they were both dragged to the station - and he answered the questions that were asked of him. But he was never really present in any of it.
His mind was too preoccupied with Simon, himself. He was picking apart every interaction they’d had - every interaction between Simon and Roach. He was reaching way, way back in his mind, over the last three years. What signs had he missed? Were there any signs? Could he have missed something as big as Simon being a murderer?
He knew Simon was troubled. He had known that since their very first interview, when Simon had almost broken Price’s nose for calling him ‘son’. If it hadn't been for how talented he was with a pen, and Kate’s insistence that Simon would ‘settle down, eventually’, Price would have turned him away, immediately. And the more he learned about Simon over the next two or three years, the more disturbed he became. Asshole dad, alcoholic mother - both dead. A rocky relationship with his brother - also dead. Reflecting, yes, Price realised. The signs were there.

Which only added to his surprise when, a few hours later, both he and Simon were allowed to leave. And the verdict came.

Suicide.

Gary had killed himself.

He had sat in numb silence as this sank in, later that night. When all the police had left and the apartment was quiet, and Roach's bedroom door was locked shut. When there was nothing but the hum of the fridge and drip of the sink, in place of music that Roach would usually blast through the walls, to cover up the sounds of him and Simon enjoying one another’s company. When everything was dark and quiet, and there was nothing left to do.

Only then did Price feel the full weight of Gary’s absence.

And the guilt.

Not just for Roach, but for Simon too. Price had laughed in his face. He had skulked around the house, none the wiser to Simon’s catatonic state. He had ignored him. Hell, he had even begun blaming the man for something he could never have possibly done. Simon had protected him. He had stopped Price from seeing their friend’s corpse. He had done that for John, despite the blood and sweat that laced his shaking hands - the blood he had earned from cradling their dead friend’s body. And Price had pointed the finger of his clean, unsullied hands right back at Simon…
He didn’t know when he stood up. He wasn’t even sure where his tired, shaking legs were taking him, until he stopped right outside of Simon’s room. His hand raised on it’s own accord - he heard the knock. He must have knocked. He didn’t remember doing so. He hadn’t told his hand to knock, and he hadn’t felt the coarse, dry wood under his knuckles - but he couldn’t feel anything.
Not until the door opened. Not until he saw Simon, breathless and weeping on the other side. Not until he had his arms wrapped around the young man. He felt Simon shudder and rattle, screaming into Price’s shoulder as the weight crashed down on both of them. Only then, did everything hit him at once. He and Simon sank to their knees, clinging to one another as they sobbed into each other’s shoulders.
He was gone. Roach was dead.

And nothing would ever be as it was before.

Chapter Text

But that wasn’t always such a terrible thing.

Nights like tonight, for example.
Before, when Roach was alive, Price would admit, he preferred his company over Simon’s. That was an understatement. He didn’t like Simon. At all. They were too similar. They were both twisted, dark, angry, resentful of the cards they had been dealt. Angry at their terrible fathers. Angrier still at their absent mothers. Angry at themselves above all else.
Why would Price ever want to spend time with a reminder that the world hadn’t changed? His loss and pain had not changed anything - there was a whole new generation that still suffered, the way Price had. And Simon Riley was walking evidence of that.
Roach was not. He was a walking beacon of hope. A better future. A better man… until he too was taken from them. Because people like Simon and Price didn’t get to have people like Roach. They only had each other - and people like them. People like Nik. People like Kate. People so fucked up that they’d rather move halfway across the world, than face the demons at home.
They only had each other.

Nights like this - nights of solidarity, and memories, and company. It was their only payoff for all the shit Roach had left them with. They only came around, because Roach wasn’t here. And, after all the grief, and heartache, and sleepless nights, and thoughts of joining him, the only good thing to come out of losing Gary, were these nights.

“I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you, Si,” Price took his hand.

He half expected Simon to pull away, like he always did when things got too real. But he didn’t. It surprised them both - but it surprised Price most when he felt Simon’s cold hand tighten around his own.

“I’m sure you can,” He whispered, his gaze meeting Price’s, “I… I forget, sometimes. How close you two were. He used to…”

Price pursed his lips, not daring to move a muscle. He didn’t want to do anything that would give Simon a reason to clam up. Not when they’d made it this far.

“He only ever wanted to make you proud.”

Fuck. That stung. Price sucked air into shaky lungs, his head turning away so that he could better disguise the way his eyes were flooding.

“He used to say it all the time,” Simon carried on, the words floating out in a stream of consciousness.

If he thought too hard about it, he’d stop. And he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when there was so much to say - things he should have said - things he couldn’t bring himself to say. Until now. He knew he didn’t have much time left to say them. He knew, soon, Price would be leaving, and he’d never get the chance to tell him just how much he meant to him. To Simon. To Roach. To any of them.

“He used to go on and on about everything you did for him. He idolised you Price. Everything he did, he did to make you proud. Anything he didn’t do was because he was worried about disappointing you,” He whispered, “You’ll never know how much he-”

“Stop.”

Simon stopped.
Not because he was told to, but because of the weak, loose sob that followed the demand. He looked at Price, frozen in place, as he saw the man lurch forwards, smothering another sob behind a calloused hand. Price shook his head as another sound escaped him. The dam had clearly burst. The tepid waters that Simon had first seen tonight, but had been clearly building over this long, lonely year, were finally spilling out.
Swallowing, Ghost extended a shaky hand. He rested it on Price’s shoulder cautiously. Part of him was frightened the man would whip around and push him away for such a trespass at such a vulnerable time. But he didn’t. He just sat there, trying to catch his breath and stop the tears that had ambushed him.

“I didn’t get it.”

Price sniffed, glancing at Simon through bleary eyes, “Sorry?”

“When he used to dote over you. Maybe it’s just cos I didn’t have… a dad, perse. I mean, I did. But… Well, y’know. He used to chase after you like a lost puppy. Drove me up the wall. Maybe I was just jealous,” Simon laughed, dryly, never meeting Price’s eyes, “I didn’t understand why he was so dead set on impressing you. Making you happy. To me, you were our asshole boss. You were trying to keep us down, tell us what to do, order us about like damned dogs. You were someone to fight. Someone to hate. And, God, I hated you.”

Price chuckled, then, his tears subsiding briefly, “Yeah… I know, son.”

There was a break in their talk. Simon finally looked back at Price, reluctant and unsure. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Price watched him, his expression patient and understanding. Finally, Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“I… get it now.”

Price felt the lump return to his throat, Simon becoming a watery smear in his vision, “Si.”

“No, Price, just… just let me…” He chewed his lower lip, “I, uhm… I hope you don’t think that I… that I want to hurt you. I don’t. Not even slightly. I know I’m awful to you-”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, John, I am,” He insisted, his gaze sharp, “All you ever do is try and help. You’re there when I need you - even if I tell you that I don’t want you there. You clean me up when I make a mess of myself. You run after me like a blue-arsed fly, fixing all my mistakes, making sure I don’t make more. I’m not blind - I see it all. And I do nothing to change. I see the toll it takes, and I do it anyway. That’s awful John. Especially when all you want is for me to be okay.”

Price frowned, shaking his head, but didn’t say a word. He wrung his hands together, staring down at them accusingly. Simon regarded him in silence for a moment more, before continuing.

“I… am fucking devastated that you’re leaving.”

Price’s heart shattered, his head whipping up and his mouth falling open - but Simon put his hand up, stopping him from saying anything.

“And I’ve never been happier for you,” He whispered, his own tears threatening to spill now, “You deserve… you deserve so much more than… this.”

“Son.”

“I’m not your son, Price,” He cut him off. He watched Price flinch, and softened his tone, “You don’t have to take care of me, anymore. Okay?”

Price chewed the inside of his cheek, shifting on the couch as his whole body ached. The tears fell freely once more.

“I know how much you worry about me. How much you care. I know how hard it must be, leaving this place behind. Leaving me with it…” He sucked in a shaky breath, a single tear spilling down his own cheek, “I know it must hurt. And I don’t want to make it anymore painful for you. So… You can go now. I’ll be okay.”

Price let out a heavy breath. It rippled out of him, as if he’d been clinging to it, holding it deep in his chest for the last year. Simon could practically see the weight falling off of his shoulders - and felt it building on his own. His eyes shifted over the living room, then down the hall to the lonesome room at the end. He’d be here, in this place, all alone… But that was okay. It was the right thing to do. It was the least he could do, for the man who had spent so long sharing the weight.
He could have left. Price could have left a long time ago. He could have escaped these suffocating white walls, this constant reminder of the things he lost. He was strong enough - stronger than Simon, who couldn’t even lift himself off of the bed sometimes, let alone leave the apartment permanently. But he had stayed. He had stayed for Simon.
And he had stayed long enough.

“What will you do?” Price asked, his voice taut, “You can’t afford this place on your own.”

“I’ll ask my boss for a raise,” Simon smirked.

Price chuckled, drying his eyes against his sleeve.

“Don’t worry about it, Price. I’ll handle it,” He elbowed the man with an affirming nod, “You just look forward to getting yourself out of here, yeah?”

“And by out of here, you mean ‘out of the living room and into bed’, I assume?” A new voice joined their conversation, causing both their heads to snap to the doorway, where Nik rested, “Because it’s three in the morning and you’re sitting, crying, instead of sleeping, like a crazy man?”

“Nik,” Price rose to his feet, his features immediately softening, as he wrapped his arms around the man, “Did we wake you?”

“Never slept. I was waiting for you to come back to bed,” Nik huffed, kissing his husband’s brow, before looking back at Simon. He held his gaze for a moment, before nodding his way, “Your face is fucked up.”

“So is yours,” Simon shrugged, “Least I have an excuse.”

“Simon,” Price warned.

Nik just chuckled, shaking his head, “Since we’re all being so honest. Simon do me a favour and tell my husband he’ll be a good father.”

“Nikolai,” Price snapped, his cheeks tingeing slightly pink.

“He always had been,” Simon’s response came, giving pause to the couple.

Nik’s brows shot up, his lips tugging into a smile. Price just clung to Nik, promising himself that he wasn’t about to cry for a third time tonight. With an approving hum, and sensing the high emotions rolling off of his sleep-deprived husband, Nik nodded in agreement and planted a kiss in Price’s hair.

“Let’s go to bed, плюшевый мишка,” He whispered, then nodded at Simon, one last time, “Goodnight, Riley.”

“Night, Nik… Night, John.”

“Goodnight, Simon,” Price swallowed, flashing him one final look, “Get some sleep, son.”

Chapter Text

His hand moved over the dark skin, his own hand looking so pale against it. His fingers roved over the raised lines, feeling the muscles tense under the pads. Gaz hissed, rolling his shoulder - and Soap withdrew his hand.

“How bad is it?”

“Really bad,” Johnny made a discontent sound, “This settles it. Amputation.”

“Prick.”

Soap laughed, sitting back down on the couch, “You’re fine, mate. Just a scratch.”

“It hurts.”

“Well, you did eat concrete, too,” The Scotsman reasoned, plucking his phone out of his pocket, “Here, I’ll take a pic.”

Gaz nodded, sighing to himself. He was sitting on the coffee table, legs folded and a hot cup of tea resting between them. Usually, he wasn’t a fan of warmer drinks, opting for iced over steamed beverages anyday. But, it was late, and he’d learned not to drink anything Soap made him, after sipping a glass of apple juice and spitting out olive-oil. Gaz did not find it as funny as Johnny seemed to. He saw a flash, then felt John nudge his shoulder. He accepted the phone, looking over the image, as Johnny muttered something about being thirsty and peeled off of the couch. Sure enough, it wasn’t as bad as it felt; just thin, raised lines and the slightest bit of broken skin. Nothing to be concerned-
He paused as a notification popped up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You fucking humiliated me.

Gaz’s brows drew together. He stared at the notification, unease brewing in his gut. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind at war with itself. In all the time he had known Johnny, the young man was always so comfortable with his phone. He would always pass it to Gaz to show him the crazy messages some people would send him, or photos he had taken, or posts he thought Gaz would like. He was well aware his Scottish friend had no qualms about Gaz seeing things other people might have recoiled at the very idea of sharing with their friends.
Even still, he wasn’t sure how he felt about… snooping.
He knew, very well, that Johnny’s trust and openness was a privilege - and if he wanted to keep that privilege, he probably shouldn’t do what he was about to do…
But he couldn’t leave it.
Not after what had happened, that night. Not when there was an unknown number sending such ominous messages to his best friend. Not when he knew Mister Johnny ‘weight of the world’ MacTavish, as well as he did. He tapped the notification, watching it expand and fill the screen as a text bubble in a long line of others before it.
His throat tightened.
These messages…

UN: I want to see you.

You: Who is this?

UN: You know it is. Don’t play stupid, Солнечный свет

You: Mak.
You: I told you we shouldn’t talk anymore.
You: I blocked you for a reason.
You: Please stop messaging me.

UN: Johnny. Don’t be like that. You came back to my apartment, remember?
UN: You’re obviously not as certain about this new arrangement as you thought.

You: There is no arrangement.

UN: I know. That must be Hell for a control freak like you, no?

You: I’m done with this conversation.
You: I’m blocking you.

UN: And I will find another number.

You: For fuck sake, Mak. Why? We’re done. Get over yourself.

UN: I need to get over myself?
UN: You’re the one crawling on your knees to me the moment things get a little bit difficult.
UN: You think that won’t happen again?
UN: Your little friend already proved that he’s growing impatient with you.
UN: You think he won’t get tired? Won’t leave you behind?
UN: You know he will. And who will that leave you with?
UN: Me.
UN: Again.

You: Fuck off.

UN: So I would think very carefully about how you talk to me, милый.
UN: It may have a lot of influence over how I treat you, the next time you’re begging for a break :)

You: You’re vile. You actually disgust me.

UN: You know you like it when I push you.
UN: Why do you act like you don't?

You: Don’t come anywhere near me. I want nothing to do with you. Just leave me alone.

UN: :)

And then the newest message.
Kyle felt his stomach churn. He didn’t even know where to begin. How about the fact that Johnny had blocked Mak and the bastard was actively trying to find his way around it? How about the fact Mak was purposefully trying to trigger Johnny’s ticks? How about the fact he had used Gaz against him?
How about the threat he had made?

The next time you’re begging for a break. You like it when I push you.

The next time. Begging for a break. When I push you.

Next time. Begging. Push you.

His throat got tight as he repeated the words over and over again in his head. Those words. Those awful words. So inoffensive as stand alone words. Together, however…
The next time.
That’s the part that really struck him. He was not dense - and Johnny was very open about his sexual habits. Too open, Gaz would argue, but that's besides the point. He knew John had an inclination for a more intense, unsavoury kind of relief - one that Gaz couldn’t even begin to understand - and he wished, with all his heart, that he could just put these messages down to Johnny and Makarov’s mutual affinity of a cat-and-mouse game. He wished he could believe that. That this was nothing. Just a game. Some weird sex thing that he just couldn’t understand.

But Kyle knew better.

The way Makarov was bombarding Johnny with messages, despite the Scotsman’s insistence that he stop, told Kyle all he needed to know: Makarov had no problem pushing boundaries, he didn’t take no for an answer, and if Kyle ever saw him again, he’d leave him as nought but a skid mark on the road.

The next time.

His heart became heavy.

Begging.

His grip tightened on the phone.

Push you.

He stood up, throwing the phone at the couch, and making his way to the kitchen, where Soap leaned against the island, drinking orange-juice straight from the jug. Johnny froze, lips still perched at the rim. Slowly, upon seeing the intensity in Gaz’s gaze, he withdrew the jug and offered a sheepish grin.

“It’s nearly empty,” He laughed, nervously, “I don’t always drink straight from th-”

“John.”

Any humor immediately evaporated from Johnny’s face. He paused, placing the jug down and turning his body so he was fully facing Kyle. Something told him Garrick wasn’t this upset over orange juice.

“Gaz. What’s wrong, mate?” He asked, mirroring his friend’s sudden sternness.

“Mak messaged whilst you were away,” He took another step forward, until his body met the island in the center of the kitchen. He leaned over it, propping himself up on his folded arms and staring at Johnny, “I’m sorry, I had a read through some of the messages.”

There was a pause, and Johnny’s lips slowly curled up into a confused smile. What? Was Gaz worried he’d be upset or something? As if they hadn’t been friends since they were kids? As if Johnny didn’t get a kick out of sharing literally every aspect of his life with his best friend? As if it didn’t make Johnny feel a little warm that Gaz felt comfortable enough around him, to just look through his phone as if it were his own? He had nothing to hide - not from Gaz.

“Okay?” He chuckled, shrugging, “It’s alright, mate. I don’t mind. You know I-”

“All of them. Ever since he started messaging from another number,” Gaz clarified. As if it made a difference to John.

“Yeah. Okay,” John shrugged again.

There was a long pause. John had to stop himself from laughing as Gaz drew a hand up to rub his face, looking more stressed out than he had seen him in a long time. Was he missing something? Gaz covered his mouth, staring back at Johnny like he was trying to read him. He looked more and more distressed by the second, blinking slowly as he observed him.

“Do you have something you want to tell me, John?” He asked after a long enough pause. His voice was soft and considerate, inviting Johnny to initiate a conversation he wasn’t even part of.

John shrugged for a third time, laughing, “Can you tell me what I want to tell you, and then I’ll tell you?”

He expected Kyle to laugh, or roll his eyes. But Gaz’s expression only soured further.

“Had Mak hurt you, mate?”

Ah. That made sense. Johnny couldn’t recall what Makarov had sent to him through this specific number. He wasn’t even sure which number Gaz was referring to; Mak had pulled this stunt three or four times, using a new number every time Johnny blocked him. He didn’t point this out to Gaz - the pensive look on his face led Johnny to think the man might just keel over if he knew. Instead, he just shook his head, chuckling.

“You already know the answer, Kyle,” Johnny teased, clearly not taking this as seriously as Kyle was, “You know what I’m into.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Gaz sighed, suddenly standing up straight and circling the island until he and Johnny were face to face. He took the man’s arm, softly, trying to avoid grabbing the still-healing cuts beneath the gauze, “I mean really hurt you, Johnny. Like… done something you didn’t want him to do?”

Such specific phrasing. A line of words, perfectly arranged and crafted to crawl under Johnny’s skin and trickle down his spine like ice water. The hand on his arm was suddenly a lot less comforting. But he did a good job of disguising it behind a faux smile. Or so he thought. His confidence in this ability lessened when he saw the stress evolve into despair on Gaz’s face. He swallowed, shaking his head quickly. He could save this. If he acted fast enough, he could stop this and they could carry on, pretend this conversation never happened.

“No. No, he hasn’t.”

“John-”

“He hasn’t hurt me, Gaz. Not like that,” He insisted.

“Johnny,” His grasp tightened - and he saw Johnny’s eyes widen as they locked gazes. There was a long silence between them, everything so still that he was sure he could hear his friend’s heart imploding in his chest, “It’s alright, mate. Just… tell me the truth.”

“I am-”

“You’re a shit liar, Johnny,” He cut him off, “And you know you are. So come on. Just tell me.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.

He swallowed, looking away.
He had meant what he said. He never kept anything from Gaz. He told him everything - especially enjoying the look on Gaz’s face when he learned something about Johnny he really didn’t need to know. But this?
It was something, Johnny himself, had yet to unpack. It wasn’t that he was hiding it - there was no hiding from it. He had tried. And he had thought he was successful, until he realised it was always there. Not how he always saw it in movies or stories. It wasn’t like a flashback that suddenly captured him when someone got too close, or something that suddenly ambushed him when a stranger grazed him in a street. It was subtler than that. More evil.
It was always just there. He’d go about his day, and there would be quiet moments when its presence was more pronounced. His mind would slip and he’d suddenly remember, yes, this was a thing that happened to him. And from then on, he’d dwell on it. He’d remember what happened. What it felt like. The way he had gasped for breath, grasping at Makarov as he squeaked out his pitiful pleads for him to stop - for them to stop - to take a break. Anything. Anything that would stop the man from doing… what he was doing. He didn’t.
He remembered the way he had laid still afterwards, panting and shaking, his brain stuttering and quaking in his skull. It was the only time that Makarov was attentive to him, after the act. Mak had leaned over him, stroking his hair, kissing the tears off of his face and whispering into his ear.
He told Johnny he was sorry - then that Johnny should have been more clear with him - then that he’d have to teach Johnny to communicate better with him - before he returned to kissing Johnny’s throat, hands roving over his body. Johnny remembered how his skin had itched. How his throat burned, with the repressed ‘don’t fucking touch me’ that never made it past his lips. He remembered the shame he felt. How he just laid there, completely lost, and so unsure of himself.

“Johnny?”

It happened again. Just like that, Johnny had slipped away, completely none-the-wiser as Gaz remained by his side, patient and waiting. Always waiting for Johnny. The Scotsman looked down at his feet, guilt tearing his insides asunder. He had always prided himself on his honesty. His openness, with Gaz… The least he could do was put his racing mind at ease. Johnny had survived what had happened. He managed it. He had enough confidence in Gaz to know he could live with knowing the truth.

“It was one time,” He whispered, watching Gaz’s face fall, “And it was an accident.”

“You don’t accidentally do that to a person, Johnny.”

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” John sighed, hugging himself, “It was my fault - I wasn’t communicating properly, and-”

“It was not your fault.”

“No, I don’t mean… I just mean-” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “I know that’s what people say. But I mean this was literally my fault. I wasn’t talking properly, he couldn’t understand me. It wasn’t his fault, is what I mean to say.”

“He tell you that, did he?” Gaz asked, an edge to his voice.

Johnny hesitated.
Yes.
Essentially.
After everything was said - or rather, not said - and done, Makarov had spent a good hour or so reminding Johnny that he had to learn his safe word, drilling the importance of it into him, making it absolutely clear that he wouldn’t stop unless the safe word was used. It was a part of their ‘relationship’, stemming from Johnny making an offhand flirty comment about finding the Russian language sexy. Makarov had begun teaching him a few basics here and there. Among them was the word for ‘break’. Перерыв.
Johnny had tested the word over and over again, to no avail - his lips and tongue tripped over each other in his clumsy accent, unable to separate the vowels and Rs fast enough to make it anything close to coherent. He remembered how Makarov had grinned, sickeningly sweet, as he listened to Johnny trying to pronounce the word, commenting on how cute it was.
As he relayed all this back to Gaz, he could practically hear the gears turning in his friend’s mind. He gave pause, watching him for a moment.

“So… he didn’t stop, because you didn’t pronounce the word properly?”

“Yeah, so-”

“But he knew you couldn’t pronounce it, before he made it a ‘safeword’?”

He paused again, lips tightening. Garrick stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to land. But Johnny’s wouldn’t let it - he’d cram his whole body and break beneath it, before he ever let that shit drop. Gaz’s heart sank as he saw Johnny’s mind warp and twist around the subject in a sickening display of mental gymnastics.

“It’s not like that,” He stammered out, “He was trying to teach me Russian and-”

“And using rape as an incentive?”

Johnny could have gotten whiplash with how fast his head snapped back to glare at Gaz, “Don’t say that, Kyle, that’s not what happened. He didn’t-”

“Yes, he did.”

“No, he-!”

“You made it clear you wanted to stop. He didn’t stop,” Gaz stepped back, giving his friend a little room to mull over his relaying of events, “I met Mak, mate. When you two were dating. He’s not stupid. He knew what he was doing.”

Johnny had no retort. He couldn’t argue with that. Makarov wasn’t a stupid man. And he very rarely made mistakes. Johnny knew this. And deep down, he supposed he always knew. He knew what Makarov had done to him. He knew he had done it on purpose, too. Deep, deep down, this was no surprise to him. But he had been so desperate. So desperate for a warm body. For companionship. Company. Someone to call his own. He had been so desperate, and lonely, so fucking pathetic, that he just took it. Didn’t question it. Nothing to rock the boat, or break the still waters. Nothing that would leave him lonely again.
He tightened his lips, fighting tears as self-hatred consumed him. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just… be okay? Be okay with being alone. Be okay in general. Why could nothing just be as it was supposed to be? Why did everything have to get so messy and out of order and hard to follow and-

“Stop that.”

He felt Gaz’s hand suddenly wrap around his own. His eyes shot open as they landed on their hands. He’s been picking again, without even realising it. He grimaced. Fortunately, he was only scratching at the soft material of his bandages… even so…

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” Gaz pulled him closer, cradling the back of his head, “Come’ere, mate.”

Soap fell into his arms, resting his head against the man’s firm shoulder. He drew his own arms around his friend, sinking into him. He let out an easy sigh as he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, holding him closer. At once, he was relaxed. Gaz’s hugs always soothed him. They reminded him of when they were both young kids. Safe and warm in each others arms as they watched horror movies together at sleepovers - or that time that Johnny had come first in the P.E sprint, and Gaz was just so proud of him - or at Gaz’s father’s funeral, when Johnny had clung to him, telling him everything would be okay.
Gaz just felt like home. A brother Johnny never had, and desperately longed for.

“I probably shouldn’t have used that word, eh?” Gaz whispered, stroking John’s back, “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t think. I know it’s a scary word to just throw out-”

“No. No, it’s not that,” Johnny sighed, his own hands shaking as they brushed against the back of Gaz’s shirt, grounding him, “Just… don’t tell anybody, yeah?”

Gaz shifted, craning his head and shrugging so that Johnny looked up at him, too, “I’d never, Johnny. You know I won’t. It’s not for me to tell… but… Maybe you should?”

“No.”

“Johnny,” Gaz squeezed him, softly, “I’m not talking about a shrink. Though that’d be a good shout, too.”

“I’m no’ doing that.”

“Yeah, I figured,” He laughed, shaking his head, before sharpening again, “I mean a friend. Maybe a friend who’s gone through something similar.”

“Well, how do I go about doing that, ey? Just go to the nearest friend and ask, ‘oi, you ever been-’,” He cut himself off, the word faltering between his teeth.

Gaz didn’t let him dwell on it, “What if I knew someone? Someone who knows what you’re going through? Would you talk to them?”

He watched Johnny squirm, dancing from foot to foot, uncertainly. And he stopped. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to make Johnny shrink away, or push him into the deep end after he’d only just realised he was in the water. He resigned, shaking his head and cupping Johnny’s jaw.

“Y’know what,” He whispered, “Never mind. It’s alright, mate. You need time, I get that. Just… fuck, just bloody talk to me, Johnny. You know I’m here for you. You didn’t have to sit on this for as long as you did.”

“I know,” Soap sighed, dropping his head forward, against Gaz’s chest, “I’m sorry.”

Gaz sighed. He leaned his head down, resting his cheek on the back of Johnny’s head.

“What am I gonna do with you, ey?”

Chapter Text

“What did you do?”

The question was asked in a meek, light voice - and when she turned to see who had addressed her, she found a sweet, rounded pair of large eyes staring out from a dark face. A young boy, half a head shorter than her, with black skin and bloody tissue stuffed up his nose, sat across from her. He looked so… little. Not just in a sense of height, but everything about him - just the way he was. His voice was small, and he seemed to curl in on himself - like a dog tucking its tail between its legs. Cowering in the corner.
She didn’t answer him for a long time, just staring at him with that sour expression she had so perfectly crafted for her first day at ‘big girl school’. It wouldn’t be easy for her - at least that’s what her parents said - moving to a new country, and a new school. So she had started working on it, straight away, a face that would tell people not to mess with her. The same face her father wore at work. It worked for him, why not for her?

Realising she wasn’t going to answer, the boy swung his legs, shifting slightly closer to the edge of the chair. Maybe she just couldn’t hear him, he reasoned. His mother always said he was awfully quiet - and he had tissue muffling his words, now.

“I got into a fight,” He said, upping his voice a decibel or two.

She scoffed, “That was no’ a fight.”

He pursed his lips, shrinking again - and she felt a little bad. So, yes, she had seen him getting absolutely thundercunted by the bigger boys at breaktime. Great. There went any chance of him being able to impress her. He dropped his head slightly, his lips twisting to the side of his mouth as he contemplated his next words.

“What… what about you? Why are you here?” He asked, his voice a little shakier than before.

“I saw a wimp getting pushed around at breaktime. And the teachers were doing nought,” She shrugged, “So I pulled the fire alarms.”

He paused. She smiled. And he smiled too. A big warm smile, that thinned his eyes and revealed pearly white teeth, as he began swinging his legs again, this time with more vigor. Seemed the dog’s tail had unfurled from its legs, if only to wag in the air. He had a nice smile.

“I’m Kyle.”

She faltered, her own smile falling for a moment.

“What’s your name?”

She shifted in her seat, fiddling with the tie around her neck. She hated this grotty new uniform. It swallowed her little frame, as if her mother’s promises that she would ‘grow into it’ were enough to keep her skirt around her hips, or her sleeves from hanging over her finger tips. Her eyes swivelled to Gaz’s uniforms, envious of the pants he wore.
It wasn’t so bad in Scotland - she saw her father and uncle and stranger-men walking around in kilts all the time. And if she pretended hard enough, she could turn her skirts into skilts, and walk around bold and fulfilled… but here? In England? Where men hid their legs with all the shame of a Victorian lady, and it was only the women that pranced around in their dresses and skirts? This uniform - and the mandated skirt her mother had forced her into - only screamed this inescapable fact of life in her young face: you are a girl.
Her name did the same thing.

“I have a stupid name.”

“Names can’t be stupid,” Kyle giggled.

“Mine is,” She huffed, “I don’t like my name.”

“Well, what is it?”

She paused, before hissing the name out, like venom, “Isla.”

“That’s a nice name,” Kyle shifted closer, cocking his head at her, curiously.

“No,” She returned, simply.

He paused again. She hadn’t really given him much to argue with, “Well… what should I call you then? If you don’t like your name? Maybe we should have codenames?”

“Codenames? Like in the army?” A smile grew on her face.

“Yeah - yeah, like spies!” He returned, with just as much enthusiasm. He paused for a long moment, looking his new friend over, “Hmm… what about Blue?”

“Blue?”

“Cos your eyes are really, really blue,” He gestured to his own eyes.

She pulled a face. He didn’t have to ask.

“Okay… uhm… well, what’s your last name?” He tried.

“MacTavish,” She replied with a shrug.

“Okay, then. What about Tav?”

At this, her eyes lit up, “Aye - I like that… What about you? What’s your last name?”

“Garrick,” He returned, looking a little glum, “But everyone knows my last name, so we can’t really use that as a codename.”

“What about Gazzer?”

He giggled again, “That’s what everyone calls my dad.”

“Just Gaz then? Tav and Gaz?” She elbowed him, playfully.

He nodded, elbowing her back - she shoved him - he shoved her - and they both laughed, leaning on one another. Gaz’s young mind couldn’t make sense of it then - but looking back on it now, he knew he’d caught on pretty quick. And ‘Tav’ was going to be very important to him, for a very, very long time.
***

“What did you do?

His voice was low and scary. She could tell he was frightened. She was frightened too. She was shaking - he had never seen her shake like that. Not Tav. Not that bold, brilliant girl that could swallow the sun if she wanted to. That was the young girl he saw before him, clutching at her shirt to disguise her damaged skin. He could see blood eating at the shirt under her arms.

“What did you do?” He repeated, falling on his knees in front of her and peeling her arms back. His breath caught in his throat, “Isla-”

“Don’t,” She hissed at him, trying to yank her arms back.

“Tav,” He tried again, holding her firm, “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll get my mum and-”

“No!” She grasped at him, her nails almost tearing through his arm as she gawped at him, “No, no, Kyle. Please. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I just… p-please, don’t tell your mum. Don’t… don’t tell anyone.”

He stared at her, his lips hanging apart as he carried the weight of her word. She looked so… different. Drained, and exhausted. Her eyes had dimmed from their viscous blue to a seaside grey. He looked at her arm on his, his eyes roving over torn up, jagged openings. How could she do this to herself? She was so wonderful. Gaz couldn’t even begin to describe all of the things he loved about her. His best friend. How could she ever want to hurt herself?

“Kyle. Please.”

“Okay.”

She let out a shaky breath, falling forwards and crumbling against him. He leaned over her, wrapping his arms around her and stroking the plait that hung over her shoulder.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay, Tav…”
***

“What did you do?”

She was face-down on his bed, her head buried in his pillows. She grumbled something incoherent, just shaking her head. He stared at her - her hair was chopped up and hacked at, splaying out at odd, uneven angles. But that wasn’t what he was talking about - he was used to her lack of impulse control, by now, so seeing her with new hair or piercings was nothing new.
What he meant was ‘how did you piss your mum off this time?’.
The question was not without reason, considering on his way back to the dorm, he had received a handful of missed calls from both of her parents, and a message asking for Gaz to ‘just talk to her’. He was used to that too. Tav was constantly butting heads with her parents, nowadays, and her parents insisted that Gaz was the only one who could talk sense to her.

“Another fight?” He asked, sitting down and resting a hand on her back, “Wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head. Paused. Then nodded.
He laughed, lowering himself onto his side - and she slowly turned over to meet his gaze. Her eyes and nose were a soft pink colour, the underside of her lids were swollen and puffy, lashes still wet.
She’d been crying.
She only ever cried when things were really bad. He reached out, resting his hand on her face to stroke under her eyes.

“What happened, mate?”

“I fucked up, Kyle…” She whispered, her voice loose and watery, “I think they’re gonna… I think they’ll kick me out.”

He frowned, “What? The university?”

She shook her head.

His frown deepened, “Your parents?”

She nodded.
He pursed his lips, dumbfounded. He had known the MacTavish’s for around seven or eight years now. They were a little rough around the edges, but they were most certainly a whole unit. They clung to one another when things got tough, bunkering down and facing whatever storm came their way. Together. Hell, Gaz had heard stories of Isla’s older sisters fucking up big time: stealing cars, getting arrested, partying too hard. Everytime they were met with consequences, yes, but it would always settle after a while. Either Tav had fucking killed somebody, or she was overthinking this.
Honestly, knowing Tav, either of these options were entirely possible.

“What’s going on, Tav?” Gaz whispered, shifting closer.

She pulled in too, until her head was on his chest, tucked safely under his chin. Her hand landed on his side - and his hand rested atop of hers, stroking her knuckles.

“I… I’ve never felt… right.”

He paused, shifting his head, so that he could rest his face in her hair, “Go on.”

“Everything about myself just felt off,” She whispered, “I really started noticing it in highschool. How much I hated being called by my name. Hated wearing that god-awful fucking skirt. Hated being called… being seen as a girl…”

He nodded, his hand tightening over hers, as he felt her begin to shake.

“I always put it down to being a tomboy. So did my mam and da,” She shook her head, stifling a weak sound, “But hate I my body, Gaz. I hate what I see when I look in the mirror. I hated my hair. I hate these fucking lumps of fat on my chest. I hate… I hate…”

“Shh, shh,” Gaz kissed the top of her head, stroking his hand through the decimated strands, “It’s alright Tav. I know.”

She looked up at him with watery eyes, her breath squeezing through a tight, burning throat. She searched his eyes - and he was giving it all away. Soft and sweet as they had been when they first met. Her brother who she had waited thirteen agonising lonely years to finally meet. The only who saw her for who she… or he was.

“I’ve spent every waking moment with you, since we were thirteen, mate. You think I wouldn’t know?” He brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, before cradling his jaw in his palm, “You’ve always been my brother, Tav. I never saw you as anything else, mate.”

Tav’s lips trembled, as he pushed his face into Gaz’s chest choking on his own emotions. Gaz lowered his own head again, so they were locked together. He’d hold Tav like this, forever if he could, keeping him safe in his arms, and willing all the bad thoughts to go away. He ran his hand over Tav’s back, his voice gentle and cautious.

“You told your parents, did you?”

Tav hummed, his breath staggering, “They didn’t want to hear it.”

“They’ll just have to get over themselves, won’t they? They have enough daughters,” He chuckled, “More than enough. They should be happy to finally have a son.”

“You know what mam’s like. All that religious shite she spouts.”

Gaz turned a little cold, his arms tightening around Tav, “What’s she been saying to you?”

He paused, “She… she didn’t say anything. I just know that’s what she’s thinking.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Didn’t get the chance,” Tav whispered, his voice breaking again, “She started crying. Dad started yelling at me. I just left…”

Slowly, Gaz nodded. He considered the message he got from Ms MacTavish. Just talk to her. He was talking. He was talking to him. He was talking to his best friend. And if Ms MacTavish had expected anything but Gaz backing his best friend, then she didn’t even deserve the title of ‘mother’. Part of Gaz, deep down, really hoped this was all one big misunderstanding. He knew the MacTavish’s well - the Garricks and MacTavish’s had become a united front, the moment their children became friends; their families knew each other like they were all one. He would never have expected either of the MacTavish’s to respond like this, when their child clearly needed a shoulder to lean on…

Oh well. Gaz’s shoulder would do.

Chapter Text

Simon didn’t acknowledge her.
Price couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened by the response; they had gotten so far with one another yesterday. He was praying that the way the young man was ignoring Kate was no indicator that they were back to square one.
Kate, herself, was sitting on the settee, her smile taut with nervous energy. She quietly thanked Nikolai as he dropped a hot coffee in front of her, before he sat down next to Price, opposite her. For a long time, she didn’t say anything, just listening to Price and Nik talk about the house they had finally decided on moving into. It sounded lovely, from what she could tell…
But, honestly, her attention was not committed to their affairs. She was, instead, just watching Simon. The young man was partially turned away from her, making some breakfast and brewing himself some tea. Over his shoulder, she could make out his face - and it didn’t agree with her. The nasty gash had obviously been cleaned and tended to, but now it sat above his brow, swollen and bruised and ugly-looking. It would certainly leave a scar. God knows, Simon Riley had enough of those.

“And it’s got this big fuck-off garden around the back,” Price grinned, his enthusiasm seeping through his eyes.

“You’re taking up gardening?” She questioned, finally setting her gaze back on Price, “Are you getting that old, so soon?”

“Thinking more for the bairns,” He chuckled, shooting her a look, “Somewhere nice and big to play footy with’m.”

“What if they don’t like football?”

“Then they’re not my kid,” Price joked, earning an elbow in his side from Nik.

“Big garden is a good idea anyway. A nice place for the kids and dogs to play,” He hummed, resting his chin on Price’s shoulder and gazing up at the man.

“Getting a dog, too, are we?” Price looked incredulous, “And who’s gonna be picking all the hair out of the fucking carpet? Me I assume?”

“Fine - a cat.”

“Cats are worse, you daft sod,” Price chuckled, leaning in and kissing his husband’s temple, “We’ll talk about it.”

Kate hummed in amusement, sipping her coffee. Her eyes swivelled back to Simon, who had gone still in the kitchen. His eyes had locked onto his mug, and he was just… standing there. The kettle had long since boiled, heat gnawing into the wood of the cabinets that hung over his head. He looked lost in thought, his eyes glazed over as he absorbed the room around him.
Price followed her gaze, his lips tugging down. After staring at him for a moment or so, he nudged Kate’s foot with his own, and shook his head at her.

“Leave him be, love,” He whispered, “I’ll talk to him later.”

“He just looks so-”

“Leave it, Kate.”

She pinched her lips together, nodding with a dejected expression on her face. Her mind couldn’t help but go back to her own children - specifically her eldest. He was always a moody child, ever since she had first met him. A fifteen year old with long blond hair that he was constantly sweeping out of his eyes, as he sulked around the house with a sodden expression. He reminded her a lot of Simon.
It was hard not to reach out and ruffle the man’s hair with her usual mantra of ‘chin up kiddo’, like she would do with her son.
A moment later, she saw Simon’s hulking figure squeeze out of the door, a pair of plates on his arms. He dropped the food down - a plate in front of Price and Kate - but not Nik. Then he sat down, nursing his own cup of tea. Kate’s eyebrows shot up - even Price looked a little caught off guard.

“None for Nik?” Kate asked, cautiously glancing his way.

“He doesn't eat in the morning,” Simon replied with a shrug.

Nik nodded, a little surprised that Simon was aware of this, “Makes me nauseous.”

“What’s with the pleasantries, Si?” Price cocked his head, taking a bite of bacon from his plate, “You dying?”

Simon blew air out of his nose, “Food goes off tomorrow. I’m not hungry, so…”

“Well, it’s nice, Simon. Thank you,” Kate hummed, biting into her toast.

“All of it goes off tomorrow?” Nik quirked a brow, as his eyes roved over the eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and black pudding, clearly not buying Simon’s excuse.

Simon stared daggers at him, “Yes.”

Price kicked Nik under the table, shooting him a similar look. Nik put his hands up in a thinly veiled retreat, whilst Kate just laughed, shaking her head.

“I missed your cooking, Si,” She smiled, not looking up from her plate, “My wife? I love her but don’t let her anywhere near a frying pan.”

“Oh. I’m with your wife, there. If it wasn’t for Nik and our Si, I’d have starved to death a long time ago,” Price chuckled over a mouthful of sausage.

“You make decent enough cereal. I’m sure you’d survive,” Simon mused.

“Cheeky cunt.”

“Price,” Kate shot him a stern look - and Price burst out laughing.

“Sorry, Laswell,” He chortled, “Forgot you were a bit of a prude.”

“I just don’t like that word,” She sighed.

“What? Cunt?” Nik asked, quizzically.

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, leaning back on his sofa, “The amount of times she’d twat me over the head for saying it, when we used to work together.”

“It’s an awful word,” She muttered under her breath.

“It’s no different from twat - or minge - or-”

“I’m trying to eat.”

“You eat cun-”

He couldn’t get the word out before she turned, hitting his shoulder. He burst into laughter - and then so did she, rubbing his shoulder where she had hit him. Price watched them glance at one another, his heart melting in his chest. He hadn’t seen them speak to one another like this - laugh - touch - just exist. He threw a passing glance at Nik, who shared his soft expression. After a moment, Simon realised her hand was still on his arm.

“Get off,” He shrugged - but there was no weight to his words, and his eyes were still light with humour.

She chuckled, ruffling his hair, before retracting her hand. In the corner of her eyes, she watched him sipping his tea. He seemed so at ease - it was the first time she’d seen him like this since she had come back to England. It was nice. Reassuring.
The way he had been acting had almost convinced her that the Simon she once knew - that withdrawn, cheeky, misunderstood little man she had met four years ago - was gone. But he wasn’t. She could see him now, in the way his lips curled over the lip of the mug, the white scarring on his maw, stretching to accommodate the movement. She saw it in how his eyes stayed low, never raising higher than beneath the eyes of another. She saw it in how his hands shook when they weren’t holding onto something, like a mug handle, or a tattoo machine. He was still here. Still Simon.

“I’m moving back to England.”

Price almost choked on his toast, his eyes flying open as they locked back onto Kate. Simon stilled, lips just hovering over the mug, hot tea still his mouth. She swallowed, trying to read either of their expressions. Price was easier to read, of course - shocked and pleased, as his brows remained high and a smile toyed at the edges of his lips.
Simon, less so.
He was always so unpredictable, just like her own son.

“Tracy - my wife - she’ll be here tomorrow,” She continued, “We’re moving back here.”

Price’s brows twitched, gesturing to the apartment, “Not ‘here’ here.”

“No! No, of course not. We’re moving to - uhm - I think it’s called Headingley?”

“Oh, that’s not far from Burley,” Price’s eyes lit up, now pointing between him and Nik, “That’s where we’re moving. Lovely area. Close to a school, so - well, obviously you’d know that - what - with your chidlers and whatnot.”

“Mm-hm,” She sipped her coffee, nodding.

“You have kids?”

Her eyes twitched to Simon as she swallowed softly, “Three. You didn’t know?”

“It’s been a bloody year, Laswell,” Simon returned sharply, look perplexed, “You got fucking busy.”

She laughed nervously, tucking hair behind her ear, “Well, not really. Uhm, Sam’s my wife’s son from a previous marriage - he’s our eldest. We were in the process of adopting, whilst I was still in England; we managed to adopt Carmen and Milo, together, three months after I came home. They’re siblings, so the state wanted them together, and we were in a good situation, and… yeah.”

“How cruel can you be?” Simon grumbled.

“Simon,” Price scowled.

“Excuse me?” Kate’s heart faltered in her chest.

“To bring your kids to soddin’ bloody England,” He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Even the English don’t like England. You couldn’t fucking stand it here, what makes you think they’re gonna like it?”

The tension eased, and Kate let out a relieved laugh, “They’ll warm to it.”

“Ugh.”

“Besides, my wife got a job opportunity out here that we just couldn’t turn down,” She made a vague gesture, “It’s the best move for us.”

Simon hummed, rolling his eyes, “You just watch, you’ll be gasping for American soil in a month. Guaranteed.”

"Mm, I don't know. All my friends are in England," She muttered, her words very clearly experimental. She gave pause, waiting for some snarky or bitter response from Simon. But... nothing.

The man shifted in his seat, shrugging with a quiet, "Yeah, well... whatever."

She smiled, behind her cup.

Chapter Text

“Kyle.”

“Rude boy.”

“I’m gonna start charging you double for the emotional trauma you bring with every visit,” Rudy huffed, humor soaking his tone.

He didn’t lift his gaze, pen working idly on a sudoku grid, when its end wasn’t caught between his teeth. Gaz hesitated, watching the man for a moment and mulling over his words. He knew it was obviously just a joke - and he knew Rudy and Alejandro enjoyed his company - but he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Because it was true. Everytime Gaz came around, it felt like he had a knew problem to shove in their faces or a friend to entangle in their lives. Never a quiet moment with Gaz around.

Gaz chuckled, shaking his head, “Sorry about last night, mate.”

“No, no. I know it’s not your fault,” Rudy made a dismissive gesture, as he finally pulled his attention away from his puzzle book. He pointed an accusing finger at the young man, “But that friend of yours, Johnny, I keep telling you he’s-”

“It wasn’t Johnny’s fault,” Gaz stated, his tone a little harsher than he had intended.

Rudy was caught off guard. He stared at Gaz, blinking slowly as he let the snappiness of the response dwindle in the air. After he saw the apology dancing on the end of Gaz’s lips, he put a hand up, stopping him from speaking.

“What’s wrong?”

Gaz scrunched his lips, shrugging, “I… need to speak to Ale.”

“Alejandro!” Rudy threw his head back, bellowing the name deep into the house.

Kyle probably should have expected that. He made a mental note to send a ‘my condolences’ gift hamper to the neighbours, who had clearly been grieving over the peace and quiet that was taken from them too soon.

“¿Qué?” Ale barked back.

“Gaz is here!”

“Good for him.”

“He wants to talk to you!”

“He has legs!”

Rudy looked exasperated, spinning on his heel and storming into the tiny box hallway that divided the shop from the kitchen. He turned to his left, shouting up the stairs now.

“Puta madre… Alejandro! Algo anda mal con él. Está actuando…” Rudy hesitated, glancing back at Kyle and looking him up and down, “Extraño. Baja aquí! Creo que algo anda mal.”

Kyle wasn’t sure what Rudy said, but it was enough to drag Alejandro down from whatever he was doing upstairs. Rudy slowly made his way back in, sitting down on one of his spinning chairs that lined the wall on the right. Soon, Ale appeared. He held himself awkwardly, one hand resting over his stomach. Gaz flinched, realising the man must have been sore after last night’s fight.

“You okay, hermano?” Alejandro gently punched his shoulder in greeting.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine,” Gaz shrugged, suddenly feeling a little uneasy.

“Él parece estar bien,” Ale mumbled, looking over his shoulder at Rudy.

“Estaba siendo... malhumorado.” Rudy made a vague gesture.

“¿Malhumorado?” The older man scoffed, pointing at Gaz, “Him?”

Rudy nodded, shrugging. Gaz just glanced between the pair, perplexed.

After a moment, Alejandro just clasped his shoulder, “What can I do for you, Kyle?”

He guided the younger man to a seat near Rudy, sitting him down, before leaning back against the counter. Kyle shifted uncomfortably. He had been so certain of himself, earlier. He was gonna come here, ask for advice, give as little away as possible, and go back home. But now, under the watchful eyes of the husbands, he felt more than a little intimidated. They had literally sat him in the hot-seat, staring at him as if he were being interrogated.

He cleared his throat, “It’s… well… you remember what you told me about, the other day?”

Alejandro pulled a face, cocking his head to the side. Rudy shook his head, uncertain.

“About - well - what happened to you, in Las Almas?”

Ah. Alejandro’s face dropped slightly and Rudy made a ‘tsk’ sound, turning in his chair.

“Si… what about it?” Ale shrugged - it was his turn to look uncomfortable.

And Gaz immediately felt worse than he did before. He knew that it had taken a lot of trust, on Alejandro’s part, to tell him about what had happened. He hadn’t been happy about it, either, and Gaz imagined it wasn’t something he was particularly thrilled to re-explore. Even still, Gaz had come here with a mission - and staying silent was not helping anyone. He wouldn’t know how to help, if he didn’t at least try.

“I… need your help,” He muttered, clenching and unclenching his hand against the armrest.

He watched Rudy’s head whip up - and something crossed Alejandro’s face.

“Has someone hurt you?” Rodolfo demanded, his eyes suddenly sharp.

“What? Oh. Oh, god, no! No, I’m fine. No one’s-”

“You can tell us, Gaz,” Alejandro pushed himself up, looking ready to murder.

“No, guys, really,” He chuckled, raising his hands, “Genuinely. I’m good. It’s not me, it’s… a friend.”

The pair watched him for a moment, trying to read him. Upon deciding he was likely telling the truth, they retreated with nods and hums. He sat up a little straighter, the air a little thinner now as he glanced back at Alejandro.

“You want me to talk to this friend?” He asked, furrowing his brow.

“I don’t think he’d talk,” Gaz shook his head, rubbing his own brow, “He’s really… closed off about this. Which is not like him at all. He’s usually so - well - you know what he’s like.”

“This is someone we know?” Rudy cocked his head.

Fuck.
God fucking damn it.
Why was he so bad at this?
His mouth fell open to say something, anything, to amend his mistake. But he could find nothing. And in fear of saying anything else incriminating, he resealed his lips, staring back at Rudy. But, as if Gaz was some ancient tomb, radiating any secret that was whispered to him, it didn’t seem to matter what he said. He saw recognition pass over Rudy’s face.

“Wait - you don’t mean-”

“He doesn’t want anyone to know, Rude,” Gaz quickly cut him off, trying to salvage what little discretion he could, for Johnny’s sake.

They stared at one another… and Rudy nodded, slowly.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Gaz ran a hand over his tapered hair. He could see Alejandro glancing between them, and felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He wouldn’t put it past Rudy to tell Alejandro his discovery, later - of course he would, he was his husband. But he just hoped that Alejandro had enough wits about him not to tell anyone else.

“I just… I just want to know how to help him,” Gaz muttered, unable to disguise his distress, “He’s been holding onto it for so long. He didn’t even tell me. And he tells me everything.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Ale nodded, “It took me years to finally open up to Rudy about what happened to me. Most people feel ashamed, maybe even scared. Especially if they’re still involved with the person that put them in that situation. Is this the case with your friend?”

“It’s… complicated. It’s his ex. He keeps trying to block him, but the psycho fucker keeps finding new ways to contact him.”

“Like coming to a stranger's home, where your friend happens to be?” Rudy furrowed his brows.

Gaz stared back at him, realising Rudy was putting two and two together. He could see that Alejandro was starting to work things out too, a look of disgust falling over his face as he realised the offender had been at their house.

“Your friend. Is it the… skeleton-man?” Alejandro asked, gesturing to his face, “Uh - Ghost - I think?”

“No, mi amor. Es Johnny,” Rudy elbowed him, softly.

“Rudy!”

“He was going to figure it out, Gaz,” Rudy folded his arms, “Besides. You know Ale has no friends. Who is he going to tell?”

“Hey!” Alejandro grumbled.

Gaz just sighed, rubbing his temples, “Just… don’t let him know that you know, alright? He’s really…”

“Ashamed?” Ale finished with a nod, “Yes. Well… The best you can do is help him overcome that shame. There’s little more to do after someone is hurt like that. You can’t take back what happened, there’s no plaster or pill or cream you can give to make the pain go away. All you can do is… be there for him, when he needs it.”

“But… how? I mean, I hug when he needs it. I help him with the bad thoughts, and the ticks, and I’m always willing to listen to him, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “But it doesn’t feel like enough. What else can I do? How do I help him?”

He looked back at them, his heart sinking when he saw their expressions. Resigned. Empathetic. Telling. He swallowed, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Nothing?”

Alejandro glanced down at the floor, crossing his arms and chewing the inside of his cheek, “I’m afraid… that’s the way it is, hermano.”

“That can’t be it,” Gaz insisted, “He needs help.”

“Unless he reaches out for it, you are the only help he gets,” Rudy gently held Gaz’s shoulder, “He’s the lucky one. Some people get less than that.”

“I’m sure you help him more than you know,” Ale added.

But Gaz couldn’t bring himself to find solace in that sentiment. Not after how he had seen Johnny come apart in his arms, last night. Not after he had heard the shame, and denial, and self blame. Not after learning that the only thing he could do was hug Johnny until all the bad thoughts went away. The thing he had done since they were children.
So that was it. He found out his best friend had been hurt in such an awful way, and nothing could change. Johnny had experienced something that would stick with him for life, all for the sake of some scum-bags five seconds of sick pleasure - and Gaz could do nothing.
He tightened his lips, despair overcoming him.
No. Anger.
Anger.
He was angry. He was angry at the bastard who had assaulted Johnny. He was angry at the etiquette around these taboos, and lack of options thereafter. He was angry that Johnny wouldn’t talk to someone about it. He was angry that Alejandro and Rudy could offer nothing more than a ‘well, at least you tried’. He was angry at himself.
How could he not have picked up on this sooner? He had watched Johnny tick and fester over the smallest things, his impulses rearing their head with an unmanageable vengeance. Johnny had literally told him that things were getting bad again - and his usual coping mechanisms had stopped working. And Gaz had jumped straight to comforting him and trying to find solutions, without asking one simple question.

Why?

Why had the ticks and impulses and scratching come back?
Why weren't the usual methods of self-control working?
Why had Johnny been so withdrawn and irritable, even with Gaz?

If he had stopped, for just a second, to ask these damn questions…
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard for Johnny to talk.

Chapter Text

“Oh my God,” She whispered, her hands trailing the intricate swirling patterns embedded into the wooden doorframe, “It’s gorgeous.”

Kate watched her with a teasing smile, “You know there’s a house attached to that door, right?”

“No? Really?” Tracy feigned shock.

Chuckling, Kate draped her arms around the woman’s waist, burying her face in the back of her neck. The house stood over them, tall and glowing in the golden hour. Its walls were ivory and stippled, thick green ivy climbing the surface, wrapping around the door frame and windows. Just outside of the door, a large alder tree leaned over the house, its leaves stroking the chimney and bow windows on the left of the house. Catkins laid across the ground and walkway like a carpet, some of them picking up and dusting against the ladies’ feet as they stood together in the doorway.
Kate heard the rumbling of feet and shouting - she sighed, bracing herself for impact as she shook her head against the nape of Tracy’s neck.

“It’s my room!”

“No - I want it. Mom said I could have that room, cos you had the bigger room last time!”

“But I’m older than you!”

“No, you’re not, dummy!”

“Hey, hey!” Tracy called into the house. She unlatched herself from her wife’s grasp to step into the house, “Knock it off, you two. Why are you screaming like that?”

Kate laughed, listening to Milo and Carmen begin bombarding her wife with their pitiful excuses for the argument. Her attention was pulled elsewhere, however. Sam sat on the wall at the edge of the garden, digging his feet into the ground and tearing up dirt. His hands were shoved into his pockets, headphones pulled over his mop of light caramel-coloured hair, as it drifted over his eyes in the soft breeze.
Sighing, she made her way over to him, her heels crunching against the catkins on the floor as she approached. Sam flicked his hair out of his face, looking up at her through squinting eyes.

“You okay, kiddo?”

He shrugged, flicking his head again. She smiled, fondly, sitting down at his side and elbowing him in a playful fashion. He offered up a weak smile, kicking at the floor again.

“Have you seen your room yet?”

He shook his head.

“Hm? How come?”

Another shrug.

She laughed, putting her arm around him and pulling him to her side. He rested his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes as she kissed his temple.

“Chin up, kiddo,” She whispered, stroking his arm, “You miss home?”

He hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah… me too,” She rested her chin on his head, squeezing him, “But you’ll love it here. I promise. It grows on you, this place. Some of my best years were spent here.”

Sam hesitated before looking up at his mother with an uncertain expression. She looked back down at him, her smile understanding and encouraging. After a moment, he finally spoke.

“Is this where you lived when your friend…” He trailed off, looking a little wary.

She pursed her lips, before nodding slowly, “Well. Not this house. I lived in the city centre, but… yeah. Why do you ask?”

He paused again, looking down at his feet, “Aren’t… aren’t you sad? Coming back here?”

Perceptive. Sammy had always been so wise for his age, picking up on what others around him felt, without them so much as glancing in his direction. Kate was more enveloped by the idea that her son even knew what had happened, here. She never told him - or any of her children - about the loss she had experienced. It must have been Tracy, she realised, and made a mental note to talk to her about that later.

“I am,” She nodded, contemplating her answer for a long moment, “But I can’t let that stop me from moving on. If you run away every time something bad happens, you’ll spend your entire life running, Sammy. Some places… some people are too important to run away from.”

He nodded, slowly, leaning against her as he thought over her words.

“Besides. It was a terrible thing that happened. But it was one bad memory in an ocean of so many good ones. I met my best friend here. I met two wonderful young men, who taught me how to be a mother,” She stroked his hair, “And even though one of those men is no longer alive, I feel like he’s still with us. Every day when I wake up, and see what wonderful children I’ve raised, I know I couldn’t have done it without raising him first."

Chapter Text

“I don’t know if we should leave her,” Rudy’s voice was almost a whine as he lingered in the bedroom doorway, shrugging his jacket on, “She looks so sad.”

“She’s got the whole fucking bed to herself, Rodolfo. I’m sure she’s ecstatic,” Alejandro huffed, pulling on one of his thick leather boots. He muttered Spanish curses under his breath as he examined one of his laces, which were frayed from Nieve’s constant toying and chewing with it.

“She might go into labour.”

“I don’t have that type of luck,” He grimaced, pulling a ball of white fur off of his jumper, “I promise you, Rodolfo, this nightmare is not coming to an end any time soon.”

The bell rang downstairs.
Alejandro’s brows furrowed together, his gaze drifting to Rodolfo to see if the man had noticed - or had some sort of explanation as to who would be in their house at half-nine and night, when all their friends were waiting for them at the bar. When he saw the equally confused look on his husband’s face, alarm bells set off in his head, harmonising with the dulling ring of the shop-front bell.

“Quédate aquí, amor,” He muttered, rising to his feet.

He felt Rudy grasp his arm - and they met eyes. Usually the ring of the bell was not such an unpleasant sound, even this late at night. But, then, usually it could be explained as Farah or Gaz squeezing their way in for a place to vent or crash after a long night of partying in the city centre. And, usually, they didn’t have to worry about Russian stalkers/rapists prowling their property. The incident that took place two nights ago, and what they had learned thereafter, had them both on edge. Alejandro offered a reassuring look before stalking out of the room, cautious and silent as he could possibly be.
When he finally made his way to the shopfront, he found that it was empty. All the lights were on, as they had been before and everything seemed untouched - even the living room door was still shut. He did, however, notice a pair of silhouettes by the wall on the other side of the glass.
One of the figures was about as tall as himself, sporting a thick jacket and a hat over well-groomed hair and a thick beard. He was huffing on a cigarette that illuminated his soft features, as well as the more prominent features of the second man, leaning over the wall on his right. This man was slightly taller with long slicked-back hair that curled and played at the ends. He was paler and gaunter than the former, his form wrapped in a striped jumper and blue denim jeans.
It was the second man that noticed Alejandro first. He straightened up, looking through the window and raising a hand. Realising there was no way of avoiding an interaction with these strangers, Ale sighed and trudged over to the pair. He swung the door open, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing between them.

“Can I help you, señores?”

“You Alejandro? Or Rudy?” The first man asked, turning to face him fully now as he blew smoke into the air between them.

“Depends who’s asking,” Alejandro mumbled, folding his arms as he leaned in the doorframe.

“Right. Well, I’m John. Price. I work in the parlour, across the street.”

“Oh.”

Immediately, Alejandro’s eyes lit up in recognition. He pushed off of the doorframe, stepping out into the night and holding a hand out to the man. Price took the hand, shaking it firmly. He had heard a lot about the infamous ‘John Price’, from Garrick and Johnny. He’d always meant to visit the shop to get a few tattoos or cover up the old ones that he had gotten in the stupidity of his adolescence, and meet Price man to man. He supposed this surprise encounter worked too. His eyes twitched to the second man.

“Nikolai,” The man clasped Alejandro’s hands between his own, shaking it vigorously.

“Alejandro. How can I help you both?” Alejandro asked, retracting his hand and flexing it - he was surprised it wasn’t broken under Nik’s enthusiasm.

“Ah, well,” Price shrugged, making a gesture with the hand holding the cigarette, “You might know a little bird called Kyle?”

“Gaz. Si, I know him,” Ale nodded, folding his arms again.

“Well, he tells me you helped him out the other night. Him and my other boys, Ghost and Soap?” Price leaned back against the wall, observing the man’s reserved nature, “Thought I’d drop by and thank you in person. It’s nice to know someone’s got their back when I’m not around.”

“But of course, no?” Alejandro shrugged, “Garrick is a good friend. He has helped my and my husband more times than I can count. Besides, from what I hear, the bastard that attacked them got what was coming to him.”

“Oh? And what have you heard?” Price’s eyes locked in, his voice laced with something darker than simple curiosity.

The younger man hesitated, glancing between the pair. He had promised Gaz that he wouldn’t tell anyone about what he had told him and Rudy, yesterday - he intended on keeping that promise. Even still, he didn’t see any problem in sharing what little else he knew of the man.

“He’s dangerous. He was terrible to Johnny. He’s been stalking him,” Alejandro reeled off, clenching his jaw slightly, “And Johnny’s scared of him. I can certainly see why. It took both Ghost and I to drag that man away from John - and even then he managed to escape. If it weren’t for Konig-”

“Konig?” Nik cocked his head, curiously.

“Another friend of Garrick,” Ale nodded.

“Christ. I swear that boy is friends with the world,” Price sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Doesn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone, does he?”

“Well… he certainly had a lot to say about Johnny’s ex,” Alejandro shrugged.

“Well that says more about the ex than it does about our Gaz.”

Ale nodded in agreement. He paused, catching movement in the corner of his eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Rudy standing in the shopfront, observing them with worry embedded into his handsome face. Ale raised a hand, reassuring him that everything was fine - but Rudy didn’t shift from where he stood, just watching his husband and the strangers with cautious eyes. He couldn’t blame the sudden skittishness his husband displayed. Recent events had dredged up old emotions, and neither of them were willing to take any chances. With a gentle laugh, he looked back at the pair.

“Rodolfo. My husband - and another of Garrick’s many friends,” He explained, gesturing to the man. They nodded in acknowledgement, waving Rudy’s way, before Ale added, “You know, we’re going to the bar to meet Garrick - and all of his friends, if you’re wanting to be acquainted?”

Price tilted his head, glancing Nik’s way. Nik shrugged back at him, clearly not opposed to the idea of a night of social drinking.

“Well… we’ve nowt better do.”

Chapter Text

The pub they found themselves in, was a dingy little place off of Westgate. A small pub with blackened bricks that looked like it had been standing since the forties - an engraving in the stippled stone over the door indicated it had seen earlier times than even that. The street was alive in this area, taxis speeding through whipping rains, spraying the pavements in water that overflowed from drains. People darted about, under-dressed for such weather - usually it would have prompted a roll of Price’s eyes as he muttered something about ‘kids these days’, but tonight he couldn’t blame them. It seemed that only twenty minutes ago, he, Nik and their new acquaintances had stood under dark but clear skies, no threat of rain whatsoever.
It seemed to just start falling from nowhere?
Oh well, he tried not to let it bother him - they’d be inside soon. Besides, they’d had one hell of a summer. They needed this rain.
They stepped inside of the pub, Price smiling at the nostalgic atmosphere it held. He swore English pubs were some sort of portal. They never changed, no matter how old they are or where you found them. The same smell, the same noises of fruit machines and drunken grumbling and barely-audible music, the same dim golden glow of lights. The same claret and pale yellow carpeting, matted and black in some areas from spills. The same ornate, curving wood that framed walkways and supported solid roof beams. They were all the same. All so familiar.
They had all but made it through the door, peeling off sodden jackets, when Price heard his name being bellowed from across the room. His eyes found Gaz, clambering over a particularly tall man - who seemed less than enthusiastic about the ordeal - as he beamed back at his boss.

“Price!” Garrick repeated, staggering towards the man and practically falling into his arms, “What are you doing here? Did - hck - Ghost invite you?”

Price held onto Gaz, taking note of how heavy and lame his body seemed. Plastered. That was the mind that crossed his mind as Gaz slumped into him, all smiles and flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. He met Alejandro’s eyes - his new acquaintance just chuckled with a shrug, whilst Rodolfo tried to hide his amusement, rubbing his temple with a knowing smile.

“No, son. I bumped into your mate, Al, and he invited me,” He sighed, trying to keep the younger man upright - he was slightly relieved when he saw Nik slide his hands under Gaz’s arms, lifting the man up to plop him down on an abandoned stool.

“Strong,” Gaz snorted, leaning against the bar.

“Hm,” Nik shook his head, throwing a look Price’s way.

Price just rolled his eyes, rubbing Gaz’s back, “Did you say our Si’s here, mate?”

“Mmmm-hm,” Gaz grinned coyly, pointing a finger over Price’s shoulder.

Price followed the gesture, finding a small cluster of people against the back wall, over a pool table. He recognised Johnny and Simon immediately, though there were three others he was not so familiar with - a taller white man with sandy-blond hair, a younger Asian girl with her long wavy ebony hair hanging down past her shoulder, and a shorter Korean man with a scarred face. The last of the aforementioned was leaning over the table, laser-focused as he tried aligning his cue with the target. Price watched the annoyance on his face, as the man and woman kept purposefully jostling the table or knocking the back of his cue to throw him off. He spun around, snapping something at them - but the couple only laughed, clearly close enough to the man not to take his frustration to heart.
Simon was leaning against the wall, his head resting on the back of his hands that were wrapped around the end of his own pool cue. Johnny was at his side, sat in the window frame and gesturing to the small cube of blue chalk in his hands. Price couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he could see the amused look on Ghost’s face - and the incredulous look on Soap’s.
He slowly put two and two together, as he watched Soap’s eyes dart to the chalk, back to Simon, back to the chalk, back to Simon, back to the chalk. And then - of course, because it’s Johnny - he stuck his tongue out, liking a stripe against the cube. He saw immediate regret fill the Scotsman’s face as he jumped to his feet, dropping the chalk and desperately pulling his tongue trying to remove the awful sediment.
Simon laughed - and Price just stared, taken aback. It wasn’t his usual, polite huff of a laugh; he had his head thrown back, cheeks glowing as a wonderful hearty sound erupted from behind his mask. Price’s lips curled upwards, as his eyes shifted back to Garrick who was also watching the scene with a fond smile.

“He’s been drinking ‘as he?” Price asked, already knowing the answer.

“I know! On a school night’n’all. Tell him off, Price,” Gaz goaded, the way a child would.

“Garrick, you’re hammered,” The older man pointed out, slight amusement lacing his firm tone.

Gaz stared back at him, blinked, and tightened his lips, “No.”

Price chortled, shaking his head, before his eyes flickered back to Johnny and Simon. They had shifted a little closer to one another, Simon holding Johnny in place as he tried to draw on his face with the chalk, and Johnny grasping Simon’s wrist in an attempt to dissuade the attack. They were both pink-faced and gasping with laughter.

“You go see them,” Nik encouraged Price, squeezing his shoulder, “I’ll stay with the boy.”

“You sure?” Price asked, glancing back at his husband.

He knew, out of the two of them, Nikolai was much more sociable than he was, and could certainly hold his own in interactions with new people; he still felt shitty about dragging Nik to a function last-minute and sticking him on baby-sitting duty. His uncertainty eased slightly when he saw Alejandro, Rudy and the tall man making their way over - at least Nik wouldn’t be completely alone. With one last assuring nod from his husband, Price left the pair at the bar, stalking his way over to Simon and Johnny, who were now covered in powder blue.

“Alright, boys?”

“John?” Simon raised his brows.

“Price!” Johnny chuffed, wrapping his arm over the man’s shoulders and playfully punching his chest, “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d drop by,” He shrugged, “See how my boys are doing. Very well, I see.”

He gave Simon a pointed look, his eyes roving over streaks of blue on the turtle neck he adorned and a chalky smile between the teeth of his skeleton mask. Simon cleared his throat, shuffling from foot to foot like a naughty child caught drawing on the walls. With a soft laugh, Price looked back at Johnny. He sighed, shaking his head and trying to pull chunks of blue out of the younger man’s mohawk.

“Look at the pair of you. A right mess.”

“Ge’off,” Johnny laughed, batting Price’s hand away, before his eyes lit up, “You play pool, Price?”

Price scoffed, looking offended, “Only since you were kicking in your mum’s belly, lad.”

“You should be well versed, then,” Another voice joined the conversation.

His eyes twitched to the young lady before him. She stood just a little above his shoulders, but held the air of someone who could knock him down a peg or two, should she need to. Her long black hair swayed beneath a cloth band, floating around her back as she moved closer to the three of them, her eyes set on Price.

“You want a game, young lady?” He asked, his tone inviting.

“I want a challenge, old man,” She retorted with a tight smirk, “These boys don’t know how to play.”

“Old man?” Price scoffed.

“Young lady?” Came her sharp reply.

They regarded one another for a beat, before the young woman made a noise of approval. She held her hand out.

“Farah.”

“Price,” He clapped her hand, firmly shaking it, “You’re on. Solids.”

“Yessir,” She smirked, snatching the cue from the Korean man.

Horangi, who had just been about to pot the eight, threw his hands up, staring at her in disbelief, “Oh? I guess I’ll just fuck off?”

“Quietly, if you don’t mind,” She smiled back at him.

Horangi kicked at the carpet, shuffling off and mumbling under his breath as Alex and Johnny patted his shoulders in a show of solidarity. Price’s eyes flickered to Ghost - he was already holding the cue out in offering. Price took it with an appreciative nod, before joining Farah at the table.

“We doing the lag?” He asked, helping her pull the balls from their nets.

“Of course,” She hummed, “Unless you want to go first?”

“Confident are we?” He chuckled, leaning over to reach the far net.

“Should you be bending over like that, at your age?” She teased.

Simon, who had been taking a sip of beer, choked, trying to disguise his laughter - Johnny didn’t bother, snorting loudly.

“Cheeky cow,” Price chuckled, before catching himself.

He glanced back at her, cautiously. If his words had offended her, she did a good job of disguising it. She grinned as she began formatting the balls against the table. Price just watched, humming as he appreciated her give-and-take etiquette.
From the bar, Nikolai - who had been watching the interaction - sighed, running a hand over his tired face. Rudy saw this, his brows pinching together.

“Are you okay, Señor?”

Nik slowly turned to look at him, unimpressed, “It’s strange. My husband has never fathered a baby, but somehow gave me many sons.”

Rudy paused, blinking, “Uh - que?”

“And, now, I think I have a daughter.”

Chapter Text

He felt like his guts were drowning in the alcohol, and were trying to abandon ship the only way they knew how; by climbing out of his esophagus. He clutched Nikolai’s shoulder, shaking as he wretched, the heavy sound of his stomach contents hitting the ground making his nausea grow to an unbearable weight in his stomach.

“That’s it, солнечный свет,” Nik whispered, stroking his back, “Just get it all out of you.”

“I’m - gag - so fucking sorry,” Gaz shuddered violently, his hand curling into the striped jumper, “Nik, I got it on your shoes!”

“Don’t worry about that,” Nik’s hand reached to the man’s hair, stroking the tapered skull, “Just breath, Kyle. Nice and slow.”

“I’m sorry,” He whimpered.

“Kyle,” Nik chuckled.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Kyle, stop,” Nik gently cradled him up so he sat up. He supported the young man’s drunk-limp body, pulling his head against his shoulder, “You’re getting yourself all upset over nothing. It’ll wash away, boy.”

They were crouched under the shelter of the pentice board that caped the pub, rain lashing at gravel and sinking into the soil around them. Over their shoulders, music pulsed through the walls, bright lights and colours seeping from the barred windows, illuminating Nik’s gentle expression and the sweat that beaded Gaz’s skin.
Nik couldn’t help but frown at the distraught expression sewn into Gaz’s - usually bright, cheerful - face. He never knew alcohol had such an adverse effect on the young man. Then again, Nik had never seen Gaz drunk. He and Priced had always joked that Gaz was the ‘golden child’, always trying to keep up appearances, sober and straight as a line - but they weren’t stupid. Gaz hadn’t even breached his mid-twenties yet; he was a young, lively, sociable man - of course he drank and partied.
Nik could only hope he didn’t do it too often, if this was the result.

“I fucked up, Nik,” Gaz croaked, shaking like a leaf in his arms, between the cold and his own fraught nerves.

Nik’s frown deepened as he rubbed Gaz’s back, “You’re just drunk, Kyle. It’s not the end of the world, brother. You’ll sleep it off.”

“No–” Gas whimpered, his fist tightening into the Russian’s jumper, “I’m a terrible friend.”

“Не будь глупым,” Nik was firm now, grasping Kyle’s arm as he glared at the boy, “Don’t say that.”

“I’m a terrible friend,” He repeated, his demeanour crumbling into dust. He choked out a sob, “I fucked up. I fucked up.”

“Kyle,” Nik shifted his weight, slowly rising to a stand and dragging Kyle up with him. He let the man lean against him, arm tucked under his shoulder as he swayed, “You’re an amazing friend. You know this. Everyone knows this. Stop this silly talk and-”

“I promised not to say anything,” He hissed out, “All I had to do was shut up. And I couldn’t even do that… That’s all John asked for. Fuck, I’m so…”

Nik hesitated, hearing his husband’s name pass Garrick’s lips. He went slightly rigid, alarms immediately sounding off in his skull.

“What… what are you talking about, солнечный свет?”

“He asked me not to say anything. But what else could I do? That bastard hurt him - he… he–”

“Who hurt him?” Nik was sharp now, his expression murderous, “Who hurt John?”

Gaz hiccupped, stumbling and swaying. Slowly, Nik’s anger bubbled away, as he realised Garrick was in no state to be answering questions. The boy was all but falling apart, staggering about like a baby deer and weeping softly. He immediately felt guilt gnawing at him at his interrogative tone. Gaz was upset as it was, without him bringing the hammer down over his head. He made a mental note to talk to Price about it later, as he pulled Gaz closer against him.

“I’m sure you have your reasons for whatever it is you’ve done, Kyle. You’re not a bad friend, Kyle. If you’ve told someone something they shouldn’t know, I’m sure you only had Price’s best interest at heart,” He sighed.

Gaz swallowed, looking up at Nik through blurry eyes, “P-Price?”

“Да,” Nik’s head twitched to the side, “John?”

There was a pause - a look shared between them - and two realisations made at once.

“Johnny,” Nik whispered the name out, if only to clarify it to himself.

Gaz did answer, instead lurching over to expel another round of vomit against the dampened street, before his legs gave out beneath him. Nik made a sharp sound as he felt Garrick suddenly turn to deadweight in his arms. He clung to his unconscious form, hauling him up against him.

“У меня есть ты - у меня есть ты,” Nik grunted, his arm tight around Gaz’s waist.

Maneuvering the man as best as he could, he sat him against the wall, before darting to the door, shoving it open. He caught sight of his husband, plucking darts out of a board as he and Alejandro chuckled with one another over some shit joke that Nik had no time for.

“John! John!” He bellowed, the urgency in his voice snatching up the attention of the rest of the group - who were currently the only patrons, considering it was midnight on a Wednesday.

He made a frantic gesture, and Price immediately dropped what he was doing, surging his way towards his husband like a man on a mission. Ghost and Soap watched Price step out, intrigued. When they saw the shocked expression on his face as the door swung closed, it wasn’t even a question. They were on their feet at a moment’s notice, charging to join their boss in the rain.
Johnny’s eyes flew open as he saw Gaz slumped against the wall. In an instant, he was on his knees, cradling and gently tapping his friend’s face.

“Oi, Gaz!” He demanded, his eyes wide and panicked, “Get up, mate. What’s happened?”

“He’s pissed, Soap,” Ghost acknowledged with a chuckle.

Clearly his humour wasn’t shared, Nik and Price throwing him warning looks. Johnny didn’t even bother, tugging at the man’s jaw, trying to coax him to open his eyes. They did open for a moment, rolling around in his skull as his lashes fluttered. He mumbled something, slow and incoherent - Johnny’s name, perhaps? Another apology? It wasn’t certain, and he couldn’t clarify before his head dropped forwards again and he slumped against Johnny. John took the full weight, wrapping his arms around Kyle as if shielding him from his own drunken stupor. He looked over his shoulder at Price and Nik.

“What do we do?” He asked, his hands gripping his friend so tight it left indents in the dark skin of his arms, “D-do we call an ambulance? Take him to hospital?”

“He’ll be alright, son,” Price crouched down, resting one hand on Johnny’s shoulder, and the other on top of Garrick’s heavy head, “He’s just had a bit too much to drink. He’ll sleep it off and be fine in a couple of days.”

Johnny didn’t seem convinced, peering down at Gaz as he rubbed his back.

“We’ll take him back to our place,” Nik spoke up, stepping forwards, “It’s closer - and I’ve had plenty of experience of watching over men too drunk to stand, in my line of work.”

Soap hesitated, squinting at Nik, “Aren’t you a pilot?”

“Да,” Nik nodded with a shrug, “You would be surprised how many nervous flyers use drinking as a coping mechanism. You’d be more surprised by how many of them are pilots.”

Soap stared at him, horrified, “I’m never flying again.”

Chapter Text

“Poor little lamb,” Price whispered, gently lifting the blanket up to Kyle’s chin. His heart ached as he watched his young friend shiver and twitch in his sleep.

“He’s on his side, yes?” Nik asked, stepping closer to look over Price’s shoulder.

Price smiled at the concern in Nik’s voice, “He is Nik. Don’t worry, I’ll watch him until he wakes up. Make sure he’s alright.”

“No - I’ll stay,” Nik insisted, kissing the bare skin on his husband’s neck, “We both know Simon will be pissy when he finds out his bed is taken.”

Price chuckled deeply, between Nik’s innocence and the idea that they’d had to sacrifice Simon’s bed so Garrick could rest easier. They could have laid him on the couch, yes, but Price’s heart couldn’t take it when he saw the way Gaz was shaking, or heard the soft, helpless sounds he made as he was laid on the coarse material.

“Si’s not coming home, love,” John whispered, scratching his husband’s beard.

“No?” Nik frowned, looking a little worried for a moment, before Price shot him a smug look. Realisation crossed his face, his eyes widening, “He and Soap…?”

“Mm-hm,” Price chuckled, tapping his nose in a don’t-ask-don’t-tell manner.

With a chuckle of his own, he buried his face in the nape of his husband's neck. There was a peaceful silence between them… or at least it was peaceful for Price, as he leaned back into his husband’s embrace, watching Gaz sleep soundly. Nik, however, was in a hundred places at once. He couldn’t help but dwell over Gaz’s words, earlier that night.
He asked me not to say anything. That bastard hurt him.
His lips pursed, his arms tightening around Price. He wasn’t aware that Simon and Johnny were… fraternising in such a way. Now that he did, those words held a little more weight to them.
He wasn’t sure he could imagine Simon ever hurting someone like that. Simon was big and sulky and darkened any doorways of those who might not know him better, but Nik wouldn’t have said he was a particularly violent man, unless provoked.
Especially not to a partner - or whatever label Johnny and Simon slapped onto their dynamic.
Nik had never had the honour of meeting Roach, or Simon when Roach was alive. But from how Kate and Price described the young man, Simon was nothing but smitten. He may have been reserved, blunt and unapproachable to everyone else - but with Gary he was soft and flexible and patient. At least from what Nik had heard.
Even still… His mind couldn’t help but grasp at the straws dangled in front of him. He knew it was outlandish and very unlikely, but he thought back to how Price had found Simon covered in Roach’s blood on the day of his death… he thought back to how Simon was soaked in Johnny’s blood, after his supposed ‘accident’ with the threshold… he thought back to the scrapes and bruises on Simon’s face, only a couple of nights ago, and how evasive Simon had been when Nik had questioned him on it.
He didn’t believe it. Not really. He knew, truly, deep in his soul, that Simon had not hurt Roach, or Johnny, or anyone else.
But too many lives ended, were followed by the words ‘I could tell something was wrong’. Besides, Price was closer to his boys than Nik was. If anyone could make sense of this situation, it was him.

“I think…” He danced around the words for a moment, trying to find a less offensive way to phrase his thoughts. He didn’t think Price would take too kindly to Nik accusing his friend of being abusive, “Do you… do you think Simon would ever hurt Johnny?”

Price snorted, incredulous, “Y’what?”

He craned his head, Nik doing the same, so they were looking at each other. Upon seeing the pensive expression on his husband’s face, Price became serious quickly. He turned around in Nik’s arms - the older of the men unravelled his hold, letting his hands rest on Price’s hips.

“Kyle said something earlier,” He whispered, his eyes twitching to the boy’s sleeping form, before locking back onto Price, “He seemed very… upset. I think someone’s hurting Soap.”

Something dark stirred in Price’s gut. He wasn’t stupid. He was all too aware of the situation happening between Johnny and this ‘Mak’ or whatever Simon had called him. He knew if anyone was hurting Soap, it certainly wasn’t Simon.

“What was he saying, exactly?”

Nik squinted as he tried to recall, “He was a little all over the place, but… from what I could make out, someone hurt John - and John had asked Kyle not to tell anybody? But then Kyle must have told someone. He just kept saying he was sorry - and that he told someone.”

Price hummed, his own eyes landing on Kyle now. The young man didn’t look at peace, even in his sleep, his face contorting and twisting as shaky breaths clawed from his trembling lips. He knew something had been off. He might not have seen Garrick drunk, in person, before but he’d heard stories. He’s seen videos. He’d received messages from a drunken, emotional Garrick that told him how much he loved and appreciated him. Gaz was a walking piece of sunshine - a blessing to men like Price and Nik - and not even alcohol could dull his precious shine and warmth.
So something else must have, tonight. And now, Price was getting a pretty good idea of just what sort of burdens were clouding his little sunshine.
He swallowed, his mind tumbling through possibilities of just what Mak must have done to Johnny - something so terrible that the boy had vowed his best friend to silence. None of the options were good ones.

“It’s not Si, Nik,” Price whispered, looking up at his husband, “There’s… this bloke.”

Nik tilted his head, brows drawing together, “Hm.”

“An ex of Johnny’s. Goes by Mak, or something,” He sighed, running a wary hand through his greying hair, “Real piece of work. I had the pleasure of reading through some of the messages he’d sent our Soap. From what I gather, he had the habit of knocking him about.”

Nik made a sound of disgust, his lips curling as he looked away, shaking his head.

“He also had the gall to put his hands on our Si and Gaz, too,” Price made a vague gesture, “That’s what I was talking to that ‘Alejandro’ lad about, tonight.”

The Russian man’s eyes lit up in recognition. He had been stood to the side, whilst his husband and Alejandro spoke to one another. If he was honest, he was more preoccupied with watching the other man - who he later knew to be ‘Rudy’ - glare at them from inside of the shop. Perhaps if he’d paid more attention, he wouldn’t feel so guilty for even considering that Simon was capable of hurting an innocent man.

“Do we know what he looks like?”

“What? You about to go all Russian-Mafia on his arse, Nik?” Price teased.

Nik’s expression didn’t shift. If he weren’t so worried about Johnny, Price would have found such a stern expression extremely… becoming of his husband. Even still, his heart fluttered at the sight, and just knowing his lover was already so protective of their new companion. Nik might have presented himself as distant or apathetic of Price’s boys - Price had even heard Nik call them ‘strays’ once or twice - but he was no fool. He knew Nik was just as soft on them, as Price was.

“I don’t know, love,” He shook his head, with a sigh, “I’d rather hoped this awful business was behind us, after Simon and Ale and that big fucker - what’s his name - Konig?”

“Konig,” Nik nodded.

“Yeah. Well. I’d hoped they’d scared him off, but,” He made a gesture towards Garrick, “Seems there’s been a development.”

Chapter Text

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

The statement was barely audible over the rush and roar of the rain outside of the open window. Johnny had his back to the wall, his head leaning into the crook of the windowsill as he let smoke seep out, only to be torn apart by the lashing waters above. Simon was facing out into the night, smoking a cig of his own. His and Johnny’s hair was still wet from the rain, flat against their respective heads, but at least they had managed to dry the rest of themselves off - sort of.
Johnny had discarded his wet clothes, opting for a pair of jogging bottoms - and nothing more. His scarred chest laid on display for Simon to see - and, oh boy, did Simon see. He must have. Whenever he wasn’t staring out into the ink black nightlife of Leeds, his eyes were on that expanse of skin, taunting him. Simon, himself, was wrapped in a dressing gown that Johnny assured him - a frankly concerning amount of times - didn’t belong to Garrick…
It did belong to Garrick.
But Simon didn’t need to know that.
Beneath the fluffy red gown, he was bare - a fact Johnny was all too aware of. When he caught Simon’s eyes roving his chest, he figured it was fair game and kept trying to catch a peak beneath the cloth everytime Simon shifted, even slightly. He was, so far, unsuccessful. It made sense, he considered, seeing as Simon wore a mask over the lower portion of his face most days. If there was something Simon Riley wanted to hide, you sure as hell weren’t seeing it.
He wasn’t wearing his mask now - and Johnny was grateful for that. He loved seeing Simon’s face. It felt like a privilege. A token of trust. A promise between them. Mutually assured destruction. Simon got to see Johnny’s scars; and Johnny got to see Simons.

“You looked shaken,” Simon’s late response came.

The silence had dragged on for so long, Johnny had almost forgot what he was talking about. He tapped ash against the sill.

“I’m fine,” He hummed, with a shrug, “Just never seen Kyle like that.”

“Neither,” Simon tilted his head to look at Johnny - his face this time, “Do you not want me here?”

Another long silence. They stared at one another, a silent conversation passing between them. Of course Johnny wanted him here. Not just because of what could happen, but because of what was assured. Company. Johnny had never been a lonely man. His house had been full of life and noise as he was growing up, his sisters screaming at each other, his mother blasting music from the radio, his father’s heavy steps as he paced the house. And even when he had moved away, he had Garrick - and Garrick knew how loud Johnny’s life had always been, accommodating the loss by blasting music from his room, leaving the TV on, singing or whistling as he made his way around the house…
Johnny was sure he’d drive himself up the wall if he had to stay here in the dark and quiet. So, yes. He wanted Simon here.
Sensing the approval of his presence, Simon nodded slowly and cast his glance out into the blackened night.

“He’ll be alright, Johnny,” He mumbled over his cig, “He’s a big boy. Just partied too hard. Don’t know what he was thinking, honestly. He’s never been able to hold his drinks.”

“He’s just got a lot on his plate,” Johnny countered, his fierce protectiveness of his friend rearing its head.

“Haven’t we all,” Simon shrugged, glancing at Johnny in the corner of his eyes.

The slight glance down at Johnny’s bandaged arms didn’t go unnoticed. John just stared back at him, his expression unreadable. Simon rubbed his brow with his thumb, lost in thought. He took another drag of his cigarette as his mind delved back to how he had found Johnny. Shaking, bloody, and on the brink of collapse. At the time, he wondered what had triggered such a fit. He had put it down to Johnny’s need for cleanliness; perhaps the stress of hurting himself and seeing all of that blood had caused him to snap?
But, recently, he had begun to think there were other things at play. Makarov sprung to mind, of course. The night he had caught Simon and Johnny making out against the wall - the way he had moved towards Johnny like a bullet from a smoking gun - nobody moved like that with good intentions. It was clear Mak had no qualms in hurting Johnny, even if other people were looking… It made him wonder what Mak did, when lesser people turned the other cheek.

“He’s a scary fucker,” Simon said, out of nowhere.

Johnny snorted, “Who? Gaz?”

“No - your, uhm, Mak. Whatever you call him?” He watched as Johnny looked away, his expression faltering, “Mean bastard, inn’e?”

“He’s…” The younger man shrugged, leaning forwards and crossing his arms around his knees, “Yeah. I guess.”

Simon observed the sudden shift, his theory cementing in his mind. Johnny was scared of Makarov. Of course he was. Simon couldn’t fault him for that. If Simon’s ex was stalking him and clearly content with bringing him harm, he’d be scared too. Then, to be fair, if Simon’s ex was making any sort of contact with him, he’d be calling an exorcist. He almost laughed at the grim thought, but thought better against it.

“He lay his hands on you, Johnny?”

He didn’t answer. And that was answer enough.

“He still bothering you?”

Another unspoken confirmation.

“Is that why you…” He gestured to John’s arms.

The younger man pursed his lips, instinctively rubbing the bandages as he shrugged, “There were a lot of reasons… him among them, I suppose.”

Simon hummed, nodding, “What were the others?”

Johnny faltered again. What was he supposed to say to that? Where did he even begin?
Did he start with the fact that Simon called him a ‘control freak’? A word that had been pinned on him since his childhood, to explain away all his nervous ticks and crippling fear of disorder? Did he start with the fact he was basically leaching off of Gaz - and everyone knew it? He saw the judgemental looks Rudy gave him, everytime he darkened their doorstep - he knew what he thought of him. How about the fact that he was a sex-addict, whose well had run dry - something he only discovered after sleeping with Simon and Makarov back to back? Did he tell Simon he was spiralling, and none of his usual methods of grounding were working? Did he tell him why? Did he tell him about what Makarov had done to him?
No.
Absolutely not.

“Johnny,” Simon whispered, his hand landing on the man’s shoulders, “You’re gonna hurt yourself, again, mate.”

John pinched his brows together, letting out a frustrated sound. He didn’t need to look down. He knew he’d been scratching again. He could feel the sharp pain beneath the bandage. Simon made a ‘tsk’ sound, his hand slowly shifting down the arm until it found where the injuries lie. He flicked his cigarette out of the window, his full attention on Johnny now. He slipped back, kneeling in front of him as he took the arm - his left - into his own hands, running his thumbs over the material as if to sooth the nail-bitten skin.

“Daft sod,” His voice was soft, his eyes never drawing up to meet Johnny’s, “They’ll scar if you keep scratting at them like that.”

“They’ll scar anyway,” John muttered, leaning his head on his free hand.

“That’s not the point,” Simon mused, his eyes finally flickering up, “You know picking at them won’t help.”

“Oh - really - good thing you told me,” His voice dripped with sarcasm, “I’ll stop, straight away. Thank you, Simon, I see the error of my-”

“Watch your mouth.”

Johnny pursed his lips, his heart leaping into his throat at the tone Simon used on him. The man’s steeled gaze never left his own, piercing into him. Neither of them said anything for the longest time - and Johnny soon realised what Simon was waiting for.

“Sorry,” He whispered, a breath - one he hadn’t realised he’d been holding - fluttering out of him like a bird, freed.

Simon’s gaze finally flickered away, his thumbs returning to their soothing caressing movements, “Good lad.”

His throat constricted. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He was done for. He could see the smirk on Simon’s face, feeling his cheeks burning hot at the praise. In a pitiful act of defiance his kicked Simon’s leg - not a hard kick - just enough of one to express his displeasure at being toyed with. He came to regret it, however, when Simon suddenly grabbed his ankle, snagging him forwards. He let out a yelp as he toppled back onto the bed, his legs open around Simon’s waist.

“Well,” Simon leaned forwards, caging Johnny’s head between his arms, “That wasn’t very smart. Was it Johnny?”

“S-sorry,” Johnny managed to stammer out, his cheeks hot between embarrassment and excitement.

“I’m sure you are,” The larger man hummed, staring down at his smaller counterpart.

Slowly, he sank down onto his elbows, until their chests and stomachs were pressed together. It took everything Johnny had not to just crumble then and there, any tension in his body completely melting away as he felt Simon’s weight bare down on him. He allowed himself the small mercy of craning his head to hide it in the man's neck - and his eyes fluttered shut as he felt Simon’s hand against his scalp, softly cradling his head.

“That’s it,” Simon whispered, his voice dropping an octave, “There’s a good boy, Johnny.”

Fuck.
He felt a calloused hand slip down his side, tracing his ribs - he gasped softly, his heart beginning to rage in his chest, maddened by the attention. And then he felt the pressure - Simon shifted his hips, experimentally, pressing into the space between Johnny’s legs.

“Simon-!” His voice broke as he gasped the name, perhaps making him sound a little more hesitant than he actually was.

Because Simon stopped. His eyes twitched down, scanning Johnny’s flushed face.

“You okay, Johnny?”

He nodded.

“Are you sure? Say it to me.”

“I’m okay,” He squeaked out, his own hands slipping to Simon’s waist, squeezing as if to encourage him to move again - well, that’s exactly what he was doing, “Please. I…”

“What?” At once, Simon had slipped back into his scandalous role, “You need it do you, Johnny? Are you that desperate?”

He rolled his hips again, earning a similar response from the Scotsman. Johnny’s hands searched the front of Simon’s dressing gown, feverishly, trying to find an opening, find skin, find something to touch. He needed to feel. He needed to touch him. He needed him to touch him, too. He needed it.
Sensing his hunger, Simon chuckled deep into his throat, peeling the cloth away and throwing it against the top of the bed. The moment his body was free and exposed to Johnny, the younger man was all but undone. He gasped into Simon’s throat, his hands grasping and squeezing whatever bit of skin they could access. Simon wrenched his head back by his hair, earning a cry - it was immediately suffocated against Simon’s tongue as his lips collided with Johnny’s. He pressed in closer, his arm hooking around Johnny’s head as he drove his hips against Johnny’s, pressing him into the bed.

“F-fuck-!” John finally managed to tear away, gasping for the breath Simon had stolen from his lungs.

His whole body ached. Beneath his jogging bottoms, he could feel himself becoming soaked. His cheeks burned like pyres as Simon worked on him in slow, deliberate movements - and he hated it. Oh, he loved it - but god, he fucking hated it. It was torturous, the strokes against his sex too few and far between - and nowhere near hard enough for him to do anything with. He pressed his heels into the mattress, lifting his hips to meet Simon’s, in the vain hope that his eagerness might inspire a more intense approach.
No such look.
He felt a thrill bolt through him as a hand reached down to grab his hip - but he was met with a painful absence as Simon pinned him down against the bed, depriving him of the friction he so desperately needed.

“Easy, Johnny,” Simon husked into his ear, “You’re going to take it slowly, alright?”

“Simon-” John whined, “Please. I can’t. Just… just…”

“Slowly, Johnny,” He repeated, his gaze serious, “You’re gonna be patient and let me take my time with you. Aren’t you, pretty boy?”

John felt an ache building in his loins - but he wasn’t sure if it was his need for Simon’s savagery, or the rush that accompanied the nickname ‘pretty boy’. Either way, he was a sucker for Simon’s demanding tone. He nodded, weakly, his breath catching in his throat. He was rewarded with another teasing roll from Simon’s hips. Then another - slow and calculated - whilst he clawed at Simon’s back, huffing like the movements knocked his every breath from his lungs.
***

He was on cloud nine.
Stars sprouted in his vision as he stared up at the night sky, through the window. His head rested under Simon’s chin, his back against the man’s chest, absorbing every beat from his thunderous heart. His whole body felt… light. As if with every touch and pull and shove, Simon had chipped away at the weight on Johnny’s shoulders. He had left the window open on purpose, hoping the bitter chill would be enough to force Simon into staying close, after the deed was done.
As far as he was concerned, his devious plan had worked.
As far as Simon was concerned, he would have held Johnny regardless.
His arms were wrapped around Johnny’s waist, his face buried into the Scotsman’s neck as he kissed the tender skin and whispered sweet things into his ear. He’d earned them - and he told Johnny that. He told him how well he had done. He told him how beautiful his body was, how much of a good boy he was, how amazing he had made Simon feel. And Johnny laid limp, pretending to be asleep so that Simon didn’t see the tears streaming down his face.
He couldn’t even begin to explain how long he had waited for a night like this. A night when he wasn’t left in a cold bed, whilst the man who had just used him for a good hour or so sat on the opposite end, pretending he wasn’t there. How long he’d waited for warm arms around him. How long he’d waited for sleepy breath against his skin. For gentle words - for genuine care and attention. Too long.
It had gotten to the point that he had convinced himself it didn’t exist. Just another myth sprinkled into movies and books to send hopeless romantics on a fatal journey with no reward. Like gold at the end of a rainbow - he’d chase and chase until his legs gave out, and he was grazed and sore and wholly worse off than if he’d have just admired the colours from afar.
But tonight, he found gold.
Everything about Simon - his words, his warmth, his touch. Golden.

And that’s what made him cry.

Not the ecstasy of their passionate endeavour. Not the relief of finally finding that one thing he’d been searching for. But the knowledge that it wouldn’t last. It was sickeningly ironic. Cruel, even. Yes, he’d discovered that this sort of tenderness - this closeness - did exist. But he was sure, now, that he could never truly obtain it.
Tomorrow would come all too soon - and with the light, Simon’s gold glow would dim. And they would be coworkers again.

And that shouldn’t bother him.

Because of course they were.

Simon was his coworker - that’s all he was. A friend, too, maybe. But he could tell, the moment he even suggested they were anything otherwise, Simon would pull away. If Simon was anything like Johnny, in any way, then any label beyond ‘friend’ was a terrifying thing.

After a moment, Johnny realised the sweet words had ceased, and the breathing had lulled to slow, gentle sweeps of air across peach fuzz. He shifted, turning his head to gaze up at his sleeping coworker. He watched his face, soft with grace and peace - and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, pressing his lips into Simon’s, savering the sour taste of cigarettes and beer - not particularly pleasant, but Johnny could have licked the flavour from Simon all night.
He held back a whimper as he felt Simon’s lips kiss back, the man’s body caving over Johnny’s, pulling him under where he was safe and warm. And there he finally fell asleep, his heart torn between unfathomable gratitude to be here, now - and the agonising awareness of what was to come.

God, he was hopeless.

Chapter Text

“It’s alright – you’re alright, that’s it,” Price chuckled, shaking his head as he held the bucket under Gaz’s chin.

“I’m never drinking again,” Gaz shuddered, before lurching forwards with a sob and expelling what little he had left to give.

“That’s what they all say,” The older man sighed, patting Gaz’s bare back, “Try to aim for the bucket, son. You get any on the sheets and Simon will have a fit.”

Garrick paused, his eyes widening. Slowly, he looked up at Price, weak and still shaking from the exertion. He was exhausted - but he had to make sure he’d heard Price right.

“This is Si’s bed?”

Price snorted at the horrified expression on Gaz’s face.
He recalled Garrick’s early days at the tattoo shop, when Simon’s wounds of loss were still fresh and Gaz was a ‘temporary solution’ to a permanent problem. Price had already employed three or four others who were just not cut for the hostility - and Simon had scared them away, one by one. He had very much expected Kyle to be the same.
But, no matter how many times Ghost hissed for Gaz to ‘fuck off’, or shoved him aside when he was in his way, or ignored Gaz’s eager attempts at friendship, Garrick just… didn’t leave. Price waited, everyday, for Gaz to come up to him and tell him he had found a new job, or just not turn up to work at all. But no. Every morning, nine O’clock on the dot, Kyle was there with a smile and coffee for himself, Price and Simon - even though he knew Simon would just toss his in the bin, the moment it was in his hand.
Price only ever really intervened in Simon’s aggression once - when he caught Simon and Gaz fighting in the crew room. He regretted it, of course, but his authority was lacking under his weakened backbone - he was entirely lost to himself in the grief, and a part of him still felt guilty for everything that happened with Simon and Roach, at the time. If he could have gone back, as he was now, he’d have put an end to Simon’s fuckery a lot sooner. They might have had more employees - and Garrick might not look so mortified right now.
Despite the fact that Simon and Gaz had become just a little closer over the past year, it was clear that Simon’s cold attitude had stuck with the younger man.

“Relax, Gaz. He’s out with Johnny, he won’t know any better.”

Gaz’s expression shifted, “You mean at the tattoo shop?”

“Nah, I haven’t bothered opening it up today. I imagine everyone needs the rest after all the drinking last night,” He muttered, flashing Gaz a knowing look.

“So… where are they?” Gaz sat up, despite his stomach’s threats as he moved.

“Simon and Johnny?” Price shook his head, “Fuck if I know. I haven’t seen them since last night - they went home together.”

“Home? You mean to mine?”

“It would certainly seem so.”

“Fucking– Johnny!” Gaz exclaimed, trying to scramble up out of bed.

“Woah - woah!” Price chortled, forcing him to lay back down, “Easy tiger. What’s got you all pissy, ey?”

“Because - here I am, worrying about getting sick on Simon’s bed - and there he is, getting God-knows-what in mine,” Gaz grumbled, folding his arms like a tantruming child, “I’m gonna burn those fucking sheets.”

Price shook his head, a little surprised, “Why would they be using your bed?”

Gaz wrinkled his nose, about to tell Price that was a stupid question… then he realised. Price didn’t know. He thought Johnny would have told him, by now, that he was essentially homeless. Well, he wasn’t actually homeless, of course. Gaz would never let that happen; he allowed Johnny to stay at his place. Most nights, Johnny slept on the couch, despite the fact that Gaz assured Johnny he didn’t mind sharing a bed with him - they used to sleep in the same bed at sleepovers, and tough nights during university, so it was nothing new. But John turned it away. Gaz knew why - Johnny was a talker, even in sleep, and he tossed and turned and rolled around like a damned ballerina. They were both well aware that there were only so many sleepless nights Gaz could take - so Johnny didn’t take any from him.

“I only have a one-bedroom apartment, Price,” Gaz shrugged, “I can’t imagine Simon or Johnny are particularly inclined to getting their rocks off on the couch.”

Price paused, blinking, “I thought you and Johnny lived together?”

“We do,” Gaz nodded.

He watched Price put the pieces together, slowly.

“Where does Johnny sleep?”

He didn’t answer. Price looked concerned suddenly.

“Well, that certainly won’t do.”

Chapter Text

Johnny woke up alone.
Simon was gone - just as he had expected. He wasn’t surprised by that; but he had been a little stung that Simon hadn’t at least woken him up to go to work. His heart had jumped into his chest, when he turned over and saw the neon red 10:58AM glaring back at him over the place Simon had been laying the night prior.
At once, he had leapt out of bed and yanked the nearest set of clothes he could find out of the drawers. He didn’t know if they were Gaz’s or his own - he didn’t care. He was nearly two hours late for work. Why had nobody called him? Why hadn’t Simon woke him up?
He was between these thoughts, and checking his phones for any missed calls, when he heard the apartment door slam shut.
His thoughts ceased - as did the beating of his heart.
He stood, frozen in Garrick’s bedroom, pants only halfway saddled up his legs. Has Simon not even locked the door when he left? Who had just come into the apartment? There was no way it was Gaz; he’d have been at work by now. And even if he wasn’t, he’d have no need to be sneaking around, the way this person clearly was. Johnny could hear how quiet they were trying to be as they shifted around the living room. His stomach was sinking, slowly, as his previous run in with a certain someone leaped to mind.
He wanted to believe Makarov got the message by now - surely, he wouldn’t actually come to Garrick’s apartment; he probably didn’t even know Johnny was living with Gaz anyway.
But…
The logic didn’t lessen his racing heart - and the predatory movements on the other side of the door were smothering any reason Johnny could have grasped at.
His eyes quickly swivelled around the room, desperately trying to find something to defend himself with, as he heard the carpeted floorboards creak just outside of the door. He rolled over the bed, ducking down behind it and grasping onto something - anything.
The door screamed in protest as it slowly pushed open.

Silence. Then-

“What are you doing, you bellend?”

Simon.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Johnny whispered, shakily into the carpet, relief sweeping over him.

“Johnny?” Simon made his way around the bed, as Johnny unravelled himself from the carpet he had been white-knucking, “You alright? What happened? You fall out of bed?”

“Uhm… y-yeah,” Johnny laughed, as if he hadn’t almost shat himself seconds ago, “Yeah. Saw the time, panicked and… What are you doing here?”

He was finally actually looking at Simon now; the man was in the same clothes as yesterday, though they had since been dried. Beige hoodie, blue jeans, mask. He looked like he’d walked right out of a pandemic magazine. He was also cradling a red paper back under his arm, and holding two cups of coffee, the smell filling the room immediately and making Johnny’s stomach growl for attention. Placing the items on the nightstand, he tucked an arm under Johnny’s, lifting him up and sitting him on the bed at his side.

“We’re off. Price ain’t opening up today. Too busy taking care of the golden boy,” Simon rolled his eyes, “I swear the world stops for Garrick sometimes. I drink ‘til I blackout all the time. Price still makes me work.”

“Right - right - but-” Johnny cocked his head at him, “Why are you here?”

There was a brief beat as Simon looked back at him, with intrigue, “I can leave if you want.”

He didn’t want that. But he couldn’t understand why Simon had come back. He understood less why Simon had brought food back with him. He knew, yes, it was a nice thing to do - but it was… strange too. They’d only known each other a short while - fucked twice - and yes there was a certain… tension between them, but until now Johnny had thought that’s all it was. Sexual energy.
Simon was a good looking man, and Johnny knew he was easy on the eyes too - it only made sense that they’d be drawn to one another like that. But if that’s all it was - sexual chemistry - why had Johnny cried like a baby last night, at the very idea of losing Simon’s touch? Why did Simon stay with him all night, holding and kissing him to sleep? Why had he come back this morning with breakfast and coffee?
Nobody had done that for Johnny before. Not even Mak, who had been Johnny’s longest relationship to date. That wasn’t what ‘friends with benefits’ did. Was it? Is that what they were now? Is that what Johnny was? Had he become that pathetic, that he was falling over the first man that showed him attention? So desperate that just buying him coffee was enough to make his heart swoon?
God, what had become of him?

“We need to talk,” He whispered, hugging himself and staring down his socks.

Simon furrowed his brows. He wondered if he’d done something wrong. Probably. He had second thoughts about buying coffee this morning. Thought it might have come across as pushy or… overbearing. But he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was around these things. The last time he had shared his bed or body with anyone was over a year ago, and this is what Gary did for him. It had made him feel… cared for. He had rather hoped Johnny would feel the same.
But he didn’t look happy.

“What…” John shifted, uncomfortable, “What’s going on? Between us, I mean?”

Oh.
Simon didn’t answer. He knew he should have probably expected this talk, but he hadn’t really prepared anything to say. What could he say, really? He’d never jumped into something so fast with someone before. Even Gary had to pester and beg and chip away at Simon until he finally gave in. Johnny had slipped through all of that shit, without even trying. And Simon hadn’t even realised until that night outside of Ale and Rudy’s house.
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. All he knew was that last night, he had sank into Johnny. He had recognised that need in his eyes - the need to be taken care of, to be touched and guided, to be loved… Is that what he was doing? The word sent a chill down his spine. Such a gentle, and brutal word. Love.
Something that belonged to people older and more experienced than him and Johnny. Something that belonged to those who have had and held, and known, and lived, and… Simon didn’t feel like he’d done any of that.
What more had he done than sat back and let life pass him by? Let someone else take the wheel, tell him where to go and what to do, protect him from all the nasty things in the world, and shield him from all responsibility. Price, Kate, Roach. All the people who had done these things for him. All who loved him, dearly.
Yet, last night, he had done that exact same thing for Johnny. He had laid the man down, taken the burden of control from him, and showed him how to be gentle with himself.
Was that love?
It’s what it had always been to Simon.
It still felt too heavy a word to use on someone he had known for as short a time as they had known one another.

“I don’t know, Johnny,” Simon fiddled with a loose thread on the end of Garrick’s sheet, “I’m not really… well versed in this shit.”

There was a pause.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Simon’s eyes snapped open, his head whipping around to catch the cheeky grin Johnny shot his way.

“We’ve had sex. Twice.”

“Before that?”

“I’m not a bloody virgin, Johnny,” Ghost snapped, though he was slightly grateful for the lightened atmosphere, “I’ve just not had that many relationships… And the one relationship I did have - uhm - well…”

He killed himself.
That was really the only way to put it. He could have been nice and flowery and said ‘taken his own life’, but it made it sound too soft and passive. That’s not how Roach went out. He didn’t just ‘pass away’. He died. Bloody and alone, with only his negative thoughts to accompany him. The bastard couldn’t even hang around long enough for Simon to say goodbye - only long enough for Simon to hear him take his last breath. A cruel departure from one of the kindest men Simon ever knew.

“Roach?”

His heart caught in his throat, his eyes swivelling to meet Johnny’s face, “How-?”

“Price told me about him,” The younger man looked cautious now, “He said you two were really close, and… well, I just sort of assumed.”

He didn’t say anything, looking away again to contemplate these words. He knew it was stupid to feel some sort of way about Price talking to outside-people about Roach. It was odd. It was awful, he knew, but Gary felt like he belonged to them. He had no family to speak of - plenty of friends outside of Tat141, yes - but none that Simon or John spoke to. Gary’s name passing the lips of someone whose eyes had never even set on him… it didn’t feel good.

“I’m sorry about what happened to him. I can tell it must have hurt a lot,” He shifted closer, his hand resting on the small of Simon’s back, “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want. I just… I didn’t think it was right not telling you that I know about him. In case you did want to talk?”

“I…” Simon felt his stomach churn.

Seeing his discomfort, Johnny shook his head, “It’s alright. We don’t have to. I’m sorry. I just… Sorry.”

They both fell quiet for a long long time. Neither one of them really knew what to say - Johnny just couldn’t help cursing himself out. What had he been thinking? Of course Simon wouldn’t want to talk about it. And here he’d gone and ruined the entire mood. Simon had stayed with him all night, bought him breakfast, and entertained his stupid ‘we need to talk’ energy - and he’d just gone and dug up his dead ex. For, really, no reason.
After a moment, he sighed… He didn’t want to push Simon to talk about anything he wasn’t comfortable with. But he didn’t want him to think this wasn’t a safe space, should he ever want to. He traced patterns into the blanket with his fingers as he mulled over his next words.

“I… can’t tell if I’ve been in a bunch of relationships, or none at all,” He shrugged.

Slowly, Simon looked down at him, curious.

“I mean - I’ve slept with a bunch of people-”

“Slag.”

Johnny’s brows shot, a snort escaping him before he could stop it. Simon smiled back at him, a playful twinkle in his eyes. Again, the air lightened to a comfortable weight over them. Johnny loved that - loved how easy it was to just feel… okay, around Simon.

“Go on, Johnny.”

“Aye. Well. I’ve slept with people. But the moment I start trying to… do more, I scare them off.”

Simon hesitated, flashing Johnny a look, “The fuck are you into?”

“What? No. Not sexually. I mean…” He gestured to the coffee, “Stuff like this. Buying them breakfast. Or what you did last night. Hugging, laying with me after sex. Spending time with them, trying to get to know them, a little. None of them were having it…”

Simon flinched slightly, his heart going out to the latter. He could tell by Johnny’s tone and the longing look in his eyes that he was being sincere.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not… relationship material.”

His expression tightened. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. Johnny had just sat there, describing all the makings of a relationship. Things Johnny had actively done. Affection, acts of service, quality time. Yet, he thought he wasn’t relationship material?
Something brewed in Simon’s stomach. Disgust? Anger? Sympathy? He had to wonder just how many filthy hands had snatched Johnny’s heart from his chest, to make the young man blame himself when they broke it.

“Or they weren’t worthy of you, Johnny,” He whispered, his voice firm, “Sounds to me like you got it right. And they took you for granted.”

John scoffed, shaking his head.

“I mean it, Soap,” Simon leaned down, resting his head against Johnny’s temple. The younger man craned his head, so they were face to face, “You’ve got a gorgeous heart in that banging fucking body of yours. If they couldn’t see past the surface, that’s on them… Lucky for me, I’m not a surface-level guy.”

Johnny’s lips tightened until they were practically invisible. That cute little pout could drive Simon man. He slipped his hand up Johnny’s spine, coaxing him closer, then slid his hand under his knees, swinging his legs over Simon’s. Slowly, they lowered until Johnny was on his back, Simon looming over him. The Scotsman rested his hand over Simon’s heart, staring up at him through his lashes.

“I don’t know what this is, Johnny,” Simon whispered, between kisses against his lips, “But I know I like you… I reckon you like me too. That should be enough, right?”

John hesitated.
The idea of living in this nameless limbo, something on the border between love and friendship, without labels… it made him want to squirm slightly. Because what were their rules, now? What did he call Simon? They had sex. Okay. Was he allowed to kiss him in public, now? Or was that too affectionate? Was Simon a boyfriend, or a friend? Would they go on dates? What. Were. They.
But…
As he felt the soft breath against his lips, and looked into the gorgeous brown eyes, he couldn’t will himself to push. He knew sitting on it would make it worse. He could already sense the oncoming spiral that this disordered situation would bring him. He could already feel his skin itching ever so slightly…
But it made Simon happy…

“It’s enough.”

Chapter Text

“You’re being quiet.”

His lips twitched, his eyes never really lifting from their place on the bed sheets. Being quiet wasn’t out of the ordinary for Konig. He was, by nature, withdrawn and rarely said anything that he didn’t need to say. It was how he was raised; children were to be seen and not heard. Of course, he wasn’t an adult now. But he didn’t feel like one. Especially not now as he sank into Horangi’s warmth, hiding his face in his chest like a child would hide from monsters.
This monster was all too real.
The dull pulsing in his head, followed by waves of faintness and nausea. The pain in his stomach that had him in a choke-hold.
He was being quiet.
Because he knew if he spent any energy on talking, he wouldn’t have enough strength to disguise the wobble in his voice, or the tears in his eyes.
He closed them, as Horangi’s hand trailed over his gaunt face in a soothing motion.

“What’s wrong, 나의 왕?” He whispered - then as if he could feel it rolling off of the giant in waves, he added, “You’re hungry. Aren’t you?”

Konig, still not daring to use his treacherous voice, shook his head.

“You’re lying to me. I can hear your stomach. You didn’t eat last night - I was watching.”

Damn it.

“I’m fine, Tiger,” He whispered through cracked lips, the vibration of the bass in his voice sending a jolt of pain through his head. His eyelids felt so heavy.

The weakness in Konig’s voice that sent a pang of worry through his lover. Horangi slowly shifted to sit up, flinching in the cold of their apartment. The pair had been trying to save on electricity and gas, meaning no heating for them. They hoped they would be able to spread what little money they had remaining to pay for another month of rent. So this was how it had to be. Them, bundled together, wrapped in layers with the blanket pulled over them as they stared at the walls and tried plucking together some semblance of conversation.
Konig grunted as he felt his partner shift, his whole body aching and drained.

“When did you last eat, Konig?” He tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn’t help the accusation that laced his words.

Again, Konig didn’t speak.
He knew Horangi better than anyone - he was a proud, dedicated man. He never asked for help, or charity. And even when it was offered, he was quick to turn it away. Konig knew that Horangi would all but lose his mind if he found out that Konig had not eaten in two days, all for the sake of saving their money and making sure Horangi was eating enough. He’d made do, drinking the lemonade that Alejandro and Rudy offered whenever they visited, and trying to bloat himself beer, last night. He thought the sugar in that, alone, would give him a little more energy. It hadn’t.
His stomach twisted and knotted under his flesh, agonisingly tight.

“Come,” Horangi, shifted again, sliding out of the bed fully now, “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Konig asked, a little breathless as he slid to the end of the bed.

Horangi felt that same concern bubbling up in his chest as the… lightness in Konig’s gaze and voice. He sounded as if the air was being sucked out of his lungs.

“To get you something to eat,” He stated as if it were obvious, “There has to be somewhere cheap nearby. A McDonalds, or… something.”

“Mein schatz,” Konig swayed slightly as he stood at his full height. He craned his head down, brushing his lips against Horangi’s ear, “I’m okay - I promise. I’m just a bit… tired. Besides, There’s no point in blowing all of our money on junk food, when we-”

“Is that why you’re not eating?” Horangi suddenly spun around, looking furious.

Konig staggered back, plopping down on the bed. He was at eye-level with his boyfriend now, and couldn’t disguise the sheepish look on his face. Seeing the admission, Horangi’s outrage only grew.

“Konig. We will get through this. Just like we have before. I will make sure of it - but you will not kill yourself for the sake of a few pennies,” He stepped forwards, until Konig had to look up at him.

He looked like a scolded child, his eyes large and round as he gazed up - it only served to stab Horangi in the heart. His Konig. His wonderful, beautiful mountain of a man. How long had he gone without, without Horangi even noticing? He had been so caught up in the job hunt and accounting that he hadn’t been paying any attention. Even last night, when they were drinking with the others, he had noticed how silent and withdrawn his man had been - he had put it down to shame. The last time Konig was around some of the people at the bar, he had just lost his job; and if there was one person prouder than Horangi, it was his boyfriend.

Slowly, he raised his hands to Konig’s jaw, holding him, “Do you understand? I don’t care if we lose the apartment. Our very last penny. I will not lose you over something so… materialistic. You’re worth more than gold, 나의 왕.”

Konig’s lips wobbled, his breath shaky as it escaped him. His eyes stung with tears, which he was slightly grateful for considering how weighted and dry they had felt prior. He cocked his head, pressing kisses into Horangi’s palm as he took his wrist into his weak, shaking hand, holding it against him.

“I’m so sorry, Horangi,” He sighed in an uneven voice, “I didn’t know what else to… I feel like I’m letting you down.”

“What? Madness,” Horangi scoffed, pressing his forehead against Konig’s, “We’re in this together, Konig. You’re my backbone through all of this. Without you I…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Konig knew what he meant - because he had felt the same way. On cold, hungry nights, when he was in too much discomfort to sleep, he had curled up around his smaller counterpart, his face pressing into the warm golden skin of Horangi’s neck just to smother his sobs. If he had nothing else, he was glad to have Horangi to hold onto.
Without him, he’d have given up a long time ago.
Horangi couldn’t imagine how exhausted his beautiful man must have felt. He could only catch glimpses of it in his eyes, whenever the man wasn’t focused on smiling back up at him…
How long had this man put Horangi before himself?
Even before he lost his job. He had never once pressured Horangi to find part time work, or do something else when commissions ran dry. He had taken up extra shifts at a job he despised, all in the pursuit of his lover’s comfort and ability to do something he loved. The man had moved from Austria, leaving everything he had behind, all because Horangi had visited England once and fell in love with the country. He had learned English from scratch, just so they could speak to each other - he had even tried learning Korean on top of that. All of these things… and even now, when they had nothing to show for it, he was still sacrificing things that neither of them could afford.
Horangi could not afford to lose him.

“I’m going to take Rodolfo up on his offer.”

Konig’s eyes flew open, “Mein schatz-”

“No. Konig. Enough is enough,” He kissed his forehead, “We need it.”

Konig flinched, looking away.

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Horangi sighed, leaning in until he could bury his face in the blond hair, “But we can’t afford to be proud anymore. We need help, 나의 왕. We got ourselves this far. We can be proud of that, at least.”

“Then… I’ll see if Alejandro is in need of any assistance around the garage,” Konig nodded slowly, “I won’t have you working for us, on your own.”

“Why not? You’ve been carrying us on your back for the last two years.”

The words came out a little more bitter than he had anticipated. He saw Konig frown, his expression hardening slightly.

“Don’t do that,” He whispered, stroking Horangi’s back, “You know I did that willingly. You’re incredibly skilled, Tiger. And I wanted you to have a job you loved. I know that if we had better luck-”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Horangi stopped him, shaking his head, “We both know we have to earn what we have. I was a fool to let you entertain for as long as you did. I shouldn’t have been so blindly led on by this… fantasy.”

“It’s not a fantasy” Konig insisted, his grip tightening on Horangi's side as he stared at him, “I promise you, Kim. One day, your photos will inspire awe in the hearts of many. You’re incredible. You deserve-”

“I deserve nothing I haven’t earned,” Horangi’s lips tightened, “Sometimes… lately, I even wonder if I deserve you. I certainly don’t feel like I’ve earned it.”

He wasn’t used to Konig calling him by his real name - and he knew that it only hammered home just how intense Konig felt about this. They may have both been proud, honest-working men, but he always knew Konig was the more fantastical out of the two of them. He was the only person Horangi had opened up to about his dream of becoming a photographer - a dream his parents had squashed out of him when he was younger, with their mantras of ‘get a real job’.
Konig was the first person to actually care, and push him to chase the dream. He had his back the entire way… and look where it got them. His parents were right.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” Konig whispered, pressing his head against Horangi’s so their noses brushed against each other, “So it doesn’t matter either way. I’m yours. For better or worse.”

Horangi’s heart twisted in his chest. For better or worse. Sickness or health. Till death do us part.
He promised himself two things then, in that moment, when he had nothing else but his love to give.
Pride be damned, he would do whatever it took to keep their heads above water.
And when this was all over, he would marry this man.

Chapter Text

Alejandro (35, Married)
Alejandro was born and raised in Las Almas, Mexico. He had three other siblings - an older brother, older sister and younger brother. His family was quite religious, and when Alejandro began bringing trouble to the doorstep, his father disowned him. He was taken in by Rodolfo’s family. When he met Phillip Graves, Alejandro bit off more than he could chew. His friend, Valeria, and Graves abandoned him, leaving him at the mercy of Las Almas unofficial authorities. He was abused by these men, giving him a large distrust of authority.
He broke off his relationship with Valeria (his childhood sweetheart) and cut contact with her and Graves, putting an end to his life of crime. He fell in love with Rodolfo and opened up about the abuse he endured - then he and Rodolfo married and moved to England to start a new life. He currently runs a mechanic shop, alongside his apprentice, Farah.

Alex (25, Single)
Alex was born in upstate New York. He was an only child, his mother died during childbirth, leaving him to be raised by his father. His father loved him, and was by no means cruel to him, however he was a very narrow-minded man. Alex is a gentle soul and often felt like he disappointed his father, who had raised him to be a man's man. When his father died of cancer, Alex put himself through the police force, to prove his worth. Here he met Kate, Valeria and Phil. Kate immediately took a shine to Alex, knowing that he was too kind for this sort of work. Alex may have looked the part, but he was essentially a teddy bear. She made it her mission to protect him. And he clung to her like glue. So when she decided she was going to England with her wife, Alex (having never visited England, and having nothing to leave behind in America) decided to go visit England with her.

Farah (22, Single)
Farah’s family is from Urzikstan, but she was born in the midlands of Britain. Her family were always warm and loving, her father was dedicated to his work but always made time for Farah and her brother. Despite his strong work ethic, Farah’s father often wanted to baby her and take care of her. She, not wanting to live off of her father and brother’s earnings, moved away to make something of herself. She still keeps contact with her family, of course, but she stays up North, working for what she has. She currently works as an apprentice in a garage for Alejandro.

Gary (Deceased)
Gary was raised in a good household, though his parents were always busy with work. He had an upper-class family that weren’t the most affectionate, but he never went without, always getting the newest clothes and never missing a meal. However, he craved their attention and began acting out. This eventually led to him and his father getting into a fight; he ran away from home and fled as far North as he could. His parents never came looking for him.
He enlisted in the military, where he met Captain John Price. But he never made it past his second tour; he was dishonourably discharged after attacking a CO who had harassed one of his fellow soldiers. He was quick to find work in England, again. Price, who had taken a shine to him, employed him as a tattoo artist. Here he met Kate and Simon - and they treated him like the family he wished he’d had.
However, there was something dark inside of him that told him unworthy of their love. His parents couldn’t even love him - how could anyone else? As hard as he tried to fight off these negative thoughts and keep on a brave face, it was all in vain.
He took his life at the unfortunate age of 21.

Jonathan (41, Married)
John was born in Birmingham, England. His parents were ‘traditional’. His father was stoic and withdrawn and never showered John any love or affection - any emotion, at all, really. His mother loved him, dearly, but she would always try and push John to be more like his father. She always worried that John was ‘too emotional’ and worried what people might think of him. When John came out as gay, his father kicked him to the curb - and his mother didn’t try to fight it. He later heard that they had a daughter after him - but he never met her.
With nowhere to go and nothing else to do, John began attending an underground fight club to earn money. After being arrested, an officer who had seen him fighting offered him some free advice and brochures.
He found himself in the military, where he worked his way to the top. It was here he met his husband and his best friend, Nik and Kate. After nearly losing their lives on a particularly bad mission, Kate and John stepped down. They moved to England together for a more peaceful life. Kate was an artist - John was business minded.
They opened a tattoo shop for people with nowhere else to go. People like them. John married Nikolai, made friends, and lost some, and grew as a person. He’s still the owner of Tat141, despite it all, and is about to move into a new house with his husband, so they can start a family.

Johnny (23, Unlabelled)
Johnny was born in Scotland, as a female. He was first named Isla and grew up in a warm, loud family, with both parents and three older sisters. He moved to England when his father found a new job opportunity - and it was during highschool that he started realising that he wasn’t in the right body. However, whenever he tried talking to his family about it, they shut it down, telling him to respect the body that God had given him. They were devout Catholics, after all. His repression led to nervous tics and habits and obsessions with order. If he couldn’t make things right on the inside, he’d do it on the outside.
He met his best friend, Gaz, who slowly helped him with these tics over time. With his support, he became brave enough to come out and start the transition process.
His parents were against this at first, but with the help of Gaz, Gaz’s family, and Johnny’s sister’s, they learned to support and accept their new son.
When the time came for Johnny to stand on his own legs, he and Gaz moved to the North together, where Gaz got a job as a piercer. Johnny just mulled about, wanting to explore his new freedom. He had many partners and no jobs over the year. He met a man named Valdimir Makarov, who he fell in love with - but the man was cruel and abusive, and he assaulted Johnny, sending the young man spiralling back into his old habits and need for order and control.
As of now, he works for Tat141, and is exploring a new relationship with Simon Riley, whilst also juggling the eerie feeling that Makarov isn’t quite finished with him yet.

Kate (40, Married)
Kate was born in the Mid-Atlantic region, in America. She was the result of a teen pregnancy; neither of her parents wanted anything to do with her, so she was raised by her aunt. Her aunt was a very strong willed woman; she was an activist, always fighting against injustice. Kate was very aware of deep-rooted issues in the system, which inspired her to go into the military to try and solve the problem from the inside.
Her aunt was dead against this - and this led to a huge rift between them. In the military, Kate met her friend, Jonathan Price. But it was during her leave that she met her wife, Tracy. The pair married before Kate moved to England and had a long-distance relationship, the pair visiting one another for a week every other month.
When Kate’s apprentice, Gary, took his life, Kate felt that this was a wakeup call; she wanted to spend as much time with her wife and son as she could, as nothing in this life is guaranteed. She moved back to America to raise her son and their new twins, alongside her wife. However, her wife recently got a new job opportunity that would drag Kate back to England. She’s currently looking for a new job, or considering being a housewife to spend more time with her babies.

Kilgore (26, Taken)
Kilgore (more commonly known as Konig) was born in Austria to unknown parents. He grew up in many different foster homes in his early childhood, however these homes became less frequent the older he got; potential foster parents were wary of Kilgore for his mountainous size, often assuming he was a trouble-causer. His size also made him the victim of bullying; other kids would try to prove their own strength by knocking him down or mocking him. Because of this, his only escape was the online world. He made online friends - friends who couldn’t see him and judge. It was through this that he met Horangi.
The pair worked really well together, often climbing ranks with ease and completely dominating games. Through social media their relationship developed, and with nothing else to lose, Konig eventually flew to Korea to meet his friend. A spark formed between them the moment they set eyes on each other - and Konig found himself devastated when the time came for him to go back to Austria.
Horangi later confessed his feelings to Konig - the pair made plans to move away together, which they eventually did. They currently live in England and are struggling to keep a roof over their heads; but they know as long as they have each other, nothing else matters.

Kim (24, Taken)
Kim (Horangi) was born in South Korea and was raised by his mother and older brother. His mother was always chronically ill when he was growing up, his brother taking on the brunt of the work and role of ‘man of the house’. His mother died when he was thirteen and he and his brother (16) were separated. They never saw one another again; his brother took his own life after being conscripted into the military at eighteen.
Kim was adopted by a well off family - but there was always an odd dynamic. His adopted parents would bathe their biological children in gifts and lavish expenses, but made it clear that Horangi had to earn what he got, as he had no flesh and blood to fall back on. This instilled a strong work ethic into Kim; and he promised never to take handouts. He would earn his place in this world.
Horangi worked hard day and night; the only leisure he would allow himself was on Saturdays where he would play games online. Through this online space he made two friends: Kyle Garrick and Kilgore Konig.
Currently, he lives in England with his partner, Konig, and is looking for a job to keep them afloat.

Kyle (23, Single)
Kyle grew up in the South of England with a large, loving family. He’s the middle child of five, with an even split of an older brother, older sister, younger brother and younger sister. He was named after his grandfather, who he respects more than anyone else in this world.
He looked up to his grandfather who was a uniformed clinical psychologist in the military for twenty-five years; this man instilled the values of patience, charity, accountability, tolerance and love in Kyle; and he was the first person that Kyle came out to. When Kyle’s father died, it was his grandfather who stepped up to help the family - and when Kyle decided to move down North to start his own life, his grandfather was the one who supported him through it; he even sent Kyle money for the first couple of months whilst he was job hunting.
Currently, Kyle lives in the North of England and works in Tat141, alongside his best friend, Johnny. He still keeps in regular contact with his family.

Nikolai (43, Married)
Nikolai was raised by his father and older brothers in the heart of Russia. His family were very conservative and his father was either absent - or making Nik wish he was. His brothers were no better, tormenting and abusing him. When he was seventeen, he fell in love for the first time, with a man named Vladimir. Vlad was cruel to Nik - but the young man was none the wiser, as he had always been treated this way.
He stayed in contact with Vlad, even when he ran away to join the military. The military gave him this newfound freedom and Nikolai loved every second of it. His harsh childhood built him up for the resilience and obedience he needed - it was a cakewalk for him. He quickly climbed the ladder, joining the airforce where he discovered his love for flying. His broad humor and good communication skills opened him up to opportunities for international works - through this programme he met John.
The first man to ever treat him right. The pair related over their cold fathers and the repression they had suffered, and it became clear there was some sort of bond between them. Nikolai gained the courage to leave Vlad; though it wasn’t easy - Vlad tried tracking Nikolai down to ‘win back his heart’, but Nik moved around so often in his job, he knew the man would never be able to find him.
Nik and John later married, though Nikolai’s ambition to fly free didn’t end. He remained as a pilot, though he transferred his skill to commercial flights for a smaller company.
After hearing that his husband had lost a dear friend, Nikolai moved to England to support him. He’s lived there ever since, though his work keeps him away a lot of the time. He and his husband have decided it’s time to move to a nicer area, where they can raise a family together.

Phillip (38, Taken)
Phillip was born in Texas, America, and raised by his grandparents, as his parents were deemed ‘unfit’. His parents were addicts, and Phil was born with Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome. This was kept hidden from him, and he was made to believe his parents had died. However, his mother showed up to his thirteenth birthday party, high as a kite, and attacked his grandparents when they tried to stop her from talking to him.
When Phil was eighteen and trying to decide what to do with his life, he found out that his mother had died of an overdose. Feeling that this was some sort of message, he joined the police force. He worked his way through, until he made his way to special ops, drug divisions, specialising in busting drug cartels.
Through this line of work, he met Valeria. He was working undercover and managed to convince her to introduce him to her friends, Alejandro and Rudy. He remained undercover for two or three years, hoping the smaller group might be able to lead him to bigger fish. But an incident took place and Alejandro cut ties with Valeria and Phil completely, ruining Phil’s plans.
With his hand being forced, Graves had to come clean to Valeria. Much to his surprise, she decided she wanted to help him. When the mission was complete, Graves put in a good word for Valeria - and now the pair work together.
Currently, Graves and Valeria are on a vacation in England. They overheard their colleagues talking about making a trip there, and the pair wanted to try and find Alejandro and Rodolfo to make amends for past mistakes.

Rodolfo (34, Married)
Rodolfo was born into a family of five, being the middle child between two sisters. His parents were loving but extremely conservative - his parents often pushed Rudy to be a stronger man. They often compared him to his friend, Alejandro, who was a man’s man. When the opportunity came to introduce this masculine presence into their son’s life, they leapt at it; they took Ale in when he had nowhere to go, treating him like their own son.
Rodolfo idolised Alejandro; not because of his strength, but because of his heart. He was the only person who wasn’t trying to change Rudy - he even told Rudy he admired his gentle nature. Rudy was head over heels for him.
Rodolfo also adored Valeria - because she was fierce and unapologetic. She didn’t let the fact that she was a woman dictate her fire - just as Rudy didn’t let his masculinity affect his soul. The three of them (Rudy, Ale and Val) were inseparable.
However, Valeria led the pair deeper and deeper into a tangled mess. Rudy's loyalty was often warred against his morals - until his friend got hurt. The moment Alejandro was attacked, Rudy pulled them both out of the mess. He took Alejandro away from everything, moving him to England where they were both safe.
He keeps in contact with his family, but they’re not aware that he’s married to Alejandro; he hasn’t even come out to them. He currently lives in the North of England, running a barber’s shop out of his house.

Simon (24, Unlabelled)
Simon Riley was born in Manchester, England. He had one younger brother, named Tommy. He had a hard life, his father being cruel and abusive to both him and his little brother. Simon, as the eldest, took the brunt of the abuse in an attempt to protect his mother and brother. His father’s abuse and lack of love made Simon an easy target; he was groomed by a man named Roba from the ages of thirteen to seventeen; that was put to an end when Tommy found out and told their mother. When their father heard, he punished Simon and deprived him of any online contact with anyone - probably the only half-decent thing his father ever did for him.
When he was twenty, he and his father had a massive fight, and Simon laid into him. He tore his father apart over the years of abuse he’d endured, before storming off. When he came home the next day, he found police at the door. His father had killed his mother and then himself. Simon blamed himself - Tommy blamed him too.
The two cut contact; Tommy fled to America to start a new life, and Simon stayed in England. He wandered for a while, homeless and lost. He began drawing to pass the time - people took notice and would give him money to draw them. One of these people happened to be Kate Laswell - the owner of a tattoo shop. Impressed by his keen eye, she offered him a job.
Here, he met John and Gary. He knew Jonathan didn’t like him, straight away. But Gary seemed magnetised to him. The pair became inseparable, against Simon’s will - but eventually he softened too and the pair fell in love. He moved into an apartment with Gary and John, which he still lives in to this day.
Gary took his life, a year ago, and Simon is still picking up the pieces to this day. However, he’s recently found a new person to dote over: one, John MacTavish.
Additional context, regarding Tommy: Though Simon and Tommy no longer talk, Tommy’s wife, Beth, contacted Simon before they got married. She wanted Simon to come to the wedding, but Simon knew Tommy wanted nothing to do with him, so he declined. However, Simon and Beth still talk from time to time - she updates him on how Tommy and Joseph (their son) are doing. Simon even learned Spanish so they could talk easier, should he ever meet her in person - which he one day hopes to do.

Valeria (35, Taken)
Valeria was born in Las Almas. She had two older brothers and a younger sister. Her parents worked hard all their lives to support her and her family, but it seemed they never seemed to break even. No matter how hard they tried, nothing ever worked in their favour; her eldest brother was killed during her robbery, her younger sister became deathly ill and their parents couldn’t afford to pay medical expenses, her father was badly injured at work, leaving him disabled. With no other choices, and certain that being a good person got you nowhere in this world, Valeria turned to a less than savoury life.
She also dragged her friends into a similar lifestyle. Everything she did she did to support her family, namely her mother, father and little sister. Her sister looked up to Valeria, as if she hung the stars in the skies. They had a very strong bond.
So when her sister’s illness eventually took her life, Valeria flew off the handles. She abandoned her family completely and got herself deeper and deeper into trouble. She stopped caring about her own life, the life of her family, or her friends. She began doing drugs, starting fights, drinking, risking her life, all to escape what was waiting for her back at home.
She almost hit rock bottom.
Surprisingly enough, the thing that saved her was Phillip Graves. He was completely opposed to her lifestyle, after his mother’s overdose. He pulled her up and (through long, tedious work) got her clean. She helped him too, bringing down one of the biggest cartels in Las Almas. When she was sober, she realised how many people she had hurt. She couldn’t go back home. She moved to America and got a job in the police force, working alongside Graves.
Whilst she couldn’t make it up to her family, she knew all the pain she had caused her friends, Ale and Rudy. She and Graves decided to find the pair and try to make it up to them.

Vladimir (44, Single)
Makarov was born in Russia. He was raised by his mother - his father is unknown - and was heavily neglected. His mother was a prostitute and Mak was exposed to some terrible things in his youth. He often tried to escape his reality through works of fiction (books, movies, series), specifically of the romance variety.
This gave him a warped view of what ‘love’ was supposed to be, and he oftentimes struggles differentiating between fighting for love, and ruining his ‘lovers’ life completely. The first example of this was his first boyfriend: Nikolai.
Vladimir often treated Nikolai the way he saw other men treat his mother - and the way men were depicted to be in the old movies he watched. And because Nikolai never stopped him from doing so (due to his own perception of love), Vladimir’s ideology was cemented.
When Nik eventually cut ties, Vladimir began his pursuit, trying to follow Nikolai wherever he went. He was enraged when he found out that Nik had married another man. He had made plans to hunt Nik and John down, kill them both and then kill himself, as a declaration of his love. However, on the night he had planned to do this, someone else caught his attention.
John MacTavish had come to meet his friend, Gaz, so they could go to the bar after Gaz’s shift. Intrigued by the young Scot’s fire, Vlad followed them. From there, he pursued a relationship with Johnny.
He pushed the boundaries with Johnny - he didn’t want to make the same mistake he made with Nikolai. He wanted Johnny to need him, so he’d never leave. So he began to manipulate him; he told Johnny he wanted just to be friends, in hope it would scare Johnny into clinging on too tight. Like threatening to take a toy from a child. In his delusion he had never considered it would just push Johnny further away. Which it did.
Now, he’s enraged again, plotting his revenge on Johnny and this new man, Simon, who dared put his hands on something that didn’t belong to him. Johnny belonged to Makarov, afterall…

Chapter Text

Autumn was wrapping at the door, a cool fog hanging by their ankles and swimming in murky pools over the lake. Farah may have underestimated just how quickly the cold seemed to set in this year - though nobody could blame her. Not with how hot and heavy summer had been, at least.
She stood in a pair of leggings and a thin hoodie that hung loosely from her, the hood pulled up to frame her warm complexion. Her gaze was cast out over the vague silhouettes of ducks in the water, though the fog made them hard to distinguish from the ripples they left in their wake.

“C’mere duck!” Alex bellowed, his voice sending the nearby pigeons sprawling for escape.

He thrust bread out onto the lake - the way one would skip a rock - and watched several ducks also dart away, fearful of being pelted under the man’s force. Farah chuckled, shaking her head as she watched Alex deflate. She made herself busy, pulling at the loaf she was carrying and handing the pieces off to Alex. Every so often, she would lightly toss a few pieces into the lake, coaxing some ducks closer, before Alex would accidentally scare them away with another throw of his own.

“Have you never fed ducks, Alex?” She asked around a curt smile.

“Mm,” His lips twisted aside as he tried to recall, “Don’t think so.”

“Ah. I see.”

She raised her brows pointedly as Alex craned back and over-arm launched a large chunk of bread into the pond, like it was some sort of Olympic sport. Part of her wondered if he was trying to show off - something she had noticed him doing frequently around herself and her latest companions - but another part of her was sure he just genuinely didn’t know how to behave like a normal functioning human.
He’d been odd from the very beginning, if she was honest. On the night she found him kicking dirt around the streets - the night Alejandro had gotten into a bar fight with Phillip - she had asked him if he had a place to stay. It was a fair enough question to ask, considering he was wandering about aimlessly in Leeds City Centre at quarter to midnight. He had gotten all up in arms about it, anyway, huffing and scoffing and insisting he was fine and just trying to kill some time. She very quickly learned that his man lied way too often, for a man who could not lie to save his life.
She had whisked him back to her place, and over a few bottles of beers and shitty old reruns of FRIENDS, she managed to pull information out of him with a concerning amount of ease. He had come to England with the friends she had met earlier - but he had made no plans and had nowhere to go, and now everyone had split off and he didn’t know what to do.
He was an idiot.
She took pity on him, allowing him to stay at her place until he had to go back to America - which he hadn’t given her a date on yet. She didn’t mind; he was quite well-mannered and gentlemanly in some aspects, paying for their food when they had day trips and even buying Farah a few small gifts here and there to thank her for her hospitality. She didn’t care to admit it, but she quite enjoyed his company. If not for any other reason, just because he fascinated her.
Like last week, when he fell down some concrete stairs. She had rushed over to him to help him up - and he desperately tried to convince her that he had in fact done this on purpose. When she pressed him on it, he provided no further context, just adamantly insisting that he hadn’t fallen down the stairs. He only admitted that, yes he tripped and fell, when she had solemnly asked him if he was trying to hurt himself.
She was glad that he hadn’t been purposely trying to harm himself (in one of the weirdest ways possible, she might add), but was still absolutely baffled as to why the man hadn’t just admitted he’d had an accident in the first place.
Or the other day when they were cozied up on the couch, watching an old movie. She had become rather comfortable with him, laying her head on his chest - and assumed he was comfortable with her too, as his hand found its way over her waist, hugging her close. It was nice. Until she started sniffling and getting teary eyed at a particularly sad scene; Alex immediately recoiled and stared at her like she was a bomb about to explode. If she hadn't found his expression so funny, she’d have interrogated him on such an odd response. As it was, she just laughed until her sides ached. He laughed too, and they soon settled back down to enjoy the end of the movie.
The most recent display of his odd behaviour happened only an hour ago. Whilst she was in the shop buying bread for the ducks, she happened to glance over and see Alex crouched outside, letting a dog jump up at him and slobber all over. She had even giggled, listening to him ‘baby-talking’ the mutt in an unfamiliar high-pitched voice. But the moment she stepped out to join him, he completely changed, straightening up and patting the dog’s side like they hadn’t been up in each other’s business moment’s ago.
And now this.
What sort of weirdo didn’t know how to feed ducks?

“My parents’ house had a rather large lake on the property,” She spoke up, peeling the crust off of a slice of bread and nibbling on it, “My brother and I used to chase the ducks around there when I was younger.”

“Your folks close by?” Alex asked, looking over his shoulder at her, then he chuckled to himself softly, “Well, it’s England. Everything’s close by.”

She elbowed him in his side before hugging herself and shivering slightly. Their warm summer was coming to an end, leaving a familiar British chill in the air. Catching the slight discomfort, Alex shrugged his jacket off, without even a second thought. He pulled the jacket over her, before rubbing her arms to warm her.

“You don’t have to,” Farah laughed.

“Of course I do,” He squinted at her, “You’re a lady - it’d be impolite if I didn’t.”

Shaking her head, she rubbed his arm back, offering a slight squeeze, “Your mother raised quite a gentleman.”

Something passed over his face. She almost missed it; the slight tightening of his lips, a twitch in his eyes, a flinch. Oh. That was something. He knew she had seen it too. Part of him considered shrugging it off, pretending it was nothing. But another part of him was more inclined to talk. She had been the kindest person to him, since he got here. Everyone else had been a little… well he didn’t like to use the word ‘rude’, but they could be rather abrupt. He knew a lot of them didn’t like him; and less respected him. Just another loud-mouth, brainless American; he knew that’s what they thought of him. Perhaps it’s what she thought of him too. But at least she was kind enough to stick around and find out. He rolled his shoulder slightly, clearing his throat.

“My father, actually,” The words were forced through a shaky laugh.

“Oh… I’m sorry. Your mother is…?”

“Gone. Yeah,” He nodded, shuffling around her until he could sit down on the strained wood of the bench.

She stayed standing, but turned around so they were facing one another, her hands clinging to the warm material of his jacket. She thought about his wording. Gone. Not dead. Maybe Farah would be inclined to believe Alex’s mother had left. Ditched her son and husband and fled to be free. But the look in his eyes told her otherwise. It wasn’t bitter or angry. It was a look of loss, not abandonment.
Even still ‘gone’, not dead. Perhaps some words were still too heavy for the soul. It must have still meant a great deal to him, if he couldn’t even say the word. She decided not to push it.

“So, your father. He raised you?”

“Hm,” Alex nodded, looking a little warmer than before, “A good man. Taught me everything I know. Made sure I stayed on the right track - and how to be a good man, like him. He’s the reason I joined the force.”

“You’re a police officer?” She finally sat at his side, nudging him slightly as she did, “I bet he’s proud of you.”

He hummed.

“I bet he misses you,” She continued, shifting closer to him now, so their sides met, “My parents are constantly breathing down my neck to come back down and visit them. And I only live six or seven hours away. I can’t imagine what your father must be like.”

This time he didn’t answer. He just stared ahead, lips pursed, and eyes glued to the lake. Farah furrowed her brow at him, tampering with a button on the cuff of his jacket. He wasn’t telling her something; she could see it a mile away. Like she said before, he wasn’t a great liar. He didn’t even have to say anything, and she knew he was keeping something from her. After a moment of replaying their conversation in her head, she tilted her head to rest on his shoulder. In the corner of her eye, she saw him glance her way looking perplexed. She didn’t look back.

“He’s gone too?”

A pause. Then-

“Cancer. Two… maybe three years ago?” He muttered, his voice soft and restrained, “We knew it was coming. He was a smoker and… yeah.”

“We?”

“Hm?”

“You said ‘we knew it was coming’,” She looked up at him now, her expression gentle and inviting.

“Oh - heh - my… my dad and I,” He reached down, pushing hair from her face without even really thinking about it, “We spoke about it a lot. He didn’t want treatment. Said he wasn’t the same after… mom. And said he knew I was gonna be okay.”

Farah pursed her lips at that. She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
Of course, she wasn’t a parent, but she couldn’t imagine giving up a fight to stay with her child that easily. She was sure the man had suffered a great deal, and was likely tired due to his illness. Even so, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for Alex. Having to let one parent go after being deprived of the other, his entire life.
Without thinking, she tilted her head, kissing his shoulder softly. If it bothered him, it didn’t show on his face. He smiled, running a hand through her hair.

“He was right. I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

Slowly, he nodded, “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, if you’re not,” She rested her chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him once more, “You went through some brutal losses, Alex. And now you’re in a strange place. Not really sure what to do with yourself… I wouldn’t blame you for feeling a little… upset. Jilted even.”

There was another long pause - and she saw hesitance in his gaze for a moment. There was a crack - one she felt she could worm her finger in, inch by inch. Part of her knew if she managed to work her way in, she could pry open the walls he was keeping up. But slowly, his smile returned and she felt the crack closing in around her.

“I’m fine. But thank you.”

Chapter Text

The walk to the shop was awkward, their footsteps wading through a thick, tense atmosphere. Johnny knew it was mostly his own fault. The silence had gotten too loud for him, back home - and, despite Simon’s vigorous protests, he needed to get out of the apartment. His mind was still a whir of questions and doubts and indecision. He had hoped going out into the daylight and having the company of others might do him some good. Even if he knew his ‘company’ may not have been mutually appreciated by his victims, Ale and Rudy.

“Do you spend all your spare time here?”

The question was posed through a mocking tone that inspired the briefest of smiles over Johnny’s face. He cocked his head to look up at Simon - the man didn’t turn to face him but Johnny could make out soft brown eyes as they flickered to look at him over the edge of the mask.

“Nah - I used to just avoid it completely if I’m honest,” Johnny shrugged, “Got the feeling I wasn’t wanted.”

A little taken aback, Simon did look down at him now, brows raised and subtle intrigue behind those dark eyes.

“Aye - I only really started hanging around here because Gaz liked them,” He made a vague gesture towards the barber shop that they were crawling their way towards, “But I know Rudy doesn’t like me. Don’t think Alejandro could give a toss, either way.”

“I’m sure Rudy does like you, deep down.”

“I doubt it. He and Ale have a soft spot for Gaz. And they know that I’m a bit of a… well… burden on him-”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, I am,” He looked down at his feet as they reached the steps, “I use his electricity and gaz, sleep on his couch, follow him around like an annoying little brother.”

“I’m sure Garrick doesn’t feel that way. Besides, take it from an older brother, we sort of like having you little ones following us around all day,” Simon chuckled behind his mask.

“You’re an older brother?” Johnny’s eyes lit up slightly, “You never really told me about your family.”

They had reached the top of the stairs now. Through the glass, Simon could see Alejandro and Rudy talking to two other figures; they were hard to make out over the glare on the window, but Konig’s impressive stature was easily identifiable. From that, they could gather that the other figure must have been Horangi. They seemed to be deep into a serious discussion, so Simon hung back - and Johnny followed suit. Simon leaned back against the wall, resting his body weight on his elbows as he peered down at Johnny.

“Well - you haven’t told me about yours either.”

“Not much to tell. Da’s a teacher. Mam runs a crafts business from home. Got a handful of older sisters. Religious folks.”

“Catholic?”

“Aye.”

“Are you?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“Never.”

Johnny chuckled, earning a small smirk from Simon. After a moment, he stepped closer until he stood between Simon’s legs, arms resting on the wall, either side of the older man. Simon peered down at him, intrigued.

“What about you then? Your family, I mean,” Johnny cocked his head, “I want to know you.”

Simon shifted, trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling blossoming in his stomach, “Well - uh… I only have my brother, really. And even then… I guess not.”

Johnny’s expression softened, “How do you mean?”

He drew in the gravel with the scuffed toe of his shoe, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he tried to find a delicate way to phrase things. Roach’s death had hit him hard and fast, and it had come out of nowhere. But Simon had been expecting his parent’s death. He had been on the wrong end of his father’s wrath; knew the corruption and destruction those hands could bring. He knew his mother’s softness. She would never have been able to survive. Not against that bastard.
He’d made peace with the loss of his parents, long before they had died. Perhaps that’s why this was a lot easier to say.

“My parents are no longer with us,” He shrugged, “My brother and I had a… a bit of a tiff. He moved away, got married, and had a baby boy. He’s a good kid from what I hear. Little Joseph Riley.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, Si,” Johnny’s hand swept up the man’s side, gentle and supportive, “What did you argue about?”

“Well, I suppose it wasn’t really an argument. He blamed me for our parents' deaths,” Simon slowly lifted his gaze to meet Johnny’s. He studied the sympathetic look on the Scotsman’s face, before speaking again, “There wasn’t really an argument to be had. He was right.”

“Sim-”

CRASH-!

Simon's hand slung over Johnny's waist, pulling him closer as his eyes snapped open in the direction of the sound. Johnny couldn't really make anything out; Simon's hand was over his head, blocking his vision. But over Johnny's shoulder, Simon could make out the carnage inside the shop. Alejandro and Horangi were on their knees, over a large trembling form - Rudy had darted towards the phone on the counter and was shouting something, alarmed.

"What the fuck..."

Chapter Text

“I’m glad you came to us, Hermano,” Alejandro clapped Horangi’s shoulder, “I’m not getting any younger - I could certainly use the help, and lord knows Farah could use the company.”

Horangi smiled weakly as he picked at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. He couldn’t help the way he frowned, then, looking down at the frayed ends of the sleeve. His clothes hadn’t looked like that in a while; picked apart and worn down. He used to have a bad habit as a child; chewing on the fabrics and digging his fingers into the pads of his clothing to toy with the cotton inside. It was a habit his parents had scolded out of him, and he hadn’t really thought about it in years…
But then, he’d been busy for so long, maybe he just hadn’t noticed it’s return. There wasn’t much to do in their apartment, nowadays.

“Hey. There’s no shame in it, Horangi,” Rudy reached out, gently rubbing his arm, “When Ale and I first came here, we had nothing but the shell of a shop and a young man offering directions. You come back from this. And you will be proud, when you look back in a few months. This shame is completely… needless.”

“I’ve never been a beggar,” Horangi mumbled, his fist tightening slightly.

“Who are you begging?” Ale shifted his weight, leaning against the counter as he cocked his head, intrigued by the sentiment, “We’re your friends, Horangi. It’s what we do for each other.”

“I know, but…” Horangi sighed, rubbing his face, “We’ve always worked for what we have. We’re not used to… charity.”

Alejandro chuckled suddenly, clapping his hands as if that was the funniest thing he’d heard all morning, “You think working in a mechanic shop is charity?”

Worried he might have offended the man, Horangi’s hands shot up, “Oh n-no! I just meant that-”

“Amigo,” Alejandro clapped his shoulder again, a wide grin on his face, “We’re friends, now, si? The same might not be said by the end of your first shift. You’ll be lifting tires, covered in oil, working until you break calluses and make new ones in places you didn’t even know you could get them. Your body will ache, and you’ll be hearing the buzzing of saws and ignitions, even when you fall asleep. Trust me, Horangi, you will work for what you have.”

There was a beat… then Horangi slowly smiled.
A part of him had been worried about his two new acquaintances taking pity on him and his boyfriend. They were not pitiful men. Despite how hard the labour waiting for them may be, the pain would be nothing compared to the shame of being looked down on for their predicament. He’d take aching bones and torn skin over a bruised ego any day. He knew the same would be said for his Konig. His eyes shifted to the giant - and he paused.
Following his gaze, Rudy and Ale’s lacks smiles fell completely.
Konig was looming a couple of feet away, one hand on the counter, the other shielding his eyes from the sun through the window. He wore a vacant expression, his lips slightly parted as he swallowed air down like it was a fading supply. His shakiness didn’t go unnoticed either, the arm that supported him trembling under his weight.

“You okay, hombre?” Rudy asked, taking a step closer.

Konig didn’t answer, swallowing softly as his eyes clung to the spot between them, unresponsive.

“What’s…?” Ale’s eyes shifted back to Horangi for answers.

“He’s not been eating properly,” Horangi whispered back, slipping off of his seat. He padded over to his boyfriend, slipping a hand over his waist.

Konig jumped, as if he had only just realised he was with company, “K-Ki-”

“Maybe you should sit, 나의 왕,” The small man mumbled, trying to gently guide Konig to a nearby stool.

The giant looked as though he might protest for a moment. But upon trying to stop himself from moving, he realised how weak his legs were. Slowly he sat, hanging his head to avoid meeting Ale or Rudy’s eyes.

“I’ll make us all Chilaquiles and eggs,” Rudy announced, with a clap of his hands, “We can talk arrangements over breakfast, si?”

Konig made a sound of protest - and then paused with a wary look in his eyes. Because he had meant to speak - to say he was fine - to say anything at all. But all that came out was a disapproving grunt. He shifted his jaw, trying to make it sit right in his head, but everything was moving so slowly and his vision was swimming.

“Konig?” Horangi frowned, his hand resting between the man’s shoulders.

It was the last thing he heard before his head met the floor.
Three pairs of hands darted out to grab him as the stool shot out from beneath him, rocket against the counter. His body landed hard against the marble floor with a thick, sickening sound, chorused by cries of alarm - cries he didn’t hear under his exhausted collapse.

“Konig!” Alejandro barked out, turning him over onto his back and tapping his shoulders, “¡Mierda! Is he - did he-?”

“Konig,” Horangi whispered, cradling the man’s head as he tapped his cheek, desperately trying to stir the man. He whimpered as he saw his man’s eyes crack open slightly, just see them rolling in his skull before they closed again. Horangi’s expression twisted between fear and pain as his gaze shot up to Rudy, “Call a fucking ambulance!”

Rudy nodded, shakily, rushing to the phone on the wall. His hands were trembling as he punched in the number, adrenaline pumping through the sudden carnage. He didn’t even notice the bell ring from the door as he shouted orders down the phone to the poor operator on the other side. Horangi was a mess - his vision was blurred and his whole body taut as he was pulled away from Konig. He wasn’t even sure who had grabbed him, his tunnel vision set on his fallen boyfriend, but he fought them anyway.

“Stop - stop, Horangi!” A Scottish voice rang in his ears, “You’re getting yourself all worked up, okay? Stop it.”

“S-Soap–?”

“Aye. Just relax. They’re gonna help him up, aye?” Johnny wrapped his arm around the smaller man, tugging him to his feet and walking him back, “We need to stay out of their way.”

Horangi frowned up at the man, confused, before his gaze shifted back to Konig, who was being hoisted up by Ghost and Alejandro. The two men had their arms locked under Konig’s, pulling the man’s dead weight up between them. He clung to Soap without even realising it, his breath escaping him in shaken rattles. Johnny’s brow furrowed as he felt how weak Horangi was. He pulled the man closer, rubbing his back gently.

“You’re alright, mate. He’ll be fine,” He whispered, watching Ale and Simon hoist Konig through the door, “They’ll get him some fresh air - make it easier for the medics to reach him. You wanna go sit with him?”

Horangi nodded.

“Okay, come on mate,” Johnny followed after Simon and Ale, keeping a supportive arm over Horangi.

From the back wall, stilling speaking into the phone (albeit a little calmer, now), Rudy watched them go. His eyes couldn’t help but follow Johnny, as he considered how similar to Gaz he looked right now, letting his friend cling to him for support. His lips twitched downwards at the thought, before his attention turned back to directing the operator.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t have to come with me, son,” Price chuckled softly as he pushed the door open, “You still look a little dodgy. I’m perfectly capable of-”

“If Si came home whilst I was in his bed and you weren’t there to stop him…” Gaz trailed off with a shudder.

“Alright, alright,” John snorted, rubbing Kyle’s shoulder, “Honestly. Surprises me how scared you lot seem of him. He’s a sulking teen with a skeleton mask for fuck sake.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re like a Ghost-tamer,” Gaz chortled, before splitting off and wandering to his station to check over the equipment.

Price chuckled again, shaking his head and muttering something about ‘ghost-tamer’ being a good name, under his breath. But his attention was mostly captured by his work at hand. He had decided the shop would be closed completely over the weekend. It was Thursday, today, after all and he didn’t see any point in opening up shop for Friday, if it was just gonna close again on Saturday. So, accounting would be done today, leaving him a long three-day weekend to enjoy with his husband.
He opened up the register, before plucking the laptop out from under the desk. He still had to wrap his head around all this digital shite, but he was getting the hang of it. Part of him was glad Kyle had decided to tag along - though he wouldn’t admit it. It was always a little lonely on Friday nights when he had to hang back to do this alone; and he always ended up having to call one of the boys to help him work out how to do the damn ‘online banking’ stuff.
He’d always end up rolling his eyes and grumbling something about how much easier it had been when all he had to do was separate the coins into little baggies and drive them to the bank. And they’d always give him some stupid retort about being a dinosaur - he doubted Kyle would have anything to say, now that he was within swinging distance.

“Just nipping t’loo,” Gaz nodded Price’s way in passing.

“Alright, then you can help me with this bleedin’ till,” Price muttered as another error popped up on the banking app, “Fucking machine.”

“Okay, grandad.”

Price glared at him, hand frantically searching for something to throw at him that wouldn’t cause too much harm. He listened to Garrick titter as he scampered his way into the crew room.

“Cheeky sod,” He mumbled, with a soft smile, before turning back to the computer.

The silence grew heavy as he tried, once again inputting their profit for the week. No luck. He swore these bankers were out to get him, purposely making it more difficult for him to cash in at the end of a hard week of work. He stewed over this, chewing loose skin on his thumb as he glared at the screen. He was so indulged in his own thoughts, that he might have missed the opening of the front door, had it not cut through the silence like a knife.
His eyes shot up as a hooded figure stepped into the warmth of the shop. He sighed, assuming it was a customer who hadn’t gotten the mass email he had sent out. Or, possibly, he hadn’t sent it properly. He had asked Gaz for help on that too, but it was still very likely he’d somehow hit the wrong buttons and the email had missed some clients. Whatever.

“Sorry mate, closed today,” He offered a pursed-lipped smile, “Do you have an appointment? I can schedule you for some time next week at half-price.”

The man paused, looking back at John for a long time. Slowly, he slipped his hood down, revealing a fairly handsome pale face beneath. Grey black hair laid flat against his head, soft stubble lacing his chin and upper lip which curved up in a permanent grimace… or smirk. Price couldn’t really figure out if the man was pleased or… pissed at his proposal of rescheduling. He didn’t say anything to indicate either way. When the pause grew uncomfortably long, Price cleared his throat.

“Can I… help you?” He asked, cautiously.

He didn’t like the way the man stared at him - those dark eyes seemed to watch John too closely. Like he knew him. But as far as John could say, he’d never met this man in his life. And the way he held himself, strong and confident, arms shoved deep into his pockets… Price was all too familiar with being face to face with an enemy. His time on the field taught him well. If a stranger was watching you like this, it meant they knew something you didn’t. And he knew predatory eyes when he saw them. Whoever this man was - he wasn’t here to make friends.

“John.”

Price’s lips tightened, as he heard the roll of a Russian accent on the man’s lips, “Uhm… yeah. That’s me. How can I help you, mate?”

“Hmm. I thought as much,” The man stepped closer, his eyes roving over Price in an unpleasant way that made the man’s skin crawl, “I wonder what he sees in you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, no offense, Captain,” The man chuckled, leaning over the desk now so his face was inches away from Price’s, “You’re a good-looking man. You had a respectable career, and you run a tight shop. But you’re very… tame. Not at all Nikolai’s type.”

Price’s chest tightened. It was like he had been hit with one flashbang after another. He hadn’t been called ‘captain’ in years - he didn’t even speak much about his military days. Not even to his boys. And this bastard somehow knew his rank. And his husband's name. Hearing Nikolai’s name from this stranger’s lips sent a chill down his spine.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Anger flared behind Price’s eyes.

“Where’s Johnny?”

The man looked like a cat now, his head cocked to the side with a sharp look in his eyes and sickening grin over his gaunt features. It was as if he was getting off on this - loved watching the dog-like anger in Price’s own gate. Upon hearing Johnny’s name, Price became stern. He cooled the flames burning in his chest, slowly putting the pieces together.

“Who the fuck are you?” Price spat through gritted teeth.

“A friend,” The man shrugged, his smile growing, “I just want to make sure my Johnny’s okay. He’s been so… distant lately. Where is he, Captain?”

Price felt his stomach churn. There was no way this man was who he thought he was. This couldn’t be the ‘Mak’, he had heard so much about. He glanced over the man’s appearance again, taking in the greying hair, and crows feet in the corners of his eyes. He was built well, Price would admit; like himself, Mak had taken good care of himself in his older age. But he was still at quite an age. Too much of an age to be harassing Johnny.

“Don’t you think you’re a bit old for him? Looks like the lad’s half your age, mate,” Price hissed, his eyes dark and set on Mak like target-locked missiles.

“Well, I did have my eyes set on a more… appropriate conquest,” Makarov smirked with a shrug, “But he was swept up by a lesser man. His loss. And his loss dropped a pretty little Scotsman right in my lap, so I can’t complain. Fate has a funny way of working, hm?”

Price swallowed, suppressing a shudder, “He’s a fucking kid, mate. You should be ashamed-”

“He certain doesn’t act like a child, when I’m-”

“Say another word and I’ll smash your fucking head in.”

John’s head snapped towards the voice. Mak slowly turned to follow his gaze. Garrick stood in the doorway of the crew room, an unrecognisable hatred in his eyes. The brimstone didn’t suit his usual soft features as it burned in his gaze, his fist clenching around the doorframe until it shook. Price couldn’t tell if the tremors were from rage or slight fear; he knew Garrick wasn’t usually so confrontational - in fact, Gaz was the go-too to calm down frightened clients, because his soft, warm demeanour - as well as the last person Price would go to for particularly unfriendly customers. The boy just wasn’t built to hate.

“You don’t talk about my mate like that,” Gaz hissed, his voice a little weak.

Price’s heart sank for him as Mak just laughed back in his face.

“Kyle. If I’d have known you were here, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on…” He paused, looking Price up and down with a look of indifference, before turning his wicked gaze back on the younger man, “Where is he? I just want to talk to him.”

“Fat fucking chance,” Kyle sneered, “He doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

Price tensed as Mak sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. He didn’t like the way Mak was staring at Kyle - that look… He suddenly couldn’t blame Johnny for his sheepishness or locked lips around the topic of this bastard. If he was as young as Johnny was, and on the wrong side of that glare, he’d learn to shut the fuck up too. He gritted his teeth as Mak began making his way towards Kyle.

“Kyle. Where is Johnny?”

Kyle staggered slightly, shrinking as the man came closer. Before he could even think of anything to say, Price was in front of him, shoving Mak away.

“You don’t walk up on my lads like that, you hear me?” Price barked out, stepping forwards to put distance between Mak and Kyle, “Is that how you get off, ey? Scaring young boys like that, you sick fuck.”

“They’re not children, John,” Makarov sneered, coming close so that he could sneer in Price’s face.

“They’re someone’s children,” He hissed, “I don’t reckon Kyle’s parents’d be too pleased to have a forty year old up in his business like that. Much less Johnny’s if they knew the shite you put him through.”

Mak scoffed, then outright laughed as if that was hilarious, “My, John. I’d have thought better of a hardened soldier like you… You really think Johnny’s parents would care at all? They know he’s a lost cause-”

“Watch your mouth-!”

“Kyle,” Price put a hand out, stopping the man.

“What do you think, Captain, drives young men like them into the arms of men like us?” Mak practically purred as Price and Gaz’s faces wrinkled in disgust.

“Us?”

“He’s nothing like you,” Gaz sneered, “Price, lay him out.”

“Enough, Kyle,” Price looked over his shoulder, flashing Gaz a stern look. The younger man simmered down, folding his arms and glaring at Makarov. Price looked back at the older man with a grimace, “We’re not the same.”

“We’re exactly the same, Captain,” Mak chuckled, darkly, “We both see these lost, vulnerable young men. We try to… guide them down the right path. Just like you did with your Simon and Gary and-”

“Another word-” Price snapped, stepping forwards.

Mak took a step back with a wolfish grin, his hand slipping to his pocket to brandish something. Price froze, his eyes catching the glint of a sharp edge, just barely visible between Makarov’s hand and the edge of the pocket. His heart jolted, suddenly all too aware that Kyle was right behind him. He didn’t move any further, not wanting to give Makarov any reason to bring harm to him or the boy. Makarov’s smile shone as sharp as the blade he was concealing.

“Go on. You were saying?” He smirked.

“You go anywhere near my boys-”

“Your boys?” Makarov cackled, shaking his head, “Such a hypocrite. You’re almost as old as me and you surround yourself with twenty-something year olds. But I’m a predator?”

“I give my lads a roof over their heads, a shoulder to lean on, friendly advice,” Price grumbled, his voice a low growl as he glared Makarov down, “You’re preying on a warm place to rest your cock. We’re not the same.”

Makarov set his jaw, his eyes twitching between Price and Gaz for a moment, as if deciding on his next move. Price shifted his weight, readying himself to defend Garrick if he had to. He wasn’t all too keen on the idea of being slashed or stabbed; he’d had plenty of that in his time, and it was never a pleasant experience. Even still, he’d through himself into a blender before he let that blade touch any of his boys.
It seemed he wouldn’t have to. Makarov slid the weapon back into his pocket, clasping both hands behind his back as he smiled, in a deceptively friendly manner.

“Send my love to Nikolai, Captain,” He whispered, his voice like an icicle between John’s shoulder blades, “I don’t usually settle for sharing, but I suppose if you’re happy with my sloppy seconds…”

Price clenched his jaw until his teeth creaked in their roots, “What are you on about?”

Mak just chuckled again, shaking his head again, “Oh Captain… So much he’s keeping from you, even in marriage. It would seem fate is in my favour again. I’ll send you Johnny’s regards when I find him.”

With that, the man turned, making his way to the exit. Price’s hand flew out as he heard Gaz’s footsteps approaching. He grasped hold of the younger man as Garrick tried to struggle against Price to get to Makarov. Gaz gasped, all the air knocked out of him as Price slammed him up against the wall holding him there.

“Price, what the fuck? He’s–!”

“He has a fucking knife, Kyle,” Price hissed at him, holding him firmly in place.

Gaz froze, his eyes shooting wide open as he looked back at Mak who was half-way out of the door now. Makarov had paused - just long enough to flash a grin Gaz’s way, before making a quick exit, hood pulled up once more. Only when Price was sure he was far enough that Gaz wouldn’t chase him, did he let go of Garrick. He furrowed his brow, gently patting down the wrinkles in his shirt that had formed under his bone-crushing grasp. Kyle just stood, trembling, mouth hanging open as he tried to process what had just happened.

“He… he had a knife? Price. He could’ve-”

“I know, son. I know,” Price nodded, squeezing his shoulder. He paused, looking a little awkward for a moment, before dusting Gaz’s shoulder off and folding his arms, “And he’s after our Johnny. Which tells me he’s not looking for a friendly chat. Give Johnny and Si a bell. I’ll call the police. Come on, lad.”

“Where are we going?” Gaz demanded, though he was already pulling his phone out of his pocket to follow the orders.

“We’ll swing by your place, see if they’re there,” Price held the door open, ushering Garrick out, “Then we’ll go to mine. I have to talk to Nik.”

As they climbed into the car, Garrick felt a knot tightening in his stomach. Price was keeping up a pretty solid demeanour, but Gaz could feel the woe rolling off of him in troves. He knew, despite how tight Price was holding himself, Makarov’s words must have clung to him like barbed wire. Especially now that his husband was involved.

“I’m sure he was just trying to get in your head, sir.”

“No. He knew too much, Gaz,” Price shook his head, firing up the engine.

The knot tightened further. He swallowed, as Johnny’s phone went to voicemail for a third time. He tried Simon now - unsurprised when it too led to a dead end.

“Didn’t know you were a captain,” He muttered, trying to keep his mind from running wild with the lack of response from his friends, “Pretty obvious in hindsight.”

Price blew air through his nose, shaking his head. He had chosen not to disclose such information. Not through any prideful or even shameful silence, but purely because he didn’t think it mattered. He left that life behind for a reason. He wasn’t a soldier anymore - wasn’t a captain anymore - and didn’t want to be either.
He had a new life here. With his husband and… his boys. The words left a sour taste on his tongue - a flavour that hadn’t been there before. Not until Makarov had… He winced, his lips tightening.

“I don’t… Kyle, I hope you don’t think…” He failed to find the words as Gaz glanced back at him now. He silently damned the red light appearing before them, no longer able to distract himself in gear shifts or indicators or the hum of his engine, “What Makarov said. About… about the way I treat you boys-”

“Stop.”

“I just-”

“No. John. Stop,” Gaz scowled, reaching out and clutching Price’s arm, “You’re nothing like him, Price. Ask any of us. None of us think that about you. You’re our boss. Our mate. We’d trust you with ‘s lives.”

“I… I know, son, I just…” He cleared his throat, “He’s just in my head. I never ever want you boys to think I’d take advantage of your trust like that.”

“We know, mate,” Gaz elbowed him softly, “Don’t listen to him, alright? You heard the way he spoke about Johnny in there. You don’t believe that, do you? That Johnny’s a lost cause?”

“No, of course n-”

“Then why would he be right about you, either? You’re a good man, Price,” Gaz nodded with finality, “He’s a twisted old bastard with a sick view of the world. He needs help, Price… Or a bullet in his head. I know which I’d prefer.”

The light changed to green, as Price made a displeased noise. He’d never heard such venom in Garrick’s voice before. It didn’t settle easily on his ears, and a quick glance in his peripheral found an equally as jarring scowl. He didn’t like that look. It just wasn’t the Gaz he knew.

“Oi. Don’t do that,” He spoke softly now, meeting Gaz’s eyes, “You’re a good boy, Gaz. Don’t let him ruin that heart of yours, right?”

Gaz pursed his lips, flashing Price an apologetic look, “I just… I hate the way he talks about Johnny. Especially after the things he’s… done to him.”

Price swallowed, feeling unease sink it’s claws into him. His mind flickered back to what Nikolai had told him. About Garrick keeping secrets for Johnny. His stomach churned as he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve… been meaning to talk to you about that,” He shifted in his seat, “You… you were saying some things, last night. To Nik. Not me. Saying someone had hurt Johnny?”

“Oh fuck.”

“Garrick-”

“Shit. What did I say?” Gaz looked panicked now, his hand clutching at Price’s arm once more, “What did I say, Price? Did Johnny hear?”

“No? No, calm down, son. Jesus,” Price laughed nervously, “What’s got you all worked up, ey? It’s no secret the bastard’s put his hands on Johnny. Anyone could take one look at way he treats other people, or the messages he sent him-”

“You’ve seen the messages?”

Price immediately recognised the relief in Kyle’s voice. The way his demeanour shifted, his head lolling back against the headrest and his body relaxing slightly. He wondered just how long the young man had been sitting on everything, trying to stop information slipping from beneath him. But now it was all flying loose. He sat in silence as Gaz bombarded him, the flood gates opening to let everything spill out.

“God, Price. I just…” He shook his head, looking tearful, “I just didn’t know what to do or say. I’ve… I’ve dealt with other shit before, you know? My grandad. He’s a therapist - he taught me a lot about how to help people who have gone through abuse and trauma and… but not this sort of stuff, y’know? Maybe I was just too young at the time? I was thinking about going back and talking to him, now. I’m older, I think he’ll be a little more… honest with me?”

“Honest with you?” Price furrowed his brows.

“Well. Yeah. I mean, my grandad taught me a lot - said I had a mature head on my shoulders. But nobody wants to talk to a kid about… that sort of abuse,” Gaz swallowed, “Hell, most adults don’t even want to talk about it. I know Johnny doesn’t… It took me basically cornering him to get him to admit what Mak had done to him.”

There was a sick feeling in the base of Price’s stomach. Part of him was praying that he was misreading what Gaz was saying to him. He knew whatever John had been through, it must have been bad. Awful. But he knew that sexual abuse was a different playing field. In his opinion, it was the worst thing anyone could go through - worse than death. His hands tightened around the wheel, as he gnawed his lower lip.

Oblivious to the reaction, Gaz stared out of the window with a sigh, “And the sick fuck walks about, pretending like he’s some sort of hero. Like he somehow saved Johnny. He seems to think Johnny was some broken little puppy he swept up off of the street. He talks about him like he’s something he stepped on and scraped off his shoes. Like he hasn’t literally…”

“Literally what?” Price said at last, fighting the wobble in his voice.

Gaz paused, his gaze twitching Price’s way. He swallowed when he saw his face. Price’s expression was unreadably stiff, but the look in his eyes could have cut through diamonds. He’d said too much, he realised. Price had seen messages - as he had said - but the new rage behind his gaze told Gaz that they weren’t the same messages as he had seen. If they were - Makarov probably wouldn’t have left the shop intact this morning. Blade or no blade.

Chapter Text

“Careful, he’s a little heavy,” Alejandro grunted, as he watched a pair of paramedics try to slide Konig’s limp form from the ambulance.

The giant was sprawled across a gurney that he just barely fit onto - even still, the medics looked a little wary of how the legs groaned under the weight.

“What do they feed this guy?” One of them whispered.

“If his blood pressure’s anything to go by,” The other tittered, “Not much.”

Under his arm, Soap felt Horangi wither.

He scowled, “Oi, watch your mouths, aye?”

The paramedic’s both paused, glancing back at Johnny who was staring them both down.

“Hostility will get you nowhere. We’re just doing our jobs, si-”

“Then fucking do it quietly,” Simon’s voice cut through, the bass splitting the politely lowered tones into shards as he glared back at the paramedics.

The pair decided against trying their lucks, wheeling Konig in and muttering something about his status and preparations that needed to be made. Johnny flashed Simon a grateful look, as he rubbed Horangi’s arms to try and quell his shivering.

“Ignore them, hermano,” Rudy whispered, nudging Horangi, “It’s not your fault.”

“Would you let your husband get into this state?” Horangi snapped, tears pricking his eyes as they burned into Rudy, “Would you let him starve to the point of collapse? You have no idea-”

“Hey, hey,” Johnny cut Horangi off, squeezing him, “No, Horangi. He’s trying to help, mate.”

Horangi’s head snapped to Johnny. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He let out a pitiful sound, his head dropping forwards into his hands. Johnny looked over his shoulder at Rudy who was watching him with a knowing look.

“He’s just… he’s just tired, Rude boy. He doesn’t mean owt by it,” Johnny flashed him an uncertain smile.

“Don’t call me that,” Rudy’s blunt response came, as he stepped forwards, gesturing to the hospital doors, “Just get him inside. There’s no point in hanging around out here.”

Johnny watched Rudy slip through the sliding doors, his cheeks flushing slightly at the chastising. His eyes drifted to the floor as he began guiding Horangi inside. Simon hung back, his gaze shifting to Alejandro who looked just as troubled as he felt.

“What was that about?” He asked, his voice concealing his irritation fairly well.

Alejandro looked back at him with a furrowed brow, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb, Al. He had no need to talk to him like that, just then,” Simon pursed his lips for a moment, seeing something flash across Alejandro’s face, “Our Johnny reckons he’s not much liked by your Rudy. I’m starting to see why. What’s up with that, ey?”

Alejandro’s lips tightened as he shrugged, folding his arms.
In truth, he was well aware of Rudy’s distaste for Johnny. Even though he didn't hold the same sentiment towards the young man, he could understand why Rudy was so… standoffish with him. There’d been many a time that Gaz had been knocking at their door with another burden or tail of woe regarding the Scotman’s car crash of a life. It had become a regular thing - and one that had irked Rudy for quite some time now.
There had been a few times when Alejandro had to talk Rudy down from taking drastic measures. He was constantly reminding Rudy that Gaz and Johnny’s business was their own, and just because they only heard about the drama in Johnny's life, it didn’t mean that that was all there was to the young man.
Even still, he couldn’t break the mould that cemented Rudy’s impression of the Scotsman: a trouble-maker, and a constant source of stress in Garrick’s life.

“Look… our Johnny’s got enough shit on his plate, with Rudy piling it on, too,” Simon grumbled, “Just tell him to ease off, yeah?”

“I’m not his keeper, Ghost,” Ale scoffed, letting his arms fall to his sides so his thumbs could loop into his pockets, “They’re both adults. Sometimes adults just don’t get on.”

“Right - doesn’t mean they can’t be civil. Johnny was just trying to be friendly.”

“My husband’s a lot of things. But he’s not a bullshitter,” Ale shrugged again, with a brief laugh, “If he doesn’t like someone, he doesn’t pretend to.”

“So he doesn’t like him, then?” Simon frowned.

There was a pause, as Ale mulled over the words, his head bobbing back and forth in contemplation, “No. He doesn’t.”

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?” Alejandro asked, suddenly, intrigued, “Not everyone has to be friends with your friends.”

“I know. But Johnny’s a little… He’s got shit going on with him. And I don’t want him around people that make him feel unwelcome.”

“I have no gripes with Johnny, hermano,” Alejandro clapped his shoulder, with a sigh, “I find his antics… amusing. The same can not be said about my husband, I’m afraid.”

“Right. And you’re okay with him just talking to people like that?” Simon cocked his head, his eyes sharp, “Just because he doesn’t like someone, he’s allowed to-”

“Allowed? I am not his keeper, Simon,” Alejandro looked exasperated now, “He’s a grown ass man. If he talks to someone a certain way, it’s for him to answer to. Not me.”

“Well then, maybe I’m talking to the wrong husband,” Simon grimaced.

“Maybe,” Alejandro nodded, before a sharp expression fell over his face, “But if you upset him, I’ll come for you.”

There was a beat as the two stared at one another. It wasn’t a threat - Simon knew that. It was a promise. One made to Rodolfo on the altar. If any harm came his way, Alejandro would be the first line of defense. Simon was well aware that this warning wasn’t one made in malicious intent; he knew there were no problems or hard feelings between him and Alejandro. In fact, he’d go as far as saying that Ale was the closest thing he had to a friend, after Johnny and Price of course. But he also knew that Alejandro would do what he had to do in the name of his husband.
The pair observed one another, twinning smirks pressed into their lips. They knew what game they were playing - and it was all in a sick, twisted sort of fun.

“Thought you weren’t his keeper.”

“No. But I am his husband,” Alejandro shrugged, his eyes never leaving Simon’s, “And if it comes to it, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’m sure you would,” Simon nodded, “You know I wouldn’t hurt him, Al.”

“Oh, I know. You’re smarter than that,” The older man finally looked away, casting his gaze back to the hospital, “Even still. We all do stupid things for the ones we love. I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried your luck with me, to defend Johnny’s honour.”

Simon swallowed, straightening up slightly as he stared at Alejandro. Seeing his sudden defensive demeanour, Alejandro chuckled and shook his head.

“If you’re going to try and keep your relationship low-key, you had better strengthen that poker face. No man would go to bat with another, just because his friend is feeling a little left out, amigo,” Alejandro squeezed his shoulder, “You’re a good man Simon, defending the man you like, like some sort of soldier. But you should learn to lose your battles. Johnny has bigger enemies. Don’t waste your strength on a relationship as meaningless as my husband and Johnny’s. It’s not worth it.”

Another swallow. Simon lowered his gaze, feeling a little sheepish. He said nothing as Alejandro began making his way into the hospital; he just trailed behind, contemplating what was said. He knew he was right; Johnny had people like ‘Mak’ breathing down his neck. Something as small and insignificant as someone speaking or looking at him the wrong way was nothing by comparison. Mostly, he was just glad that Alejandro was better at subtly than he was. The older man didn’t so much as glance Johnny or Rudy as he stepped into the waiting room. Part of him wished he could be so reserved - but his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering back to Johnny, aching over the dejected expression on the young man’s face.
If he had been in a worse mood, he might have dragged Rudy front and center, right then and there. But he reminded himself of Ale’s words. Choose your battles. Instead, he let out a sigh, slipping behind Johnny. He felt the younger man still in his presence; watched Johnny glance at him in the corner of his eyes. And he slipped his hand into Johnny’s, linking their pinkies together.

“Y’alright, dove?” Johnny whispered, his voice almost indiscernible from the humdrum of the room around them.

Simon swallowed the nickname down, fighting the smile in the corner of his lips. He could hear the slight nerves behind the name - as if Johnny wasn’t certain if such small mercies were allowed. They were, in Simon’s book.

“M’fine, doll,” He whispered back, offering a soft squeeze of his hand, “Are you?”

His smile broke free when he felt Johnny relax against him.

“Aye… Poor Horangi, ey?”

“Yeah. Must be shittin’ it right now.”

“Poetic.”

“Not that kind of artist, Johnny,” Simon scoffed, his hand slipping back into his pocket.

Johnny folded his own arms, leaning back against the wall so he could look up at Simon, “You’ll have to show me your artistry one day. Well… more than just a flag, I mean.”

“You’ll have seen it,” Simon shrugged, leaning his head on the wall as he spoke down to the younger man, “Think I’ve tatted every Tom, Dick and Harry in this shithole.”

“And at least two of the Johns,” The Scotsman smiled down at the Saltire on his shoulder, fondly.

“Ah, Price showed you the snake, ey?” Simon paused, pursing his lips, “Poor phrasing on my part.”

Johnny snickered, elbowing Simon’s side, “I seen it, aye. It looks good. Wouldn’t mind you putting a snake on me.”

“Put a snake in you, more like,” Simon grinned down at him, “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.”

“Sick bastard,” Johnny elbowed him again.

Simon caught his arm this time, wrapping his own arm around Johnny’s waist and pulling him close. Johnny snorted, wriggling in an attempt to escape the impending doom. Simon tightened his hold, his head sinking to Johnny’s throat before he even realised what he was doing. Johnny’s breath hitched, his body falling still as he felt warm kisses in the nape of his neck. He turned his head, resting it against Simon’s.
So this was allowed, too.
He pressed a kiss into dirty-blond hair, relishing the warmth of arms around him. He couldn’t help the smile on his face as Simon’s own kisses lead up his jaw to his cheek.

“I like when you kiss me like that,” He whispered, “Didn’t think you were one for PDA.”

Simon stopped completely. He met Johnny’s gaze - and John saw the pink creeping up his cheeks. It was as if he only just remembered where they were. He couldn’t help the slight disappointment as Simon released him, pulling away slightly - but he couldn’t complain too much. His body was still buzzing from what little Simon had given him moments ago.

“I’m not,” Simon cleared his throat, with a shrug, “Guess I just can’t keep my hands off you, ey Johnny?”

“That’s fine,” The Scotsman laughed, shaking his head, “I don’t mind.”

“Well… good. You’re a hard man to resist.”

Johnny beamed, his whole body lighting up at the praise. It was so… easy. Before, he’d had to work for compliments like that - and that was just in the safety of his own bedroom. He might have said so if he didn’t think it would earn him that god-forsaken pitiful look people always gave him. Instead, he just enjoyed the feeling of Simon’s words settling down on him. He could get use to this… whatever this was.

Chapter Text

“You got something to tell me?”

Nikolai jumped at the voice. He hadn’t even heard Price sneak in, so indulged in the dishwashing he had tasked himself with doing. The words didn’t even really settle in, nor did the tone of voice his husband used. He was mostly just warmed by the surprise appearance and disarmed by the presence.

“John,” He practically purred, turning around and shaking suds off his hands.

He even leaned over the island to dot some bubbles on his husband’s face with a teasing smile. John leaned back so Nik couldn’t reach him. Still not sensing the urgency, Nikolai chuckled, picking up another dish from the sink and flashing a wry smile over his shoulder at Gaz.

“What did I do this time?” He chuckled, turning around to dry the dish off.

“Who’s Mak, Nik?” Price demanded, sternly.

“That boy that’s giving Johnny grief?” Nik sighed with a shrug, “How should I know?”

“Hardly a boy,” John scoffed, folding his arms.

Gaz sighed, taking a stand besides his boss, “You know anyone called Vladimir Maka-”

SMASH!
The surname barely even escaped Garrick’s lips, before the plate shattered against the counter, shards splintering and cascading against the floor. John and Gaz were both stunned into silence as Nikolai seemed to freeze on the spots, hands still outstretched from where he had dropped the plate. To the untrained eyes, Nikolai looked as though he was just standing there, mulling over the question. But Price could see the slight tremble to his hands, as he lowered them against the counter. The way his breath shook as he sucked it in.

“How… do you know that name?”

The question was cold and eerily steady.

“Mak,” Gaz answered, quickly, scared that the man might just explode if he didn’t, “It’s the same bloke. Makarov - whoever he may be to you. He’s the one going after our Johnny.”

Price winced as he watched his husband’s fist tighten against the counter, glass crunching under the strain.

“Сволочь,” He hissed, thrusting the towel away, before turning and storming towards the door.

“Woah - woah!” John trailed after him, grasping his arm, “Where are you off to?”

“We need to find Johnny!”

“Yeah, we’re on that,” Price scowled.

“Really, cos it seems to me, we’re standing around with our-” Nik cut himself off, seeing the indignant expressions crossing his husband and Gaz’s face. He paused letting his heart rate settle for a moment. He rubbed a hand over his face, only taking note of the blood on his palm when he tasted it’s tang on his lips, “Ебать.”

“What have you done? Daft sod,” Price sicked, gently taking his hand into his own. He pinched his sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, wiping blood from his husband’s lips, before pressing it down against his palm, to stop the flow, “Now… talk to me, Nik. What’s going on, love? Who is this ‘Makarov’ bloke?”

Nik was silent for a long moment, his fist tightening around John’s hand. Price couldn’t tell if it was because of the pain or just the stress. He didn’t comment on it, just squeezing back in a silent show of support.

“He’s… an ex.”

Price’s brows shot up. Makarov had implied as such, back at the shop, but Price had tried not to think about it. As far as he was concerned, Price was Nik’s first love; just as Nik was Price’s. That’s what Nik had led him to believe, at least.

“Sort of,” The Russian looked away, feeling the betrayal in Price’s gaze, “I never really… we weren’t… It wasn’t-”

“Nik, just give it to me straight,” Price demanded, “We’ll talk about the finer details later. Who is he?”

“He was someone I met in Russia. I was young at the time. Too young to be doing what he and I were doing,” Nik flinched, looking ashamed, “I was more of a… captive than a partner. He’s insane. And dangerous. His passion knows no bounds, nor does his persistence. If Johnny’s caught his eyes, we need to get him somewhere safe.”

“He’s done more than caught his eye, Nik,” Gaz spoke up again, “No doubt whatever he’s put you through, he’s doing the same to Johnny.”

“I hope, for Johnny’s sake, that’s not the case,” Nik snarled, his fist tightening again.

Price didn’t speak for a long time, one hand holding Nik’s bleeding hand, the other gently squeezing the man’s shoulder. Nik had always been a little cagey about his past. He had told John a few things here and there. His mother was gone - be that dead or absent, John had no clue - and he was raised by his arsehole brothers, when his monster of a father wasn’t around. But he never learned any of the names. Hell, Nik didn’t even tell him the name of his city. But Price had never pushed. He’d found it hard talking about his own family, and never wanted to make Nik pull away or feel uncomfortable.
Now, he wished he had pushed just a little bit more.
He pulled Nikolai closer, pressing a kiss between his brows.

“I’m sorry, John.”

“Don’t, Nik. It’s alright,” He whispered, shaking his head, “You had your reasons not to tell me. That’s fine.”

“I just-”

“It’s fine, Nik,” He kissed him again.

Nik closed his eyes, pressing himself into his husband’s warmth. He let out a slow, weighted breath, thanking a god he didn’t know for the gift of John Price. He knew anyone else would have torn into him for his secrecy - for the past that was a threat to their friend’s future. But not this man. Not his husband.

“Where’s Johnny?” Nik asked, pulling away at last to glance between Price and Gaz.

“If I had a quid for everytime someone asked me that today,” Price grumbled, shaking his head, “We’ve been looking for them. Can’t get hold of them - went to Gaz’s. They weren’t there. Went to Ale’s. Empty.”

“Have you tried calling them? Ale and Rudy?”

“Yeah. Al. Rude. Konig. Horangi. Nothing,” Gaz swallowed, folding his arm, “It gives me some sort of hope - Mak might have gone after Johnny, but I don’t see why he’d bring them lot into it.”

“If you don’t think he’d move heaven and hell to get to what he wants, then you are incredibly unprepared to deal with Vladimir,” Nik tsked, shaking his head. His gaze shifted back to Price, “Try the girl.”

“The girl?”

“Uh… long black hair? Brown skin? I can’t remember-”

“Farah,” Gaz piped up again.

Nik snapped his fingers, “Да!”

Price hummed, already pulling his phone out to dial her.
***

“You’re so pretty.”

Alex made a displeased sound, though he was smiling softly as he stared down at Farah. It had taken her around an hour to finally convince him to let her do this. No, in fact, it had taken a whole slideshow of different men sporting coloured nails, a whole history lesson on how pink wasn’t always a ‘girl’ colour, and some heavy-duty negotiation skills - and then an hour of begging.
He still didn’t look all too enthusiastic about the shade of dusky pink that she was painting his nails in, but she wasn’t going to rock the boat. This - this was progress in the works.
If he was honest, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with this. If it had been literally anyone else, he’d have put his foot down and absolutely refused to let them decorate his nails like this. But… she had done a lot for him. Given him everything he needed, without any expectation of anything in return. He had tried paying her back, buying her food and gifts - but it never felt like enough. Her charity knew no bounds.
He had asked her about it - why she had helped him so much - and she had only said it was how she was raised. Her family were religious, she had told him; as a child, she had done a lot of charity work under their guidance, and though she might not have held some of the values that her religion taught, the core of it was instilled in her. She tried to be kind and charitable to those she came across, where she could.
He hadn’t pressed it; he didn’t know much of her faith, and tried to tread lightly. Part of him was interested of course - but then, part of him was interested in her. He liked her kindness, but he adored how abrupt she could be too. He liked that she could hand out as much shit as he was given.
That was another reason he allowed her to do this; he was afraid of what she’d do to him, if he didn’t just lay back and take it.

“All done,” She beamed, holding his hand up to display his colourful nails, “Pretty.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” He chuckled, wiggling his fingers as he looked them over.

“But you are,” She teased, smiling in his face, “Prettiest man I know.”

He scoffed, pink a similar shade as his nails now creeping up his cheeks. The smile would destroy him. He caught her eyes for a moment, before looking away.

“What?” She beckoned, her smile only growing.

“Nothing,” He laughed, shaking his head and avoiding her gaze.

“What is it,” She pried, leaning in closer, making him duck further back, “Alex?”

“It’s… nothing.”

“Alex,” She caught his chin in his hand, forcing him to look up at her. That smile… “What?”

His own smile faltered, his chest tightening as he gazed at her. His brain stalled between his eyes as they glued to hers. He couldn’t believe that she was before him like this, holding his attention like this. He knew he wouldn’t be able to look away now - not until she did. She had him - and she wasn’t letting go. His eyes twitched to her smile, drinking in its warmth and sincerity. Even when she pursed her lips, they remained in that beautiful crescent, pulling him closer. He swallowed as she leaned closer to him, his own lips parting as her breath danced across them.

“Farah,” It was the only word he could utter, before he felt the slightest graze of her lips on his - it wasn’t a kiss, just a gentle brush. A promise of more…

They both yanked away from each other as a song rang out between them. He breathed for the first time in a minute, as she giggled, delving into her bag which laid between their laps. Her cheeks were as pink as his as she peeled off of the bed, answering the phone. Alex just stayed laid on the bed, trying to stop his heart from clawing out of his throat.

“Price?” Farah brushed hair out of her face, “No - no. I’m not busy, what’s… Johnny? No. No not them, either. Alex and I have been at home all day. I can ring them, if you… Both of them? No, the shop should be open. It’s a Thursday. I’ll try to ring them, and I’ll get back to you. Okay? Okay. Bye-bye. Bye. Bye-bye now. Bye.”

She hung up, dialing a new number before Alex could even ask what was going on. The phone rang a couple of times, before the line went dead. She sighed and dialed a different number - this time to some success.

“Rudy - hey - I was just-” She furrowed her brows, “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. The reception’s really… Hospital? Why are you at the hospital? Are you okay? Rudy? Rudy, I can’t…”

The line cut off again. She stared at her phone, looking anxious for a moment.

“Is everything o-”

“Shh,” She put a finger over her lips flashing Alex a look.

The man pursed his lips, a little taken aback. He frowned, but daredn’t speak again.

“Price,” She sighed, rubbing her temple, “Yes - I spoke to Rudy. There at LGI. I don’t know - he didn’t say. Well if I knew that, I would tell you, wouldn’t I? Is your old age catching up to you, I just told you. He didn’t say… Okay. Okay. I’ll meet you there. Okay. Bye-bye. Bye-bye-bye. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone again, finally turning to address Alex. The young man looked winded, laying back on the bed with a stunned expression, pursed lips and rosy cheeks. She paused, looking him over… she quite liked the way he looked right now.
Pushing the thought aside, she clapped her hands together.

“Come on, big boy, we have to go to the hospital,” She reached across and grabbed his arms.

“Wha- umph!” His eyes flew open as she managed to pull him up and drag him across the bed, “What the f- woah, woah, Farah!”

He clambered, nearly toppling off of the edge of the bed. She was surprisingly strong for her nimble stature - it left him winded and clinging to her arms as he knelt on the end of the mattress. She giggled, looking down at him as he stared up at her with wide blue eyes.

“So pretty,” She whispered, pushing strands of hair out of his face.

He felt his stomach flutter, as he tried to fight off a smile that her praise inspired, “I’m pretty sure this should be the other way around right?”

“According to who?” She cocked her head, beaming down at him, “I’m not the type of woman to get on her knees for any man, Alex. If that’s what you’re into-”

“No-!” He stared up at her, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them, “No, no, this is fine! This is-”

She giggled at the shameful look on his face, before leaning down to kiss him. His words dissolved into a grunt against her lips, his body relaxing against her. Her kiss was as warm and easy and melted toffees over his tongue - but the sweetness couldn’t even compare. His eyes closed as he felt her hand fall over his cheek, her thumb a soft caress that left his skin tingling under it’s absence…
He couldn’t help the blush that took to his face, as he realised he was literally on his knees before her, letting her loom over him and holding his jaw as she kissed him. He wondered how pathetic he must have looked to her. He broke the kiss, looking away.
She frowned, her hand shifting to stroke his cheek. He caught her wrist, glancing back up at her and swallowing.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” He cut her off, his same suppressed tone returning from earlier that day.

It’s funny. Two little words. I’m fine. Invented to reassure. They couldn’t have been less reassuring when they fell from that man’s mouth. So much to reach out and touch - but Alex kept putting miles between them with those two stupid little words. I’m fine. If she could, Farah would scrub them from his mouth. She’d have sat and listened to years of monologue about his woes and strife, over one more second of this two syllable mantra that seemed to curse this man’s precious lips.
He stood up, brushing past her gently and offering a soft smile.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“Farah? What? I can’t hear you,” Rudy grumbled, frustrated as he paced back and forth through the hall, one finger plugging his ear whilst he clutched the phone in his opposite hand, “We’re at the hospital. The signal is… hello? Hello? Farah?”

He sighed, tugging the phone away to find that the signal had died completely. He muttered something under his breath, as he tried to redial the number, to no avail. Shoving it back in his pocket, he leaned back against the wall and gazed out at the room down the hall.
He always hated hospitals - how cold and sterile everything was, the groans of the hopeless, the cries of the lost. It never felt appropriate to be happy in these sorts of places. Not when there was so much… heartache around. He always put them in the same sombre corner of his mind as graveyards or funeral homes. He knew it was a silly thing; lives were saved here - lives were started here. Little babies and their strong lungs and weepy eyes… and the elderly, weak and tired and ready to move on.
Hospitals were the strange places between them, inviting the new and old. Where you start, and where you leave. It made him feel so… aimless. He shuddered, his eyes flickering to the room on his right.
Horangi sat in the room, squeezing Konig’s hand as he talked to him softly. Konig had woken up a short while ago - was given some food and water - but was instructed to stay for an hour or so, so that the doctors could keep an eye on him. Horangi hadn’t left his side since.
A sweet couple, Rudy thought to himself, his smile soft as he observed them. He knew, after this, there’s nothing the pair wouldn’t face together. Despite the harsh way he had addressed him earlier, Rudy held no hard feelings towards Horangi; he remembered how snappy he had been when Ale had gone missing - and Horangi hadn’t held it against him. It was only fair.

“Rodolfo?”

He froze, his head slowly craning in the direction of the voice. His heart stopped in his chest, as he pushed off of the wall, turning fully now.

“Val.”

She stood before him, sturdy and firm as the last time he had seen her. Though, then he had been a lesser man, small and weak-willed. It had taken all his strength to leave her alone in Las Almas, back then. Now, it was taking double his strength to stay.

“What are you doing here?” He frowned, his eyes shifting to try and find Alejandro.

As if reading his mind, she sighed, folding her arms and leaning against the wall, “He’s getting coffee. Don’t know why - we both know he hates the cheap shit. He’ll only complain about it, the entire time he’s drink-”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” She raised a brow, looking him up and down.

“That,” He pointed at her, “Talk to me - talk about him - like nothing happened. Like we’re still friends.”

She laid her head back, staring ahead for a long moment, “Aren’t we?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Rudy sneered, taking a step closer, “Of course we’re not. You. Left. Him.”

“You left me,” She hissed, suddenly standing up and storming to him until they were face to face, “Both of you. When I needed you most, you tucked your tail between your legs and ran to England. You fucking left me!”

“Are you joking?” Rudy snapped, closing the space between them, “You were a fucking maniac on a freight train. We left you because you gave us no fucking choice, Valeria. You were a sinking ship - and I was about to let you pull us down with you.”

“We were family, Rodolfo. If we went down, we went down together. That is what we stood for.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t willing to fall for it,” Rudy took a step back, grimacing, “And neither, it seemed, were you. You abandoned him, Val. No amount of drugs or alcohol are any excuse. He was alone. You left him.”

“Oh for fuck sake! Rudy!” She growled, slamming her fist against a nearby water cooler, “It was an accident. A mistake. I didn’t know they’d fucking capture him, alright!? He knew what he was getting himself into, when he signed up-”

“He didn’t sign up for that! None of us did!”

“¡Sí, lo hizo!” She raged, stepping forwards, “Getting banged up and locked away is part of the job we did, Rudy!”

The sudden outcry drew the attention of nearby nurses and patients. One meek young nurse tried stepping forwards to quiet them down - but upon meeting their fierce glares, he quickly stepped back and watched on nervously.

“Is that what you think happened?” Rudy laughed, coldly, as he glared at Valeria, “They just, what? Roughed him up a little bit, locked him away and forgot about him for a few day?”

“Yes?” Valeria shook her head, staring back at him.

“Is it?” He scoffed.

“Yes.”

He paused, his expression shifting slowly, “Really?”

She continued staring at him, as if he’d suddenly grown two more heads. Perplexed. Confused. Oblivious. She didn’t know. Rudy’s smug expression had fallen completely, and he could only blink back at her. Rage and disbelief conspired behind his eyes. He didn’t know who to be angrier at: Valeria for being so naive, or Graves for not telling her what had really happened to Alejandro over those few days of confinement. Mostly, he was angry that he couldn’t lay into her. He couldn’t tell her what she had put his husband through. He couldn’t watch her squirm and wither away under the weight of her actions. Not here. Not in front of all these strangers. Not when the very memory of it nearly brought him to tears.

“You really are clueless aren’t you,” He hissed, already feeling his eyes stinging.

She furrowed her brow at his sudden subdued demeanour. Seeing the tears welling in his eyes, she tried to reach out - but he pushed her away, shaking his head in disgust.

“Talk to your man, Valeria,” He grimaced, “Ask him what really happened to Alejandro. Then you can come kiss our asses. Won’t get you very far - but at least we can all pretend like you care.”

“Rodolfo-”

He was already storming off into the main lobby, leaving her alone again.
***

“Sí, estoy bien. Sólo aquí para un amigo,” Simon whispered into the phone as he leaned against the wall, “Deberías estar orgulloso, por cierto.”

“¿Oh sí? ¿Porqué es eso?” The woman’s voice trickled through the other side of the phone.

“No hay señal ahí dentro. Congelándome las tetas, aquí afuera,” He sighed, with a chuckle.

He heard her giggle on the other end, his smile growing as he stared down at the floor. He was so wrapped up in his conversation, he didn’t notice the figure looming behind him.

“Simon… you know we can speak in English, si? I do speak-”

“I know, I know,” He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him, “I just… wanna stay sharp, you know? In case I ever actually grow the balls to come down and see you all. Besides, I’ve made some friends down here. Two Mexican blokes.”

“Oh?” She paused for a moment, “¿Qué hacen ellos para el trabajo?”

“Who are you, bloody Duolingo?”

“You wanted to stay sharp, Simon. Stay sharp,” He could hear her smiling through the phone,”¿Qué hacen ellos para el trabajo?”

He paused, sighing, “Rodolfo corta el pelo. Él es barbero. Alejandro hace una mierda con los autos. ¿Mecánico, creo?”

“Ah, muy buena.”

“Cheers, teach.”

She laughed again, “Tell your friend, Alejandro, to come back to America. Your brother is making a complete mess of my car.”

Simon shifted his weight, hesitating for a long moment, “How… how is our Tommy, anyway?”

A long sigh, “He’s good… Lucky I don’t throw a wrench at his head though. He keeps nearly setting the damn house on fire. Works himself tired all day, forgets to turn off the stove, or leaves the engine running on the car and… ay! I don’t know, Simon. Come give him a talking to?”

Simon chortled, shaking his head. He turned around, almost jumping out of his skin as he came face to face with Rudy, who had been no-so-subtly listening in on his conversation. He threw him a withering glare - the older man just smirked back at him.

“Look, love. I’ve got to go,” He sighed, rubbing his brows, “Send Joseph my love, yeah? And make sure Tommy doesn’t burn your house down.”

“Si. Adios, Simon.”

“Adios, Beth,” He hesitantly hung up the phone, his gaze shifting back to Rudy. He was about to lay into him for being so nosy - but caught himself when he saw the tell-tale redness under his eyes, “Y’alright mate? Looks like you’ve been crying…”

Rudy paused, gnawing his lower lip before chuckling, “Who is Beth?”

“That…” He glanced Rudy over again, deciding not to push the matter - if Rudy wanted to talk about it, he would, “The sister-in-law I told you about.”

“Ah. Of course,” The older man leant back against the wall, sighing as he stared out over the parking lot.

It was a fairly quiet evening - which they both seemed thankful for. It was likely the reason Konig had been seen so soon. Well… that, and the fact he was practically dead to the world when he was brought in.

“Alejandro said, earlier, you wanted to talk to me?”

Simon sighed, “Course he did. Conniving bastard.”

“Excuse me?” Rudy tittered.

“Look. It’s nowt major, I just… I just didn’t appreciate the way you spoke to Johnny, earlier,” He grumbled, shrugging uncomfortably, “He was just trying to diffuse the tension - and you completely shut him down. I spoke to Al. He explained a few things to me, and I get you don’t like him, but-”

“You’re right. It was rude of me.”

“Right, but…” Simon’s head snapped towards Rudy, an astonished expression crossing his face, “Sorry, what?”

Rudy looked back at him, with an unreadable expression, “I said you’re right. I was rude to him, earlier. I just… I was still a little shaken by Konig’s collapse, and embarrassed that Horangi had snapped at me. I took it out on Johnny and it wasn’t fair. I’ll apologise when I get the chance.”

Simon stared at him, dumbfounded, “Oh… okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah…”

There was an awkward silence between them as Simon’s gaze flickered back out into the night. He sort of wished he had brought his mask with him, to better disguise the embarrassment written across his face. In his head, he had had this argument over and over again - he and Rudy had got into screaming matches, friendships had been broken, things were said, and left unsaid, and it became a total incoherent mess… Now… He sort of it didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I… y-y’know… Ale said that you - uhm… you don’t like him?”

Rudy scoffed, “Alejandro? I married him.”

“Johnny, you dickhead,” Simon rolled his eyes, prompting another scoff from the older man.

“Well,” He made an uncertain sound, never meeting Simon’s eyes, “Johnny’s very… hit or miss, with me. There are days I find him charming, entertaining, tolerable. Other days? Days like these… not so much.”

“No? Can… can I ask why?”

“He’s a lot,” Rudy rubbed his chin, clearly trying to be delicate in his wording, “I’ve… heard a lot about him. A lot of stories between friends. And I’ve seen him taking a toll on those friends.”

“Gaz?”

“Si.”

“Yeah well, Gaz is a whiny bitch anyway.”

“Watch it,” Rudy warned, though he was laughing at the soft jab to their friend, “He does a lot for Johnny. Part of me worried that… well, that Kyle was wasting a lot of his time trying to fix Johnny’s messes. I worried more that nobody was there to help Kyle, too.”

“Hey. Johnny and Kyle are there for each oth-”

“I know. I know,” Rudy raised a hand defensively, “I know that now… The way your Johnny jumped in to help Horangi, today. I saw it. He did the same thing Gaz would have done. It’s in both their natures… My problem is that I only really heard from Garrick. I never really stopped think, maybe the reason Gaz never talked about his own problems was because…”

“Because Johnny already had it covered,” Simon nodded, slowly.

“Si. I don't have a problem with Johnny. Really, I don’t. I may have, once,” He shifted his weight, folding his arms, “But… I recently learned there’s more to him than… well… there’s just more.”

Simon watched Rudy through the corner of his eyes. He hummed, content with this answer. They both became quiet again, letting the air settle between them. If only talking had been this easy when he was younger, Simon considered, it would have saved him a whole lot of grief.

“I think it’s sweet by the way,” Rudy spoke again, disturbing the peace, “You defending your boyfriend like this?”

Simon’s smile dropped as he shot an accusing glare Rudy’s way, “Oh, come off it. Ale told you, didn’t he?”

Rudy raised a brow, “No?”

“I’m not that obvious!”

“Mm,” Rudy made a sound of disagreement.

“Fuck off, Rude boy.”

Before another word could be spared, they were cut off by the shriek of tires, as a car flung itself into a space before them. Simon’s brows knitted together as he immediately recognised the model. He pushed off of the wall, already pacing towards the car as three men clambered out, all looking shell shocked.

“Simon!” Price barked out, grasping the man’s arm, “You alright? You’re not hurt, ey?”

“What? No, I’m fine. What are you- oomph!” His eyes widened as he was suddenly pulled into a tight hug. He paused, feeling Price shaking slightly as he held him, “Price… what’s wrong.”

“You’re okay, yeah? Yeah… yeah, you’re alright,” He pulled away, clapping his shoulder, “Where’s Johnny?”

“What are you guys- Oi!” He was cut off, as Garrick suddenly grabbed his arm, “What-”

“Where’s Johnny, Simon?” Gaz demanded, his burn scalding hot as it set on the man.

“What the fuck is going on?” Simon pulled away, glancing between the three men, absolutely baffled.

“For fuck… He’s in danger, Si,” Gaz let go, looking around frantically, “Mak swung by the shop. Had a knife on him, and everything. Where is he?”

Simon’s heart sank, “A knife?”

“Simon!” Price snapped.

Simon let out a shaky breath, “He’s… he went to the shop. Needed a fag.”

“Where did he go?” Gaz demanded, immediately getting ready to dart off wherever Simon pointed, “Si, c’mon mate!”

“I… I don’t know, I…”

“Simon, where is he?”

“I don’t-”

“Where’s who?”

Everyone fell silent, their eyes swivelling towards the voice. Johnny stood a few feet away, indulging himself on an ice-pop, completely none the wiser to the mass relief his presence had brought. He popped the lolly out of his mouth, glancing over the group with a grimace.

“Konig’s not done a runner, has he? I’m not chasing after the big cun-Oh!”

He dropped the ice-pop as Gaz flung himself forwards, wrapping his arms around the Scotsman. Johnny paused, then slowly hugged back. His gaze shifted over Gaz’s shoulder, to the distraught expressions on everyone’s faces.

“I was gone for five minutes…”

Chapter Text

They all sat in the cafeteria together, silent as a funeral, listening to the low hum of the lights around them. They were fortunate enough that the hospital was quiet tonight - and the few people that trickled in and out were either too sombre or drunk to really make much of a racket. Johnny hadn’t said much - which was unlike him - but nobody had expected him to. There was a lot of information to process. Nik had dated Mak. Mak had brought a knife to the shop. Mak was looking for Johnny…
Farah, Alex, Horangi and Konig had joined them at some point. They had missed the major details, but had picked up on the tension in the room, adopting the same silence as they sat themselves down.

“I already called the police, son,” Price whispered, “So they know what’s going on.”

“Nice,” Johnny muttered, fiddling with a flyer between his finger and the table, watching it spin between its edges, “At least they’ll have a pretty strong lead when they find my body, then.”

“Johnny-”

“Realistically, what are they gonna do, Price?” Johnny flattened the flyer under his palm, “He didn’t hurt anyone.”

“He threatened to,” Gaz frowned.

“Did he? Did he pull out his knife and say ‘I’m about to stab someone with this thing’?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then no. The most they could do is give him a warning,” Johnny sank in his seat, “That’s the problem with this shite. Nothing to clean until blood is spilt.”

Simon’s face twisted into a bitter expression. If he had anything to say about it, nobody would be cleaning up Johnny’s blood. His eyes shifted to the front door of the hospital. He knew it was stupid. Makarov wasn’t about to burst in and stab Johnny in front of a hundred witnesses… Well, he might. But then, was there a better place to be stabbed, than in a hospital full of trained nurses and doctors?

“No one’s spilling any blood,” Price spoke up again, “We won’t let that happen, lad.”

Johnny scoffed.

“He’s right, Johnny,” Alejandro nodded, “You’ve got a room full of people here. They all have your back.”

“Don’t be thick,” The Scotsman grimaced, “If you think I’m letting you lot get caught up in this-”

“We’re already in it,” Rudy cut him off, “He came to our home. He attacked our friends. He attacked my husband. He dragged us into this, not you… What is this obsession you people have with shouldering it all on your own?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, and folded his arms.

“Seriously? Did you learn nothing today, Johnny?” Rudy stood up, looking completely exasperated. “Why does nobody ask for help, when they know they need it?”

Horangi’s hand slipped into Konig’s under the table.

“Why does everyone pretend they are fine when they’re not?”

Farah’s eyes twitched to Alex. He didn’t look up, staring down at the table between them.

“Why do you think you have to do this all on your own, hermano? You’re not alone,” Rudy shifted, resting on his arms to peer down at Johnny, “There are people here who love you. Do you know how much it kills them, Johnny, to see you carrying all this weight? Do you not understand, any of us would take that blade for you? Why do you insist on throwing yourself in front of it?”

Silence filled the room. Rudy sat back down, shaking his head as he stared at Johnny. The younger man just looked… defeated. He stared ahead, his expression unreadable as he picked at a scab under his bandage. Gaz slipped his hand over Johnny’s, trying to subtly stop it, but-

“Get. Off.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, as he glanced at Johnny. The Scotsman was staring right at him, an unfamiliar coldness in his gaze.

“Joh-”

“Kyle. Get off of me.”

He slipped his hand away, staring at him, stunned. He swallowed as Johnny suddenly rose to his feet.

“Mate, what are you-”

“I’m going home.”

“What?”

“Johnny,” Price spoke up, “You can’t go home, son.”

“I’m going home.”

“Soap-”

“Enough with the fucking Soap!” He snapped, slamming his hands against the table, jolting everyone, “Enough with the camaraderie, and the ‘Soap’, and the fucking… fucking everything! I’ve had enough! I’m sick to the back teeth of it all! I’m tired… I’m just so fucking tired.”

He lurched forwards, trembling as he tried to catch breath that wouldn’t land. Everyone at the table looked lost at the sudden explosion, glancing among one another for some sort of guidance. None came.

“Johnny,” Gaz reached out.

John staggered back, his eyes alight and fierce, “Don’t.”

“Johnny, please, you’re scaring me,” Gaz stepped forwards, his hand grasping for Johnny’s arm.

The moment skin met skin, it was as if a fuse went off inside of Johnny. Gaz felt the air being ripped from his lungs as a pair of hands sent him flying back. He staggered against the table, stunned as Johnny suddenly began shrieking like a maniac.

“Don’t fucking touch me! I swear to god! Touch me again and fucking watch!”

“John!” Price snapped, his eyes wide as he helped gather Gaz up to his feet.

“Okay, Johnny, take a deep breath,” Alejandro rose to his feet, one arm out as if trying to tame a wild beast, “What is this, ey?”

“Don’t - I swear. Oh my god, I swear.”

Johnny receded until his back was to the wall - and there he dropped down, cradling his head as breaths tore out of him in panicked waves. Under the low light, they could make out his trembling form and the tears rolling down his reddened cheeks. He didn’t look up at them. He didn’t even blink, just staring down at the floor with an almost manic look in his eyes.
Simon swallowed, watching the man curl in on himself, gasping for air as he muttered silent threats under his breath. He stepped forwards. He wasn’t even sure why. Part of him knew that is Gaz hadn’t been able to calm him, there was no way in hell he could. He moved anyway. Despite Price’s protest, and the dangerous look in Johnny’s eyes, he moved. He moved until he was right in front of Johnny, crouched down and at eye level.

“Simon-”

“I’m not gonna touch you,” He cut him off immediately.

Johnny stared back at him, shivering and ragged. His eyes were fixed on Simon, watching for even the slightest hint of trespass.

“What do you need, Johnny?” He whispered, keeping his arms firmly planted in his pockets, “Need some air? A smoke? Talk to me.”

Johnny coughed, shaking his head, “I… I don’t know… I just wanna go home.”

“Alright. I’ll take you home, yeah?”

“Simon,” Price grunted in disapproval.

“He wants to go home, Price,” Simon scowled over his shoulder, before looking back at Johnny, “Oi.”

The Scotsman looked back at Simon through tearful eyes.

“I’ve got your back, Johnny, yeah? You wanna go home, I’ll get you there, alright?” He shifted forwards, slightly - and much to his relief, Johnny didn’t recoil or lash out. He just sat there, watching him, “And I’ll stay with you. Make sure no one hurts you.”

Johnny’s eyes flooded again, as he shook his head, “You… you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” He gently reached out, cradling Johnny’s head, “You’re mine now, aren’t you? Nothing will hurt you, when I’m around, yeah? And in the meantime, you know Gaz’s got your six.”

Johnny swallowed, his eyes flickering over to Gaz, who was still rubbing his chest where he had been shoved. Johnny’s own chest tightened as he met the man’s eyes, a moment of clarity striking him through the haze.

“Shite. Gaz, I’m so-”

“It’s fine, mate.”

“No, I-”

“Johnny,” Gaz cut him off, sharply, “I’m fine.”

His chest tightened further at the cold tone Gaz had adopted. He looked away, trying to battle off the new wave of panic bubbling inside of him.

“Hey, Johnny,” Simon stroked his cheek, “Don’t go getting yourself upset. One thing at a time, doll. Let’s get you up, ey?”

Nodding weakly, Johnny let the man slowly pull him up to his feet. He felt his cheeks burning as all eyes set on him, weary and uncertain. They were watching him like he was some sort of hair-trigger bomb ready to go off on the slightest of breaths. But Simon clung to him, still, with not a hint of hesitance or slight shake of nerves. He held back his sobs until they were outside - there he collapsed back against Simon, whimpering softly as broken breaths rolled out of him. And Simon just held him, gently stroking his hair.

“I’ve fucked it.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You haven’t, babe,” Simon coaxed his head up, “You’re fine, Johnny. You broke down. It happens.”

“I hit Kyle.”

“You pushed him.”

“I fucking hit him, Si.”

“Johnny. I was there. I saw it, love,” He cupped Johnny’s face between his hands, “You gave him a bit of a shove. He’ll walk it off. You’re just catastrophizing things cos you’re overworked. It’s alright… you’re okay, Johnny. By tomorrow, you and Gaz will be back to normal, and this’ll all blow over. You’ll be fine, babe.”

Johnny swallowed, finally managing to drag air into his aching lungs. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt the cold Northern air wash over him, and he leaned into Simon’s arms, letting the man hug him, tight.

“Did… did you mean it?” He whispered, exhausted, “You’ll take me home? Stay with me?”

“I meant every word, Johnny,” Simon kissed his temple, gently, “I’ll stay - and nobody’ll hurt you. Not if I have owt to say about it.”

Chapter Text

“That was… intense,” Alex muttered as he closed the door, “Poor guy, huh? Seems like he was really at the end of his rope.”

The house was starkly warm compared to the cold air on the other side of the door. He shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the banister, before turning to help Farah out of her coat. If he was completely honest, he didn’t want to talk about how things went down at the hospital; he was just looking for something to fill the awkward air between them, now that they were alone again.

“Well…” Farah sighed, letting him pull the jacket off of her shoulders, “That’s what happens when people don’t ask for help. When they try… repressing things. It never works out in anyone’s favour.”

He pursed his lips, pretending not to pick up on words unspoken, dancing between the lines of what was said. He dusted rain off of the arms of the coat, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Alex.”

There was a beat… slowly, he turned around. She was standing by the window, leaning against the radiator as she watched him with visible intrigue.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk?”

“About what?” He laughed, turning his gaze away.

She drew it right back to her, with another, “Alex.”

“What?” He laughed again, “I don’t know what you… I… I just-”

“It’s alright,” She reached out, gently taking his arm, “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“I’m not.”

She hummed, shaking her head at him.
She was so… disarming. Alex stared down at her as she stepped closer, squashing the space between them. He swallowed, unable to look away as she cocked her head to the side, her eyes burrowing into him. It was like she was seeking something behind his eyes, reaching deep into him and pulling every string until he gave. But he didn’t know what to give her… so he just stared back, relishing her attention.
Her hand slowly crept up his arm, then across his chest and down his side. His breath caught in his throat as the hand handed on his hip.

“Don’t you - uh - usually ask permission, before you feel someone up?”

“Well… can I feel you up?” She grinned.

He paused, “... Yes?”

She giggled at him, “You’re such a strange man, Alex. Do you even believe half the things you stand by?”

He swallowed again, his cheeks flushing pink, “What… I don’t understand what you-”

“Men don’t wear pink. They don’t paint their nails. They shouldn’t get on their knees for women. They don’t talk about their feelings,” She whispered, her hand trailing down his thighs, “You live by these silly rules. Are you any happier for it?”

He was stunned, silent as her hand crept up his leg.

“Better yet,” She continued, “When you did paint your nails pink… when you took to your knees for me… did your world come crashing down on you? Did the sky turn black? Did the floor open up into brimstone and fire beneath you? I must have missed it.”

“I… Farah…”

“Why deprive yourself of such small joys, Alex?” She pressed forward, her hand sliding to his belt, “It doesn’t make you less of a man, to be happy. Truly happy, pink nails and all. You’re so… sensitive and sweet, when you’re not trying to be something else. I’d respect you more, if you owned it.”

She slipped his belt out of the loops, dropping it to the floor beside them. He listened to the heavy thud of the metal clasp against the carpet, his eyes never straying from hers.

“It’s… not something I can just turn off, Farah,” He whispered, withdrawing slightly, “I’m a man. This is just how I am. How it is.”

“No, Alex. It’s how it was. How your father was raised. How he raised you,” She stepped closer, until his back met the banister, “It doesn’t mean that’s how it should be. You can be anyone you want to be. But you’re such a good, kind man. Why would you try to be anything else? Don’t you know how wonderful you are?”

A lump formed in his throat. He felt a sting in his eyes - something he hadn’t felt in years. In the back of his mind, he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a good few years, chanting suffocating mantras. Boys don’t cry. Straighten up. You’re fine.

“Stop.”

“You’re so good, Alex,” She whispered, her lips brushing against his, “Why won’t you just-”

“Stop it,” His voice broke now, his hand flying up to grab her arm, “Sto-”

Their lips connected. He whimpered into the kiss, squeezing his eyes shut as tears collected in the corners. Farah’s eyes softened as she persisted, pressing him into the kiss. When they broke, his breath poured out of him in another soft whimper. His head dropped into her shoulder as he trembled in her arms, trying to fiercely fight back the tears that threatened to spill. His breathing was loose and discordant.

“It’s okay, Alex.”

“N-no, I-”

“Alex,” She squeezed him closer, her hand raking through his sand-coloured hair, “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. It’s okay.”

And he broke, a sob escaping him before he could even think about stopping it. She cradled him in her arms, running a hand up and down his back as he rested against her. Her heart broke at the sound he made - weak and soft. A sound so gentle, and heavy with years of neglect.

“It’s alright…”

“I miss my dad.”

Her heart sank further, as she nodded, “I know, baby. I know.”

He buried his face in her neck, letting out a shaky sound. The words had just tumbled out of him, without him really thinking about them. He hadn’t thought about it - any of it. Not since the last time he had seen him. Even at the funeral. He had stood with dry eyes and a stern look, matching the few friends that his father had left at the end of his life. He hadn’t thought about it in years - just swallowing every lump in his throat, suppressing every ache, fighting every tear, never really questioning why they appeared at certain songs, or familiar voices, or in the faces of men that looked like his father.
But now, he felt it. Like he had lost him all over again.
And it just wouldn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop it, so wracked with grief, he didn’t notice when Farah shifted him. One moment he was standing in her arms, the next he was on the couch, his head in her lap as she stroked his hair. Even then he didn’t stop. He laid there, tears slipping down his splotched cheeks, and eyes feeling like they might burst from his head - but he was quieter by then. Just breathing softly, as she massaged his scalp.

“Are you okay?” Farah whispered, her hand trailing down his neck.

He paused, before slowly shaking his head.

Chapter Text

“Is he feeling better?”

The question was fired at him, as soon as he had stalked into the living room. He considered not even entertaining it, at first; he hadn’t slept at all, and his nerves were fraught with the intensity of the last twelve hours or so. He had spent the entire time on Garrick’s couch, jumping at every creak and groan so that Johnny didn’t have to. If it hadn't been for Johnny’s insistence that he would be fine, Simon would still have been on the couch now, holding Johnny against his chest, eyes and ears keen on the front door.
Any ideas of avoiding the question flew out of the window upon setting his eyes on the speaker. Nikolai. The man was sitting on the couch, splotchy-face and red eyed and his jaw set at an uncomfortable angle that was making it hard to swallow. Next to him, Price was sat looking just as dismal and teary-eyed, his arm wrapped around Nik’s waist, as his chin rested on his shoulder.
Slowly, Simon treaded towards the couches, a frown embedded into his pale face, as he gave them another one over.

“He’s… better than he was last night,” He muttered, slowly taking a seat across from them.

“Are you alright?” Price asked, shifted so he could look at Simon properly, “No incidents or-”

“No Makarov,” Simon cut him off, with a shake of his head, “I was up all night, just watching the door.”

Nikolai winced at that, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck, like the whole world rested upon it.
Simon wasn’t really sure what to say. He’d seen Price cry quite a few times; the man was tough and seasoned, but beneath the beard and brass bollocks he could be quite tender and easy to provoke to tears. Especially when he was drunk or overworked. But Nikolai? Nothing ever phased him. He was the type to grip onto what he had, duck down, and whether the storms as they came - crying got him nowhere.
Well… apparently last night had been a little bit too much for both of them. Simon found himself fiddling with the frayed knees of his jeans as he tried not to look at Nik too hard.

“That sounds familiar,” Nik whispered, his voice taut and strained.

Price swallowed at the sound, his hand immediately shooting up Nik’s back to stroke his hair, as if he could sooth all the bad memories out of his head. He couldn’t - but Nick seemed to appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

“Him and Garrick - are they…”

“They’ll be fine,” Simon shrugged, “They weren’t talking much this morning. Well. Garrick wasn’t talking, but I don’t think he slept much. Can’t blame him, really. He saw the fucker with a knife, I wouldn’t exactly feel safe closing my eyes, either. They’ll both be right as rain with some sleep.”

Price hummed, shaking his head, “Johnny really upset him last night.”

“He say something to you?”

“He had a few choice words,” Price made a vague gesture, “He still loves him, obviously. One push won’t throw away a decade of camaraderie. Like you said, I reckon he’s just tired.”

Simon didn’t seem content with the answer. Of course he wasn’t. Johnny had gone through so much lately - Simon didn’t blame him for his little crisis last night. He just couldn’t wrap his head around why people were tiptoeing around him like he was some sort of lunatic. It wasn’t as if the breakdown was out of nowhere, or completely unwarranted. In Simon’s opinion it was a long time coming; he was just glad people were around at the time, so Johnny didn’t spiral again and end up doing worse harm to himself.

“This is my fault.”

Simon’s brows knitted together, his gaze shooting to Nikolai, who had buried his face into shaky hands. Price met Simon’s gaze, their stern expressions mirrored between them.

“Don’t be daft, Nik,” Price whispered.

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“I brought him here.”

“He followed you here, love. It’s not your job to make sure your crazy fucking ex doesn’t get crazier,” Price shifted, cupping Nik’s face.

As his head lifted, Simon looked away. It felt wrong to see him cry like this. He was as stoic in his misery as he was in his day-to-day; no sounds or theatrics, just tears rolling down heat-kissed cheeks and a stony expression. His eyes fluttered closed as he rested his forehead against Price’s.

“I should have… done more. Said more to him, when I had the chance. I should have been stronger, when we were together. I could have stopped this - I could have taught him to be… better.”

“He’s insane, Nik. You said so yourself. You were a child. You didn’t even know what love was at the time,” He pulled Nik closer as the man let out a soft hiss through his contorted face, “He failed you, love, not the other way around.”

“If I had done more-”

“There was nothing more to do.”

“If I’d have stayed in Russia-”

“Then you could never have saved me,” Price whispered into his jaw, stroking his dark, curly hair, “If you’d have stayed there, Nik, I wouldn’t have a chance. Neither would you. And it’s not exactly like you’re a fortune teller. You couldn’t have known that Makarov would-”

“Yes. I did,” Nik grimaced, his fist curling into Price’s jacket, “I knew of his persistence. I knew he wouldn’t give up so easy. I was just stupid enough to pretend that I could… lose him. And now Johnny-”

“Oi,” Simon cut him off, shaking his head, “Nik. No. Don’t. That’s not your fault. You can’t go blame yourself for this. There’s enough psychos out there, and enough innocents. This shite happens all the time.”

“But-”

“He’s right, Nik. What would happen if it wasn’t Johnny? If you heard on the news that Makarov had gone and attacked ten or twenty strangers in Russia, would you blame yourself for that?” Price shook his head, “Just because you knew him at one point? We all know wrong’ns, love. It’s part of life. You can’t hold yourself accountable for shitty people doing shitty things. The whole world would have to answer to the wrongs of one man.”

“Like reverse Jesus,” Simon quipped.

Price shot him a fierce look - but it coaxed a chuckle from Nikolai. Nik smiled Simon’s way, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but appreciate the younger man’s grim sense of humor; but then, he considered, Simon constantly lived with a dark cloud over his head. It must have made things easier to laugh at, when shit actually did go wrong.

“Has… has Johnny said anything to you, Simon?” He asked, his voice croaky and weak with tears, “About Makarov? Their… relationship?”

Slowly, Simon shook his head, “I worked a few things out on my own, though. He’s not used to being… well…”

“Cared for?” Price asked, with a cock of his head, “Figured that out, myself, last night. I found it strange - the way he was carrying on like that. Surely, he’d be used to Gaz being soft on him.”

“Perhaps only Gaz,” Nik shrugged, “Even then, he was so… shaken, even Garrick became the enemy.”

“And he’s not used to people being gentle with him,” Simon looked away, a little sheepish, “Without getting too graphic… it’s like he doesn’t know how to enjoy the… softer aspects of… certain… well…”

“It’s sex, Simon,” Nik sighed, “We’re all adults.”

Simon and Price met eyes, clearly not sharing the sentiment. Neither one of them were particularly fond of the idea of talking about their sex-lives with each other.

“He… he just wants it fast and over with,” Simon blurted out, avoiding Price’s gaze, “I was trying to help him slow down and just… be gentle with himself. But it was bloody hard. After… after everything, he just cuddled up to me and cried. He must have cried for hours.”

“That tracks,” Nik grimaced at the floor, wringing his hands together, “Makarov is not a gentle person. He only cares about his own satisfaction - and it takes… a lot to satisfy him. He doesn’t care what his partner wants… or doesn’t want.”

Simon felt himself bristle. His gaze slowly rose until he could meet Nik’s eyes. They stared at one another, a silent conversation shared between them. His blood ran cold as he thought back to Johnny - to the times they had been intimate. He mulled over every touch, dwelled on every time he had been firm or demanding. The way Johnny had responded to it. His pleas for Simon to move faster, push harder - and Simon refusing to do so. The way he had commanded Johnny…
He felt sick to his stomach.

“You… you don’t reckon he…” Simon swallowed, his nails scratching against the palm of his hand, “You think he… hurt Johnny? Like that? Made him… do things he didn’t want to do?”

Price winced, seeing the distress on the younger man’s face. There was no delicate way to put it. Not after his conversation with Gaz in the car.

“He… I have reason to believe he did, son,” Price nodded slowly.

“It’s not unlike him,” Nik whispered, his own gaze never shifting from his feet, “He’s a repeat offender. I imagine that’s why he targeted Johnny. A young man, feeling a little lost and lonely in a new place… He would have been Makarov’s dream candidate. And when he found out that Johnny was… vulnerable-”

“Vulnerable?” Simon scowled.

“C’mon Simon,” Price spoke up now, flashing him a knowing look, “You don’t get those sort of injuries from one threshold. And he’s obviously a very… particular person. And after his breakdown last night, it’s clear he's not the most… stable of individuals.”

“It’s not his fault-”

“No, no, of course not,” Nik took Simon’s hand, “Nobody’s blaming Johnny. But we can’t deny the fact that he’s a very vulnerable young man. Makarov would have picked up on it too. He’d have known Johnny doesn’t have the easiest time expressing his emotions in a healthy way. He’d have taken advantage of that.”

Simon made a sour face, gritting his teeth. He thought back to how he had found Johnny, bloody and weeping and completely distraught in the crew room. He remembered the thoughts that had flown through his head at the time - and not once among them did he recall thinking about the ways he could take advantage of Johnny in that situation.
No.
It took a certain kind of sick to see someone in need like that, and think about how you could use them for your own satisfaction.
He swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue, clenching his fist.

“If I see that bastard again-”

“Not if I see him first,” Price nodded, squeezing Nik’s hand.

Chapter Text

“You heard anything from Keller?”

Valeria didn’t answer for a long time. The hotel they sat in was a dingy little thing with rot climbing up the walls. Paint chipped and flaked under her fingernails as she drummed them against the pane, her eyes swivelling over the weepy city of Leeds. The place hadn’t grown on her, as she had thought it would. Honestly, she couldn’t understand why Ale and Rudy would choose the place, of all places. There were plenty of countries and cities they could have fled to; plenty of corners in the world to hide…

“Val? You okay, sweetheart?”

“What happened to Alejandro?”

Graves stopped what he was doing, clothes half-way folded, hovering in his hand above the suitcase. He was making slow progress on packing, made slower by the fact that one of his arms was cradled in a sling after a particularly nasty run-in with the wrong people in the wrong parts of Leeds.
It was the reason Valeria had been in the hospital, talking to Rudy in the first place.
She had tried to find a less… abrupt way to ask the question. Mulled over it for the last day or so, since she had seen Rudy. But she wasn’t a beat-around-the-bush type of lady. And, more to the point, if Graves had been hiding something from her - something as heavy as Rudy made it out to be - he didn’t deserve her mercy. Not after they had poured their hearts out to each other. Not after she had given him her trust - which was on a limited supply these days.
After a moment of silence - one Valeria assumed Graves was using to mourn the loss of his discretion - the man returned to folding up his clothes and packing them in the suitcase. Tomorrow, they flew back to America; and he couldn’t wait to get his feet back into the soil of his homeland.

“What… at the bar?”

She craned her head to glare at him.
Valeria was not a stupid woman - she knew he was being purposefully obtuse. Which meant he had something to hide. He had been lying to her.

“What happened to him?” She hissed, standing up from the edge of the bed, “You know what I’m talking about, Graves. Rudy said-”

“Rudy’ll say a lot of things,” Graves scowled, putting his hand up to create distance between them, “He’s upset with you, Val. With both of us.”

“He was nearly crying in the hospital, Graves,” Valeria folded her arms, her gaze burning through him, suffocating him, leaving no space to run now.

“Rudy? Crying? Well, let’s sound the alarms,” Graves rolled his eyes, plopping down on the bed.

“You didn’t know him, Phil. You met him once - maybe twice. You didn’t even know his name until we came to England,” She hissed, “Don’t you dare act like you do. He may have been a little… sensitive, when he was younger. But he doesn’t cry over nothing. Especially not when it comes to Ale. Al was the strongest of us - if he’s come to harm enough that Rudy’s worried about him, because of me-”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Grave’s voice had softened. His expression was still firm and set on Valeria, as if he could drill the words in with that stare alone. And then silence followed. Valeria tried to keep her fire fueled. Tried to clutch against the anger of this massive breach of trust… but she couldn’t. Not when he spoke to her like that…
They had been through a lot together. If it weren’t for him, she would have still been in Las Almas, fighting tooth and nail just to keep her head above water. Or worse yet, she’d have crossed the wrong people, and found herself dead on the roadside somewhere on the outskirts.
She knew he wasn’t her enemy. But right now, as it became clearer that he had lied to her face for… God knows how long, she didn’t know what to call him.

“What happened, Phil?” She whispered, sitting down next to him, “I deserve to know.”

Chapter Text

They hadn’t spoken since last night. There was the passing grunt of acknowledgement or small hum every now and then when they passed each other in the hallway, but other than that…
Johnny knew he had fucked up. It had been okay in the early hours, when he could pass Gaz’s dismissal off as him being polite around Simon. But now Simon was gone - and Gaz hadn’t come out of his room.
His stomach churned as he laid on his side and stared at the television, his fingers scratching hard against the coarse surface of his healing wrist. He had tried fighting it, when he first noticed he was doing it. Tried sitting on his hands, or gnawing at his nails… but he ran out of nails, and that turned into chewing skin on the ends of his fingers - and then he gave up completely.
Exhaustion didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that settled over him; he felt like a stone in the ocean, sinking and sinking till the whole world was black and wobbling around him. Til nothing made sense and all he could feel was the crushing weight of nothingness. Nothing to hold onto, nothing to reach out for. Just nothing.
The only thing keeping him awake was the familiar sting of raw flesh against the cold air of the apartment, but he didn’t bother to look down to assess the damage done. It didn’t matter. He could already tell he had opened it up again. That didn’t matter either. In fact, he was finding it hard to care about anything at all right now.
It was a familiar headspace to him. Everything going on at once - and nothing matters at all.
Usually, he’d have gone knocking at Gaz’s door, crying until he felt real again, curling up in his bed and listening to the man go about tidying his room, or playing a game or… or… well, anything really. Anything that reminded him that he was present, and breathing, and alive and… not alone.
But he was alone.
Now more than ever.
With no one to blame, but himself.
He heard a creak on the floorboard behind him - he didn’t look up, quickly snatching the bandage up to cover yet another mistake he’d made in the last twenty four hours. His head turned just in time to see the bathroom door slowly close and lock.
His heart twisted at the silence between those steps… Gaz hadn’t even bothered to say hello. Gnawing at his lower lip, he fought against the weights on his body, trudging towards the door. He hesitated outside for a moment, trying to conjure up something to say to his friend. Anything. Anything that would break this silence. Anything that would bring them back to normal. He swallowed, before knocking gently.

“Gaz?”

Silence.

“Kyle… mate. Can we talk?” He kept his voice to a low whisper, worrying anything louder might come across as demanding or… well, just not how he intended to sound, “I know I fucked up. I’m really sorry, mate. I just…”

More silence. Johnny let out a shaky breath, resting his head on the door frame.

His voice broke as he tried to force his words, “I really want to talk to you, Gaz. I need-”

His heart sank as he heard the shower turn on…
He was ignoring him.
Right.
Of course.
Johnny couldn’t blame him. He had been in such a state last night; he had put his hands on Kyle. Simon had insisted, over and over again, that it wasn’t as bad as Johnny made it out to be. But Simon hadn’t seen the look on Gaz’s face. The hurt, betrayal… God.
Johnny stepped back, his skin crawling like a swarm against his nerve endings. He could feel the familiar burning his throat and behind his eyes, as his chest constricted. He dug his nails into his palms, trying to swallow air down. This damned apartment was too small, made smaller by the fact that everything in here belonged to Garrick. The couch that Johnny slept on, the TV he’d been watching, the blanket he was wrapped in. All these things that belonged to Kyle - Kyle had given them to him.

And Johnny had hit him.

He needed to get out.
Through the swarm of thoughts that flurried in his mind, something clear shone like a beacon. Perhaps it was just the sound of shower water hitting the floor like drumming thunder. Maybe it was because it had been less than twenty four hours since he had last felt this way. Maybe it never left. Or maybe, it was because last night was the first time he’d ever heard the word ‘catastrophizing’.
But it jumped out at him now.
Simon’s words stood firm and bright among the darkest thoughts, echoing and reverberating in his skull - the same way they did when they were whispered into his collarbone last night.

You’re just catastrophizing, Johnny. You’re too close to it right now. Take a step back.

He needed to get outside. Take a walk. Have a fag.
Just clear his mind, and come back later. They could talk in the morning; peace belonged to the night.
So that’s what he did.
He shrugged the blanket off, laid it over the couch, and switched off the TV, before staggering his way to the front door, closing it firmly behind him.
***

“He’s really pissed at me, mum. We haven’t spoken all day,” Gaz whispered into the phone, tracing lines into the curves of the wooden desk.

“Oh, love. I’m sure he’s not mad at you,” His mother’s voice was soft and sweet on the other end - just as it had always been, “Johnny’s probably just having a hard time adjusting to a new way of life. You’ve got to think, he practically lived at home during Uni. He’s probably not used to being so far away from his parents.”

“We’re in ‘s twenties, mum.”

“You’re still our babies, Kyle.”

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head at her. It was the first real smile he’d managed since leaving the tattoo shop, yesterday. It had been non-stop panic and blows since then. Makarov, the weapon, Nikolai, Johnny… It was so much, all at once. Kyle’s mother knew it must have been bad, if he had decided to call her. It wasn’t that the two of them didn’t keep in touch when he moved away - quite the opposite! They messaged one another almost every night, wishing each other sweet dreams and big hugs. But she hadn’t heard her son’s voice in… weeks, now.

“Maybe you should come home for a bit, baby,” She sighed, “I know you’re a big boy now-”

“Mum.”

“But everyone needs a bit of home every now and then,” She continued, ignoring his protest, “And it wouldn’t kill you to come see your mummy.”

“Mum!” He grimaced, but couldn’t help the smile on his face.

If he was honest, he was slightly thrilled at the prospect of coming home for a little while. He hadn’t seen his mother, brothers, sisters or grandfather in a long time. Again, the messages between them all were frequent; his little sister constantly demanding to know where he was and what he was doing, his older siblings offering advice where they could and making sure he’s staying out of trouble. His youngest brother had recently discovered TikTok, so there were around thirty to forty unopened notifications on his contact list. But it wasn’t the same. Not when only a year ago, he could have just strolled around the corner and been within arms reach of all of them.

“I might,” Kyle shrugged after a moment, “Need to talk to grandad anyway.”

There was a long pause.

“Why?” His mother suddenly sounded alert, only making his smile grow, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mum. I just… with everything that’s going on with Johnny-”

“You’re his friend, love. Not his therapist.”

“I know, I know. But as his friend, I’m worried about him,” Gaz felt his breath become a little heavier in his chest, “There’s just a lot of… stuff going on, mum.”

“Is he okay?”

Another long pause. Gaz’s eyes twitched to his bedroom door, as if he’d suddenly grown x-ray vision and could see right through. He heard the low hum of the shower, across the hall, almost completely muted from where he sat. Johnny must have hopped in the shower - that was a good sign, at least. It might do him some good, washing all the grime of the last couple of days away. It always seemed to help Gaz at least.

“He’ll be alright mum. Just some bloke giving him hassle,” He chewed his inner cheek, “I’ll fill you in when I next visit.”

“Alright, baby. Well,” She made a sound - the same sound she always made when she was ready to put down the phone, “I’ll leave you to it, Kyle. Send Johnny all my love - and tell him to call his bloody mother. She’s constantly breathing down my neck for updates.”

Gaz chuckled, shaking his head, “I will mum. Sweet dreams and big hugs to you all, yeah?”

“Sweet dreams and big hugs, babe,” She smiled into the phone, “I love you.”

“Love you too, mum.”

He listened to the line die, leaning back in his chair. The apartment was so quiet now, save for the low drumming of the shower.
He had been keeping his distance, trying to give Johnny the decompress after last night. He didn’t want to go on, like nothing had happened; something had happened. He’d never seen Johnny like that before… the closest he’d come was the night he’d gone back to Makarov. That stupid argument they’d had…
Part of him had hoped Johnny would come to him. That they could’ve talked tonight. But it was always a fifty-fifty on which one of them broke the silence after tiffs. Tonight, he supposed, it would have to be him.
He scrolled through his contacts, until he found Johnny. He smiled at the profile picture - he always did. Him and Johnny in their college days; Johnny carrying Gaz bridal style with his tongue hanging out of his mouth as Kyle flailed desperately trying to avoid being snogged. God he missed those days.
When the worst thing he had to worry about was getting licked by his mate.
No stalkers, or threats, or weapons or…
Just him and Johnny, being dickheads.
He pulled open their messages, thumbs already punching across the keys, as tears pricked at his eyes.

Chapter Text

Johnny was quite a ways away by the time he received the first message. He had managed to crawl across the city. He’d passed the tattoo shop, shuddering at how strange it looked in the dark. He’d passed the barbers as well, catching sight of Rudy in the window, cradling Nieve. Rudy had nodded - he’d nodded back. That’s probably the strongest interaction he’d had with anyone since Simon had left this morning. He’d even made it close to Simon and Price’s apartment - at least, he thought so. He’d never actually been, but he was sure they said it was around here somewhere.
Not that he was looking for them.
For the first time in a while he didn’t mind being alone tonight.
The walk had worked, somewhat. He didn’t have that crushing feeling in his chest anymore. It was just him and the dull glow of cigarette as he paced the empty streets, reminiscing all the pub crawls and parties he and Gaz had taken part in.

He remembered one time dressing up as Buzz Lightyear, and Gaz as Woodie, for the Otley Run. He’d gotten so drunk that he had completely forgotten who he and Gaz were supposed to be, and insisted on calling Kyle ‘Indiana Jones’ for the rest of the night.
He smiled softly at the fond memory, running his hand over the cool metal surface of a bollard. The same bollard he had accidentally wrapped himself around when trying out a hoverboard for the first time. It wasn’t his; he and Kyle found it left on the street and wondered why the hell anyone would just leave it there. They found out, when one of the wheels crunched beneath Johnny’s weight, sending him flying against the metal post. He had sat in tears, between his own laughter and the pain of his bruised stomach, whilst Gaz clutched at himself, doubling over and adamantly howling that he was gonna piss himself.

It was around here that Johnny felt the buzz on his hip.
He made a discontent sound, plucking his phone from his pocket and glancing over the notification.

WTFisupKyle: Hey Johnny.
WTFisupKyle: I know you won’t see this til later, but we need to talk mate.
WTFisupKyle: I know you’re probably still pissed about yesterday. I’m sorry if I scared you or made you feel cornered. I never meant to.
WTFisupKyle: Come to my room when you’re not busy. We’ll chat, yeah?

Johnny swallowed, his chest tightening again. For different reasons this time. He felt a lump form in his throat, as he tapped out his own message.

You: I’m not pissed??

WTFisupKyle: ?

You: Why would I be mad at you?
You: I was the one that hit you!?!

WTFisupKyle: ???
WTFisupKyle: You didn’t hit me lol

Johnny felt like he was going crazy. He was so certain that he had hit him. Everything was a little watery between the stress and shock of it all, but he had seen Kyle’s face, he had felt the force behind the hands he threw, he remembered hearing the impact of palm against chest. He had hit him…
But nobody else seemed to agree.
Was he losing his damn mind?

WTFisupKyle: You’re not mad at me then?

You: You’re not mad at me?

WTFisupKyle:.....
WTFisupKyle: Dickhead.

You: D:<

WTFisupKyle: Lololololol
WTFisupKyle: Also
WTFisupKyle: I know you’re addicted to your phone
WTFisupKyle: But really??

Johnny furrowed his brows, despite the soft smile on his face. What an odd thing to say - it wasn’t like he was gonna go walking around at night without a phone. Especially not with all the shit that’s been going on, recently.

You: Wym? Lol

WTFisupKyle: I mean texting me in the shower??
WTFisupKyle: Bit excessive lololol
WTFisupKyle: You’re gonna break your phone
WTFisupKyle: Again smh

You: Wtf u on about?
You: I’m not even in the apartment lol

WTFisupKyle: Right. Sure.
WTFisupKyle: Ring me then.
WTFisupKyle: You won’t.
WTFisupKyle: No balls.

You: D:

WTFisupKyle: DONT
WTFisupKyle: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT

Johnny chuckled, making a mental note to hold that over Kyle’s head later. He sighed, clicking the little telephone symbol in the top corner, and waited. The phone rang once - twice - then picked up. There was a long moment of silence, and Johnny rolled his eyes, waiting to hear Kyle’s voice make a smart remark about how gullible Johnny was, or how this was his evil master plan to trick Johnny into speaking to him. His thumb even hovered over the red ‘hang up’ button, just in case. When the silence dragged on too long, he frowned.

“Kyle?”

“Johnny…” Kyle’s voice was dry of any humor, “Where are you?”

“I told you. I’m out. City center,” He sighed, leaning back to sit on the bollard, uncomfortably as it might be, “Went for a stroll to get my ducks in a-”

“Are you fucking with me?”

John paused, through the static he could hear Gaz’s breathing shift and pick up slightly. Something was wrong. He pushed up off of the bollard, already beginning to speed walk back towards the apartment.

“Johnny?”

“I’m out, Kyle,” He repeated, “What’s wrong?”

“Did you leave the shower running?”

He hesitated, his pace dwindling for a moment, “You must have.”

“I haven’t showered.”

“You were in the shower when I left.”

“I haven’t show-” Kyle’s voice cut off, everything going quiet.

If it wasn’t for the quiet gasps, Johnny would have thought the line had died. He light the silence linger for a moment, trying to hear anything else between Gaz’s breathing and the rumble of static.

“Johnny. I’m being serious now,” Kyle’s voice was just barely above a whisper, “Are you messing around?”

“Kyle. I’m not in the shower!”

“Are you outside of my door?”

Johnny’s blood ran cold.

“Is your door locked?”

“Johnny-”

“It’s not me, Kyle,” He swallowed, “Is your door locked?”

The silence returned, stretching on for way too long. He had his answer.

“Lock the door.”

“I c… I can’t…”

“Kyle. Lock the fucking door!”

“I can’t move.”

“Kyle!”

He heard a noise - a groan of wood - then carnage. Loud banging and Kyle’s shaking voice erupting through the speaker as he shouted something unintelligible. Johnny tried to call for him, but he was getting no response, just the muffled sound of Kyle’s voice and a constant barrage of noise.
He was whipping through the streets then, flying around corners and darting over cracks in the pavement as he hauled arse as fast as his legs would allow. He only stopped once, to throw himself at Rudy and Ale’s front door, shrieking like a madman. He wasn’t even sure they fully heard what he said, as their bewildered faces appeared in the window over his head.

“Johnny? Have you gone fucking cra-!?”

“Call the police! Tell them there’s been a break in at Gaz’s!”

“What-!?”

He was already off like a bullet, feet pumping hard the shatter the gravel and concrete beneath them. He lost count of the times he was nearly clipped by a car - he didn’t care. There was only one thing on his mind. He had given up on trying to talk to Kyle; he couldn’t hear what the man said anyway - the blood was pounding in his ears, making all noise fade to the background.
And then he finally reached the street of the apartment.
Blue flashing lights.
A crowd.
So many faces.
Kyle was not among them.
He froze, trembling between adrenaline and fear. His legs gave out, and he was forced to one knee, staring at the scene before him, before his eyes twitched to his phone.

Call Ended

Chapter Text

Johnny didn’t recognise the man on the couch.

He was small and dim and… barely even there. Just staring at the wall, nodding or mumbling to answer the questions of the officers around him. He looked like a plastic copy of Gaz. Someone had captured his likeness, molding it into this shell of a man - and it would have been perfect, if not for… well, it just wasn’t Gaz.
It didn’t have his spark. His warmth. His strength.
Johnny couldn’t look at him.

His gaze twisted to the bedroom door. It was shattered open, swinging off of a single hinge. It’s top half was ripped away completely, laying flat across the desk that Gaz had obviously tried using as a barricade. Other than that the bedroom seemed untouched.
Part of Johnny hoped that meant the bastard hadn’t made it too far. He hoped that he hadn’t got to Gaz. He hoped the police got here in time to haul the fucker away - lock him tight behind steel doors - put a hundred miles between him and Johnny and Gaz and…

“Are you an occupant of this apartment, sir?”

Johnny slowly swivelled his gaze to the officer who had addressed him. He couldn’t speak, just staring at her, stunned.

“If you’re not an occupant, you’ll have to leave.”

“I… I’m-”

“He lives here.”

His voice… it was just as unfamiliar as the rest of him. Gaz hadn’t moved his attention from the wall across from him. Didn’t bother looking up at the officer - or Johnny - when he spoke. Regardless, it satisfied the officer. She stepped aside, allowing Johnny room to get to Gaz. He didn’t want to.
It scared him. This version of Gaz. It wasn’t right.
He moved anyway. His body was as foreign to him as his best friend was. It dragged him across the room, until he was in front of Gaz. Gaz still didn’t break the stare, looking through Johnny like he wasn’t even there… But Johnny could see him.
He could see the face of his childhood friend. The same black skin, the same warm brown eyes and coarse hair. The same Garrick. Now littered in bruises and a bust lip.
John’s throat tightened.
There was a sound. A staggered, painful sound. He hadn’t meant to make it - hell, he wouldn’t have even known he was capable of making it, if it wasn’t for the vibration’s in his chest. He dropped to his knees in front of Gaz, despite the burning pain that shot through them. He had grazed them bloody, when he had fallen outside. But it was the last thing on his mind now.

“What did he do to you?”

Kyle didn’t answer. His eyes didn’t falter from where they were set. Johnny wasn’t even sure he’d hear him.

“Gaz,” His hand slipped over the man’s arm, offering a gentle squeeze.

He felt the bicep tense under his touch - he considered pulling away, worried that Garrick was about to pay him back for his own attack the night prior. But then he met his eyes. For the first time since he had re-entered the apartment, Kyle looked at him.
At once, it was him.
It was Kyle.

“Johnny.”

He fell into the man, throwing his arms around him with a sob. Kyle’s own arms found their place around Johnny’s back, squeezing as if he could slip through his arms if he didn’t hold on quite tight enough. It felt as though time stopped around them as they sank against one another. Just like when they were kids. Just like they did on every heartbreak and celebration and reunion and every opportunity they could find. Johnny rested his head on Kyle’s shoulder, letting everything finally rest over them.
Only five minutes ago, he had been terrified that he wouldn’t be able to hold him like this again.
He was no fool.
He didn’t even have to ask.
He knew who had come to their house tonight.
He may not know how, or when, but he knew why.
If Kyle had been taken from him, because he wasn’t there…
As if picking up on the thoughts rattling around Johnny’s head, Kyle squeezed him tighter.

“I’m alright, Johnny,” Gaz laughed weakly.

“He knocked the fuck out of you,” John peeled back with a scowl, his thumb gently brushing over the swelling of Kyle’s brow.

“It’s all just cuts and bruises. I’m just glad the bastard didn’t shank me.”

“He had a knife?” Johnny’s eyes grew wide.

“No - well, I don’t think so,” Kyle swallowed, “He didn’t use it, if he did. I don’t know how he got in. Police can’t find an entry point. He tried opening my bedroom door, I managed to slam it shut in time, and barricade it but…”

“He bust through,” Johnny let his gaze wander back to the bedroom. He couldn’t even imagine the panic Kyle must have felt, sat in the corner, watching the wood snap and splinter under the force of Mak’s blows. He shivered, “He was looking for me, I’m assuming?”

“Good thing you weren’t here, eh?”

“I don’t understand,” Johnny scowled, shaking his head, “I was talking to him through the door.”

Gaz’s face blanched. He looked back at Johnny, baffled.

“Well - I didn’t know it was him, at the time,” John shifted uncomfortably, “I thought it was you in the bathroom. He knew I was here, then. Why didn’t he just…?”

His words hung in the air as he glanced around the apartment. He knew it was a fruitless action; there were no answers here. Just a broken door and a bustle of police officers. Garrick looked just as perplexed as he felt. There was a beat, before Gaz suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Do you think… Do you think maybe he didn’t expect me to be home?” He asked, slowly.

Johnny furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“You don’t work Fridays. I do,” Gaz bit his lower lip, “But the shop’s closed today. We were both home. Maybe that threw some sort of wrench in the works?”

“Right, but how would he…” He trailed off. It was a stupid question. The man had known Johnny was at Ale and Rudy’s, despite never meeting the couple - they couldn’t put it past him to have learned Johnny’s routine by now, “But what difference would it make? He was more than happy to flash a knife at you and Price. Why would he care if you got in the way?”

“He didn’t bring a weapon Johnny,” Gaz whispered now, looking a little pale, “I don’t think he was here to kill you. I think Nik’s right about him. I think he’s delusional. Some part of him must really believe that you… belong to him.”

Johnny’s stomach dropped. He stared back at Gaz, trying to stop himself from gagging on the tightness of his own throat.
He tried to stay calm and collected for the next couple of hours. The police took his statement - ran his alibi by Rudy and Alejandro, who had been the ones to call the police in the first place - and he and Gaz were free to stay or leave. As if they’d stay here, after everything.
***

Ale and Rudy had been kind enough to let them stay over there for the night, in the spare room. Johnny didn’t sleep. He just stared at the ceiling, listening to Garrick - who was also not sleeping - breath softly. He wasn’t sure when the sun rose. It was as if he’d blinked and suddenly cold stale light pressed against the thin curtain behind their heads.
He didn’t speak in the morning.
He just stared down at the coffee Alejandro had made him, sinking into the dark warmth of it. It was a Saturday today, wasn’t it? Had it only been a day? Or a night? He wasn’t sure. His eyes found a calendar on the wall, but none of the days had been crossed off of it, leaving a clean slate in the month of September.
A clean slate.
For all he could tell, maybe it really was the first day of September.
What difference did it make to him?
Everyday was the same now. Jumping at shadows, constantly feeling the hairs rise on his back when someone looked at him for too long, freezing everytime a hooded figure passed him in the shop. Because it could be Makarov.
One of them had to be.
Surely.
The days meant nothing.
But how many had passed him by?
When was the last time he slept?
Was it still Saturday?

“Johnny?”

His eyes shifted up to find the speaker.
He was back in the bedroom. The light was still cold and grey. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Maybe he hadn’t woken up yet? Was any of this real…

“Mate,” Gaz shook him softly.

His tired eyes shifted, trying to focus on the blurry figure in the low light. He sat up, feeling the bed creak under his weight.

“You don’t have to.”

He frowned. He didn’t have to… Didn’t have to…

“I don’t… what?” He whispered, shaking his head.

“Work? Today?” Gaz frowned at him, his eyes rolling over Johnny, drinking in his appearance, “Have you slept at all?”

He blinked at him, a familiar throbbing in his skull killing off any coherency he could find within his scrambled mind. He tried to string the words together but it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He felt hands on him and stiffened. He might have lashed out if he had any strength left in those bones. He could feel them creaking and stiff in his skin. He could feel the grit in his eyes, every rush of hair as it fell out of place on his head. When did the lights get so bright?

“Johnny… I’ll tell Price you’re not coming in. He’ll understand,” Gaz whispered, his expression, “Get some sleep. Seriously, Johnny. You’re not well.”

“I can come in.”

“No, John. You can’t mate.”

“I- I can. I have to. I have to… to get out,” He stammered. When did he start shaking like this? He found his thumb between his teeth, nibbling at frayed flesh.

Garrick swallowed, watching his friend. He glanced over his shoulder. Rudy and Alejandro stood in the hallway, watching the younger men. Rudy was clasping his mouth under his hand, watching on with a disturbed expression. Alejandro’s expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on Johnny.
They had both been watching him closely ever since they had invited the pair to stay at theirs. It was an odd thing. Watching him unravel over the course of four days. They had made sure he’d been eating and drinking - but they couldn’t force him to sleep or talk to them. In fact, this was the first time they’d heard his voice since he was screaming at their door on Friday night.
Even Rudy had tried to start up a conversation with him. He had been Rudy about it, of course, telling Johnny he needed a touch up on his hair - and he should probably take a shower - and they should go back to the apartment at some point to get Johnny a change of clothes. Johnny hadn’t said anything - just stared through the window like he was looking for something - someone - as he gnawed through his skin like a rabid animal.
That was the other problem.
His skin was a mess. Nails gnawed to the bed, fingers pink and striped with hangnails and split tips where Johnny had been chewing and picking at them. The one upside was that he couldn’t scratch at his face, despite how hard he tried. And he tried. Gaz had watched him, last night, staring absently at the wall as nailless fingers pawed into the skin of his chin… And his arms… Gaz’s eyes were on them now. He’d had to change the bandages two or three times now. He couldn’t be Johnny’s babysitter - he had places to be - and when he came back from them, Johnny had found some way to scratch up the healing scars.
No matter what Gaz.
He spoke softly. He had pleaded. He shouted. He had told him how sick he was going to make himself, about the risks, and the infections and… and… Johnny just stared at him. Like nothing was quite getting through.
This was the first semi-coherent conversation they had had in four days.

“You won’t be able to work, Johnny,” Gaz squeezed his shoulder, “You’re sick, mate. You haven’t slept in days. Please, just… Alright, uhm. Get a shower, alright? Or a bath?”

There was a beat as an image flashed in Gaz’s mindseye; Johnny floating on the bathwater, his body finally giving in to the warmth and sleep-deprivation.

“No. Not a bath. A shower,” He laughed nervously, “You get a shower, see how you feel. Then we can talk about work, yeah?”

Johnny continued staring through him, biting at his thumb until a small bead of crimson broke free of his lips. Gaz’s chest ached as he watched it roll down his thumb. If he was more certain that Johnny wouldn't literally bite him, he’d have been tempted to try and coax his hand from his mouth… Then, Johnny nodded.

“Shower,” He repeated dully to himself as he began shifting off of the bed, “I need a shower.”

Gaz followed behind him, arms out as if ready to catch him, should he fall. Johnny seemed sturdy enough, but… there was just an odd look in his eyes. They seemed to linger and trail slowly in certain areas, as if he was following something. It was especially unnerving when they landed on Nieve. He stared at her for a moment - and Gaz could feel Rudy bracing himself to throw hands should he need to. But Johnny just laughed, mumbled something about cats, then continued into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Hey guys! Just thought I'd update you. Sorry for the silence. I was babysitting and had to keep both eyes on the ball, and then it was my birthday!!

Story will be updated either tonight or tomorrow -- I have not abandoned yall lol!

See ya soon!!

Chapter Text

Gaz was torn.
He had tried to delay it, talk Ale and Rudy out of it even. But… deep down, he knew - much like himself - they only had Johnny’s best interest at heart.
So here he sat, hands clasped between his legs as he stared down at his feet like a chastised school boy. Price sat across from him, looking serious as cancer as he sipped his coffee. He was only being polite - Gaz knew he’d much rather have a nice cup of tea; but honestly, right now there were more things to worry about than what bloody beverage his boss would prefer.
Simon was here too, his expression unreadable as Rudy explained what had been going on over the last few days. Gaz didn’t miss the side-eyes he received from his boss and friend as they heard about the break in for the first time. It wasn’t that Gaz had deliberately kept it from them; he just didn’t want the added stress on top of trying to keep himself and Johnny afloat. Besides, they hadn’t really seen each other over the last couple of days. It never crossed his mind to take a moment and take stock of what was happening around him.
When Rudy reached the part about Johnny, Gaz could only hold his breath, his eyes locking onto Price to gauge his reaction. Part of him still wanted to believe that this wasn’t as big a deal as Rudy and Ale were making it out to be.
He’d never seen Johnny like this - sure - but everyone had low points - and lower points - and rock bottom. He could only go up from here right?

Well… If Price’s face was anything to go by-

“Fucking hell,” Price shifted forwards, his mug clacking against the coffee table, “Is he alright? How bad is it?”

“Well - it’s not… great?” Gaz spoke up, his tone non-committal.

“He’s a mess,” Rudy cut in, much less afraid of the man’s response, “He’s not sleeping - he’s bleeding all the time - Gaz had to drag him to the shower-”

“Bleeding?” Simon’s gaze swivelled between Gaz and Rudy.

Price pursed his lips, looking suddenly uncomfortable, “What? His… scars?”

“His everything. He’s chewed his fingers to the bone - he keeps scratching at his face and neck. We try talking to him and it’s just -” Rudy winced, “I know these things take patience, but it feels like screaming into the void. He’s just…”

“Not there,” Gaz finished, looking resigned.

A thick silence wrapped around the room. Ghost swallowed it up, trying to imagine Johnny sat above their heads, rotting and wasting away in his own filth and mania. He had wondered why his calls and texts had gone unanswered over the weekend; he had just assumed Johnny needed a little space and time with Gaz after the recent melt down. It just felt like one thing after another with no breathing room between - he couldn’t imagine how suffocating that must be.
If he was Johnny, he’d have gone a little bit mad, too.

“Must be awful for him. Considering his… condition,” Simon said aloud. He wasn’t sure he meant to - and judging by the looks everyone gave him, they were surprised he had said anything at all, “I mean - Gaz. You know him. His need for control-”

“It’s not control, Simon,” Gaz cut him off, looking a little defensive, “He just needs things to make… sense. He needs order. And this? None of this shit makes any sense. That bastard got into our house. We don’t know how he got in. We don’t know how long he was there. We don’t know what he would have done if he… if Johnny was home alone, like he should have been.”

Simon watched Gaz falter; a sick feeling brewed in Simon’s stomach as he considered what he had learned about Makarov’s history. The things he had done to Nik. The things he had probably done to Johnny before. They may not have known for sure - but they could certainly imagine what Makarov would have done if Johnny were home alone.

“But he wasn’t, was he?”

“Yeah - no fucking-”

“You were.”

Gaz stilled. He met Simon’s gaze, his face scrunching in confusion. Everyone in the room was staring at Simon, a little uncertain of where he was going with this.

“Yeah… and?”

“You alright?” Simon’s eyes flickered over the small injuries across Gaz’s face, his tone undecipherable.

“I’m fine,” Gaz spat back, the defensive atmosphere blatant as it enveloped him.

“You sure?” Simon pressed, his gaze fixed on the younger man, “I’m not on the attack, Gaz. I’m being serious. That mad bastard brought a knife to the shop. He broke into your house. You were home alone with the cunt, and you’ve spent the last week or so fretting over our Johnny. So, I’m asking. You’re alright, yeah?”

Gaz stared back at him, stunned. In fact, everyone seemed to be - especially Price. Sure, Simon and Gaz had been a little more amicable with one another recently. And on some surface level they could be considered ‘friends’, but they were never the sort to check in on each other like this. Hell, there was a time when Gaz was usually lucky to get more than a grunt of acknowledgement in Simon’s presence. Price’s gaze shifted from Simon over to Garrick. The young man hadn’t answered, his hands palling up into the denim of his jeans as his words caught in his throat.
Slowly, he nodded - then looked away, the light bouncing off of the tears filling his eyes. He sucked his lips between his teeth, and shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know - I just… I’m just trying to keep it together,” His voice broke slightly, “I thought… I thought he was gonna kill me, Si.”

Simon swallowed, averting his gaze, “Must’ve been terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Gaz laughed, tearfully, “That’s one word. I’d just rang my mum. She asked me to come home - she wanted to see me. And all I could think, when he was breaking through the door was… was w-what if I never get to see her ag-”

His voice broke as a sob was pulled from him. Even he seemed startled by the sound he made - like it had crept up on him out of nowhere. Price was on his feet in an instant, landing next to Gaz and pulling the man into a bear hug. Gaz hid his face in Price’s shoulder, letting his sobs rattle out of him like beasts kept at bay for way too long. Simon didn’t say anything. He wordlessly rose to his feet, stopping just in front of Price and Gaz. There he lingered, awkwardly. He didn’t know what else to do - how to comfort the young man. His fingers twitched as he thought about reaching out and rubbing his shoulder. He decided against it.

“Don’t worry about Johnny, Kyle,” He muttered, taking a step back, “I’ll take care of him. You worry about yourself, yeah mate?”

Gaz didn’t answer, gulping down air as Price held him.

“Go see your mum.”

Chapter Text

Upstairs was freezing cold - Simon could feel the temperature drop on the eighth or ninth step. When he reached the top, he was rubbing his arms, his teeth chattering behind the mask. Rudy had told him - downstairs - that they had to turn the heating off upstairs because Johnny wasn’t showering or moving around enough; it was making his skin worse and he kept overheating, because the man just wouldn’t move the damn blankets off of him.
Simon had thought it was bad, when he first heard Johnny wouldn’t leave the room. When he realised he literally wasn’t moving from where he laid…
He tried not to think about it, shifting into the doorway to look over the tumor seemingly growing from the mattress. Just a large mass shrouded in blankets and sorrow. Or nothing at all. Despite the fact he could hear Johnny breathing, the room felt empty. Dead.
Shrugging the thought off, he stepped in.

“Johnny?”

No answer.

“Doll? It’s me,” He whispered, softer than he thought he was capable of. He padded to the edge of the bed, crouching down and meeting the young man’s gaze.

Rudy was right.
He was a mess.
Pink welts stitched with red dots were sewn into the pale skin of his chin and jaw. His beard was patchy and uneven against his face. His hand, resting against the pillow, was an unhealthy yellowish pink, layers of skin pulled away. Simon tried not to cringe, as he imagined how awful that must feel brushing against the fabric of the pillow. What made him feel worse was how unbothered Johnny seemed by it.
Exhaling through his nose, Simon reached out and rested his palm against the abused flesh of Johnny’s cheek. He saw something - it wasn’t much - in Johnny’s eyes. The smallest sign of life as they twitched to meet Simon’s own.

“There he is,” He whispered, brushing his nose against Johnny’s, “You with me, Johnny?”

“Simon.”

His heart dropped. God. His voice was so… Maybe it was from a lack of use, or lack of fluids, but he sounded so unfamiliar. His voice was weak and loose, waning against the strain of his vocal chords. Again, he tried not to show his mortification on his face. Instead, he slipped his hand around the back of Johnny’s neck, supporting his head, before using his free hand to crane Johnny over onto his back. The Scotsman made a sound of protest as he did - but Simon was grateful for it. At least it was something. He’d take any sort of evidence that Johnny was in there, thinking or feeling anything at all.
He felt Johnny’s hand rest on his arm, holding on so softly.

“I don’t want to…” He whispered.

“Don’t want to what? Move?” Simon asked, gently trying to ease Johnny into a sitting position, “You’re gonna have to, love.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes, you do,” He stared straight at Johnny now, meeting his blank face, “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you rot, John. Sit up.”

There was a beat - and Simon began making plans on how he was going to force Johnny upright. Fortunately, he didn’t have to think for very long, before he felt the younger man slowly hoisting himself up, using Simon for leverage.

“That’s it, gorgeous. Nice and slow.”

“Don’t dirty talk me into doing what you want,” Johnny scoffed, weakly, “Pervert.”

“You usually like it,” Simon teased back, his nerves loosening slightly upon the familiarity of Johnny’s twisted humor, “Never complained before.”

The Scotsman didn’t have a retort for that. He was usually sharper, eager to outverse his lover. But not today. Not now. Simon forgave the silence, watching Johnny sit up slowly. He looked absent, staring at the bedsheets with an unknowable weight over him.

“You look a right state.”

“Wow. Cheers.”

“You do, Johnny,” Simon cradled one of his arms, now unwrapped and raw to the touch, “You need a shower, and sleep.”

The atmosphere shifted slightly, Johnny huddling in on himself, pulling his arm out of Simon’s hold.

“Harder than you’d think.”

“No… I know it’ll be plenty hard for you,” He reached up, brushing Johnny’s overgrown hair out of his face, “But I’ll make you do it anyway. You’ll hate me for it. You can kick and scream and punch, if you have to. But I’ll have to do what I have to do as well. This shit will get you nowhere, Johnny.”

“I’m not trying to go anywhere,” Johnny grimaced, curling in tighter like a snake about to strike.

“Yeah, well. I can tell you where you’ll end up if you keep doing this to yourself. I’ve done this song and dance before-”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Johnny suddenly snapped, his gaze piercing, “I’m not Roach, Si. I’m not gonna fucking kill myself! Get off of my arse!”

There was a beat - no something longer than a beat. An air. Something immovable. Unstoppable. Invisible and all too clear between them. Johnny watched Simon blink, his jaw tightening behind his mask as he stared back at him. He could have shrunk. He wanted to sink back under the covers and melt into the mattress - he wanted to drop through the floorboards, blink out of existence, be anywhere else than here, under Simon Riley’s burning gaze.
Not another word was spared. Simon rose to his feet, turned around and shuffled out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. Light spilled into the room, causing Johnny to wince - he cradled his head back under the covers as he laid flat into the position Simon had first found him in.
He’d fucked it up. He always did. He should have expected this. He should never have used Roach’s name against Simon. Not when it was so clearly a sore subject for the man. If he had the energy, he’d have peeled himself off of the mattress and followed after Simon like a lost puppy. But he was exhausted… He wouldn’t sleep. He knew that by now. No matter how tired he was, he just… couldn’t. But he couldn’t force himself up either.
He was stuck.
Stuck like this forever, pushing everyone aw-

“ACK!”

A scream erupted from him as he felt the full impact of ice cold water crashing down over him. He leapt up, tangled in blankets, and fell against the floor with a pitiful thud. His eyes shot open as he scrambled back against the wall. Simon stood at the foot of the bed, still shaking water out of the bucket he was holding. Upon meeting Johnny’s stunned face, he set the bucket down and put his hands on his hips, giving the man a pointed look.

“Are you fucking insane, Simon!?” Johnny demanded, blinking at him, “Are you deranged!? It’s not even my bed! You can’t just throw water over-”

“You brought up my dead ex.”

A beat.

“Okay… okay I deserved that, but-”

“No, Johnny,” Simon shook his head, “No buts. You don’t do that shit. You do that again and we’re done.”

Swallow. Johnny nodded, slowly. Simon stared at him. When he seemed satisfied with the response, he slinked forwards, until he was crouched in front of him.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Good,” He held a hand up, “Up.”

Johnny felt his chest squeeze, his eyes shifting back to the bed, now sopping wet and cold against the unheated air of the upper floor. Part of him, unfortunately, still wanted to crawl back into the bed. Even if it was uncomfortable and clung to him, and even if he couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sleeping anyway.
If it wasn’t for the expectation in Simon’s unwavering gaze, he might have just resigned himself to the sodden bed.
Instead, he took his hand.
The next few moments were a blur. He was tucked under Simon’s shoulder and wheeled down the stairs, where Price was waiting for him. He could vaguely remember Price and the others giving him odd lucks - whether that was because of the strange transformation he had taken over the last few days, or because he was dripping wet, he didn’t think to ask.
In fact he didn’t think to ask anything.
Nothing at all.
Not why any of them were there.
Not about where they were going.
Not even a ‘where are we’, when they finally stopped driving.
When he came back to the forefront, he was naked and warm. The bathroom was fogged up and he was surrounded by suds. Warm hands stroked shampoo into his scalp, a familiar voice whispering to him.

“And then we’ll get you into bed, yeah? You’ll be sleeping in mine tonight,” Simon was speaking as softly as he had done at Rudy’s house, “If you want to, you can have the bed to yourself? If not, I’m more than happy to sleep with you. Whatever makes you feel safest.”

His brows drew together, “What?”

There was a pause, Simon’s hands stilling in his hair, “Back with me, Johnny?”

“What are you… where am I, Si?”

“You’re at my place,” He gently stroked the back of Johnny’s neck.

Hesitantly, Johnny leaned back until his head met something solid. From the disgruntled sound Simon made, and the faint mutter about this being his ‘favourite shirt’, John could only assume it was Simon’s chest. He rested there, feeling the subtle expansion and deflation of his lover’s lungs.
The rest of the bathing was done in silence. Johnny’s eyes closed at some point, as he tried to enjoy the sound of water trickling everytime Simon lifted the flannel from the bath to wipe Johnny down. Enjoy the warmth that wrapped around him. Enjoy the closeness of Simon. Enjoy the…

“When did he-”

“Around an hour or so ago.”

He jolted, his eyes flying open as his hand snatched out at nothing. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was fighting. All he knew was that everything was different than it had been seconds ago. He wasn’t in the bathtub anymore. His hair was still damp, but he was clothed and laid down on an unfamiliar bed. Simon sat next to him, hand gently planted on his head - and Price stood at the foot of the bed, looking just as startled as Johnny felt.

“Easy, easy,” Simon whispered, his hand softly coaxing Johnny to lay down again, “You’re alright, doll. You fell asleep.”

“W-what? I - no - I-!”

“Yeah, you did,” Simon couldn’t hide his smile, “In the bath of all places. Went down like a fucking submarine. I just caught you, before your head went under. You got a good hour's kip, well done.”

Johnny swallowed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it.

“Just seven more to go, son,” Price spoke up, shifting his weight, “Why don’t you just close your eyes and lay back again, yeah? Our Si’s staying with you for the night.”

“I… I don’t understand, I was just in the bath,” He furrowed his brow, “It was like someone flicked the light switch off.”

“You passed out, Soap,” Price sighed, shaking his head, “That’ll happen when you don’t sleep for five days.”

“But, I-”

“Johnny. It’s alright,” Simon squeezed his shoulder, “You’re exhausted love. It’s bound to happen. What we focus on now is not letting it happen again. So do as Price says, yeah? Lay down for me, Johnny.”

He had to admit; he felt clearer. Not back to one hundred percent, but it was still fascinating what only an hour of rest could do. He gnawed his lower him - the winced at the stabbing pain it sent through his face.

“We put some cream over the scratches,” Price spoke up, “Tried wrapping you up as best we could. We’ll keep an eye on it.”

He nodded, numbly, thinking back over the last few days. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how long half of this shit would take to heal. He tried not to. Instead, he laid back, resting his head in the crook of Simon’s arm.

“That’s it, Johnny,” Simon encouraged him, sweeping a hand through chestnut brown hair, “Close your eyes for me, love… We’ll talk in the morning.”

Chapter Text

The clock ticked idly on the wall, just above the window. Light spilled in, lighting the whole place up in a warm early morning glow; and Gaz was grateful for it. It was the first time in quite a few days that Gaz had sat in a room that was just barely grazed by the sun.
He was more than grateful for Alejandro and Rudy’s help after the apartment was broken into, but their home was a two-story, swallowed by the tall buildings of Leeds City Center, so the light would only just seep through the upper parts of the windows on the East. If you were situated on the West of the house - which Garrick and Soap both were - you had no chance of feeling the sun at all. It didn’t help that Ale and Rudy’s house was decorated in tans and creams, giving it a strange sort of catalogue feeling.
Price’s apartment might not have been the most stunning of places; but it certainly felt real and lived in. White walls and grey carpets with chocolate brown sofas that didn’t quite fit the rest of the house - but it was good. It felt mismatched and human. Gaz remembered the first time he saw it; his first thought had been ‘this place would drive our Johnny mad’. But he didn’t say so - Price didn’t even know who Johnny was at the time.
It was by the twelve-hundredth tick of the clock that Gaz sat up, slipping the soft white quilt off of him and letting it pool around his midsection. Lean to the left - crack - lean to the right - crack - arch your back - crack, crack, crack - God, he was stiff. The couch was comfortable, sure, but it wasn’t eight-hours worth of comfortable. He slid off, and turned back to smooth out the divots and pillows where they had tucked into each other under his weight.
The rest of the house was quiet - and Kyle hoped that meant that everybody was asleep. That, despite all odds, Johnny was asleep. Price had said he was, yesterday. He’d found Kyle on the couch, slipped his hand over his shoulder and told him to lay down. Told him Johnny was okay - sleeping at last - and had been for the last two hours. Gaz wasn’t sure if he really meant it, or had just said it to make Kyle sleep too. It had worked, if it were the latter.
He pondered on this as he dressed, quietly, and slipped out of the front door. Only when he was out onto the streets of Leeds did he find the courage to whip his phone out and check the messages that had been buzzing out to him over the night. Yesterday had been… busy.
He had spent a lot of it crying - trying to stop - remembering how scared he’d felt during the break in - and crying again. He knew why. His grandfather had been a therapist and taught Gaz a lot about trauma and trauma responses. He had tried telling himself it was stupid to call it ‘trauma’. Yes - his house was broken into and he was trapped and attacked - and yes - all of this was done by somebody who was clearly not above ruining someone’s life completely - and yes - he was stupid. Kyle Garrick was a stupid man - that’s what he told himself; or at least it was what his brain fed to him in his grandfather’s exasperated, affectionate voice. Of course he’d be traumatised by such things. He was literally stuck in the corner of his room, too frightened to move or call out for help, as a man bust down his door, threatening to kill him. That was a traumatising thing - and as strong and sharp as Kyle’s brain was, it was still just a brain. He was still just a man. And that shit had scared him.
In his weakness and between helping Alejandro and Rudy peel back soaked sheets - soaked for reasons they still couldn’t understand - he had found time to message his mother. He had tried to keep it light and unsuspicious, but it must have got lost in translation somewhere; or maybe his mother hadn’t been lying when she used to tell him that ‘mummy’s have a sixth sense when it comes to their babies’, when he was younger.
He glanced down at his phone, now.

You: Hey mum. I am gonna come down to visit haha.
You: I miss you guys. Love you so much x

Mum: Baby, what’s wrong? x

He hadn’t answered. Her message had only made him cry more, yesterday. Even now, he felt the remnants burning his throat and eyes. She hadn’t messaged again either - but she did send her fleet after him. All through last night, he had been bombarded with messages from his brothers and sisters - and even the MacTavish’s - asking if something had happened and if he was okay.
He hadn’t replied to any of them. He had been so drained last night, that he just… couldn’t. He had thought, maybe, he’d have found the strength in the morning. And it was somewhat true. It was easier to skim over the ‘I love you’s and ‘tell us if you need anything’s in the daylight. But even still, he couldn’t bring himself to reply. He knew there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make them press him for answers - and he wasn’t going to lie to them and pretend nothing happened…
He wasn’t going to say what actually happened either. Not over text. Not until he was within range for them to touch and hold and know he was still there - that he was okay. He knew telling them over text would just be cruel. It would break his mother’s heart, knowing her son had been hurt and scared - and she couldn’t reach out and hold him. It broke his heart too.
But, there was always one person in his family who was strong and discreet enough - he could talk to him about anything, without worrying it would get back to the rest of the family. Call it doctor-patient confidentiality.

Grandad: Hello, lamb.
Grandad: Give your mum a bell.
Grandad: She reckons something’s wrong. I keep telling her you’re probably okay, but you know what she’s like, lamb.
Grandad: Hope all is well. Love, Grandad.

Gaz chuckled at the messages - making a mental note to remind his grandfather, yet again, that he didn’t need to sign off his messages.

You: Hey Grandad. Tell everyone I’m sorry for the radio silence, just really busy x
You: Don’t tell anyone but something did happen. My house was broken into, whilst I was in it. The guy jumped me. I’m a little bruised but I AM FINE. Don’t tell mum okay? I’ll tell her myself when I’m back home. I love you all loads x

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, letting out a long breath. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding it. How long that knot between his shoulders had been tightening and tightening - but now it hung looser. It always did when he spoke to grandad.
By the time he finally made it to the coffee shop, he found it easier to breath and walk and talk without that ridiculous lump in his throat. His eyes scanned over the menu overhead, as if he didn’t already know what he was ordering. Tea for Price, black coffee for Nik, cappuccino for Johnny, latte for himself, black coffee for…
He paused.
Simon didn’t really like black coffee all that much.
Gaz had bought him one, one time, making some stupid joke about it being as bitter and black as Simon’s heart - and it had earned a half-scoff from Simon. So he had kept buying them, spitting out the same mantra, in hopes of getting Simon’s seal of approval. That was when he had first met Simon of course. He had, since then, accepted that Simon would never like him.
But then there was yesterday.
How uncharacteristically perceptive and gentle Simon had been with him, trying to check in on Gaz. He was the only one. Of course, Gaz knew Price and Rudy and Alejandro all cared about him - they’d go to the ends of the Earth for him. But they had all been so swept up in Johnny’s condition, and all had assumed Gaz was okay. Gaz had always been strong, resilient, always mentally capable to bounce back and move on. They had assumed that’s what Gaz had been doing. Moving on. Focusing on Johnny. Just carrying on as usual.
But he hadn’t been. Between Johnny’s catatonic state and the bruises that Makarov had left behind, and the fact that Gaz kept having to go back to the apartment, alone, to get new clothes or things he needed… He had been falling apart at the seams, disguising it all as being worried for Johnny.
And only Simon - Simon, of all people - had taken a moment to stop him in his tracks and ask the damning question.
Are you alright?

“Are you okay? Sir?”

He snapped back to the forefront of his mind. The barista was blinking at him through thick eyeliner, a set of bold silverish-grey eyes staring through him. Those eyes were… He’d never seen eyes like that before. His lips twitched as he realised that he was just staring at the barista, dumbly.

“Oh - sorry. In a world of my own,” Gaz laughed sheepishly.

“No worries,” The barista smiled politely, “What can I get for you?”

“Uhm - I… Cappuccino, latte, black coffee and… two teas please,” Gaz reeled off, already pulling his wallet out, “All large, if you don’t mind.”

“Wow, tall order,” The barista’s American accent rolled out easily.

The young man had a strange way of sounding completely uninterested, despite saying things that didn’t need to be said - Kyle watched him, intrigued, as he punched the order into a tablet, examining his tan face and the thick brows that hooded those strange eyes.

“Contacts?”

The barista’s gaze twitched up - he paused for a moment, then shrugged with a subtle smile, “Nope.”

“Those can’t be your real eyes.”

“Real as can be,” The barista looked back down at his tablet, “That porn stache real?”

Gaz’s eyes flew open at the jab. He found himself lost for words.

“Sorry, if I offended you. I didn’t mean - I just - well - I didn’t mean they were bad,” Kyle stammered out, completely taken aback, “They’re nice eyes - I like them - I just-”

“You like my eyes, pretty boy?”

All words died in his throat in a pathetic squeak that he just barely managed to suppress behind his pursed lips. He couldn’t muster anything. Not when those titanium eyes had him pinned down. He saw a smile slowly curl across the American’s face, his head tilting back slightly as if he were sizing Garrick up.

“I like your porn stache,” He teased, flashing a pair of dazzlingly sharp canines.

Garrick was dead. He had died - and gone to heaven - and crashed right back down into his body - and died again. He said nothing, simply, turning away and scooting to the end of the counter to wait for his drinks. He might have worried about the barista feeling ignored if he didn’t hear the low gravelly chuckle that followed him. God, that laugh.
The wait was unbearably long. Suddenly Kyle wished his family was blowing up his phone, so he had something else to stare at other than the wallpaper, or the barista. Who also kept flashing glances at him as he prepared the drinks.
He wasn’t used to being flirted with. Or, rather, he wasn’t used to being flirted with when he was alone. When he and Johnny went out on the pull - or just an optimistic pub crawl - he was often too busy babysitting drunk-horny-Johnny to really entertain the prying eyes that landed on himself. They were just drunk, he’d reason, they weren’t actually interested in him.
But this man was sober.
He hoped, at least.
And here he was. All smiles, teases, and flirting.
The barista eventually turned around, sliding a to-go-bag of coffees across the counter. Gaz had, once again, tried presenting his card to pay, but the barista just shook his head, batting it away.

“This is - like - five drinks,” Gaz laughed, sheepishly, “I can’t not pay.”

“Meh. I’m quitting tomorrow anyway,” The barista shrugged, “Besides. Pretty boys shouldn’t have to pay for their own drinks.”

He was dead.

“You can’t just - what is wrong with you?”

The barista chuckled again, leaning over the counter and resting on his elbows, “What’s wrong with me?”

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“Nope.”

Oh god.

“I… w-well…”

“Russ.”

“Sorry?”

The barista held out his hand, “My name. Russ. Well - it’s not - but it’s what you can call me.”

Garrick swallowed, taking his hand, shakily, “Gaz.”

“Gaz?”

“Well - it’s not my name. But… yeah, that’s what you can call me.”

He had hoped it would come out smoother, and playful, the way Russ had said it. But he cringed as he heard the snide tone of his own voice. He couldn’t help it. Nobody ever spoke to him like this. Maybe he was just fucking with him? Maybe he was just trying to pass the time? He probably wasn’t actually interested in-

“Can I call you?”

Fuck.

“Fuck. I mean-” He choked, “Uh y-yeah.”

Russ laughed again, before staring at Gaz expectantly. Gaz stared back. He wasn’t sure what to do or say from here. So, he nodded with a polite smile - glanced down at his to-go-bag - picked it up, and turned to leave, before he heard a dramatic sigh behind him.

“Gaz?”

“Yeah?” He stammered, stopping in his tracks.

“Your number?”

“Oh!” He almost dropped the bag, before spinning on his heel and marching back to the counter.
***

Grandad: Hello, Kyle.
Grandad: Oh my. That is not very good, is it? I am glad you’re okay. We will talk more about this when you come home. I won’t tell your mother, but it is important that she knows. So please do tell her. The family says they love you lots and lots like jelly tots.
Grandad: Love, grandad.

Kyle shook his head softly, kicking the door closed behind him. He clicked off of the message and scrolled up to his most recent message.

Russ: Hey pretty boy ;)

Gaz: Messaging me already? Only just left the store. Desperate?

Russ: Have you seen yourself? Of course I am :)

Oh god - oh fuck - fucking dying - can’t breath-

“Kyle. Why are you standing there like a muppet? Come sit down, son.”

Lifting his gaze from his phone, he caught Price’s eyes. The man was sat down on the sofa, TV remote in hand as he flicked through the different channels. Johnny sat at his side, looking a little brighter than Gaz had seen him over the last week or so. Simon and Nik were loitering in the kitchen, making breakfast for everyone. The kettle boiled to a low hum and Nik was just about to start pouring out drinks.

“Don’t bother,” Kyle spoke up, holding the bag up.

He earned cheers from the men, as Nik muttered something about ‘wasting beans’ under his breath. By the time they’d all gathered in the living room, taking their seats, Gaz had already placed the cups down in front of everyone. He took his own seat on the arm next to Johnny, so he could run his hands through the sorry excuse of a mohawk. Johnny smiled up at him.

“You’re chipper,” The Scotsman whispered, his voice a little dry with the early morning.

“I’m normal,” Came Gaz’s quick squeaky retort.

Price, Ghost and Johnny all threw him a strange look.

“What?” He demanded, his voice breaking again, “I’m normal. I’m always like this.”

“Something happen, lad?” Price pressed, looking unconvinced.

“No,” Gaz lied.

Bzzzz.
He averted his gaze from the group, glancing down at the phone in his hand.

Russ: Sorry if I’m scaring you off. Was just wondering if I could buy you something stronger than a latte some time?

And that stupid smile spread across his face.

“Who is it?”

The phone was snatched from his hand before he could stop it. A split second look. That’s all Johnny got. The tiniest glimpse. It’s all it took. He scrambled to snatch the phone back as Johnny stared up at him with a near manic-smile.

“You’ve got a boyfriend?”

“No!” His voice cracked again - and he cursed his nerves, “No - he’s not a boyfriend! He’s just a fucking guy, John. And he has this eyes - oh god his eyes - and - fuck you! Okay? It’s none of your business!”

Johnny burst into laughter, watching Kyle’s face turn a deep red, sweat forming on his temple. Kyle curled up on the arm of the sofa, wishing he really was dead. He shielded his phone from view as he tried to punch in some sort of coherent response. He pretended not to feel the eyes of his friends on him, as a response came in. And he died - again.

You: Maybe? I do like cocktails. But I’m not easy, Russ. Don’t be expecting anything on a first date.

Russ: It’s a date then? :)
Russ: Lucky me.
Russ: And don’t worry. None of the good ones are easy.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

“Oh – of course!” The voice rang out from the car, strained from the tedious work, “I think it’s something every man deals with at least once in their life, no?”

Alejandro was laid flat on his back, tinkering with the underside of the car. Anyone else, by now, would have told Farah ‘go away, I’m busy’ - but then, that’s why she had come to Alejandro. Well. That and the fact that she knew Ale was so uninterested in the lives of others, her questions wouldn’t get around to anyone else. Maybe Rudy, of course; but Alejandro was usually so wrapped up in other things, he likely wouldn’t remember the ins-and-outs of this conversation, so nothing would get back to Alex.
Farah was quiet for quite some time, just watching Alejandro focus on his work. She couldn’t help but admire his persistence. He’d been water-boarded by oil twice, because the valve kept coming loose - and he had worked his fingers raw, to the point she would be surprised if he could even feel them anymore. Then again, she had seen Alejandro’s hands before, fingers thick with callouses, always covered in oil or grease or whatever else he was rolling around in all day. She wouldn’t be surprised if this was just ‘light work’ for him. Which is probably why she hadn’t been told to ‘fuck off’ just yet.

“Every man?”

“Hm,” He hummed, thoughtfully, “Si. Every man.”

Her lips tugged down, “Even the ones who were raised differently?”

Alejandro slipped out from beneath the car, popping his spine left to right for a moment, before turning to look up at her, “Si. It takes a village, no? Even if their parents may be a little more… liberating, there’s still their friends, tutors, the media. Every man - at least once in his life - questions: what does it take to be a man? Or, am I manly enough?”

She gnawed her lower lip, leaning back against the worktop. Her own khakis had been splashed in oil and old paint - and now varnish from atop the workshop. Her eyes flickered away from Ale, over to Konig and Horangi who were standing at the front of the shop, tinkering with some of the tools hung upon brackets. She suppressed a smile, as Konig accidentally knocked a wrench off of the wall - panicked - threw his arm out to catch it and knocked over a box of useless old exhausts. He slowly craned his head up to look at Alejandro, who just rubbed his temple in a ‘lord, give me strength’ type way.

“Did you?”

Alejandro lowered his hand, looking back at Farah, “Huh?”

“You said every man. You questioned it, yourself?”

The older man pursed his lips, his mind stammering over memories of his father lecturing him over what it took to be a real man. And, in his father’s defense, he wasn’t completely wrong. Courage. Persistence. Responsibility. All good traits to have. But then there were the other parts of being a man. Never showing weakness. Do everything yourself. Take care of your wife - not partner, not husband - wife. Because what else would a man need?

He brushed sweat from his brow, shrugging, “Si.”

“And Rudy?”

“Of course,” Alejandro almost barked out laughing, “Him - probably more than I. He struggled a lot with his ‘masculinity’. His parents were constantly breathing down his neck for being… Un chico sensible.”

She perked her brow, uncertainly.

“A sensitive boy,” Alejandro raised his own brow, as if sharing some sort of secret with her.

She scoffed, now, “Rudy? Sensitive?”

In all her time she had known Rudy, she wouldn’t have exactly used the word ‘sensitive’ to describe him. If she didn’t think Alejandro would have torn her head off for it, she’d have gone as far as calling Rudy a bitch. He was either way too interested in your business, or could not careless. He was abrupt and snarky – on more than one occasion she had to bite her tongue whilst Rudy carried on about how ‘unhealthy’ her hair was, and how she would be ‘so much prettier’ if she just let him style it a little bit. She would sit and listen to him gossip to clients about other people’s business as if it were his own. There had even been one time - when she had first started working for Alejandro, and sliced her hand open on a jagged shard of metal - that Rodolfo had found her snivelling and told her ‘don’t cry, paloma, you are not a pretty cryer’. She had been so stunned by the apathy, that she had - in fact - stopped crying, just blinking back at him slack-jawed. At which point he gently tapped her chin closed, smiled, and walked off, like he had fixed all her problems.
So - no - she didn’t think Rudy was a ‘sensitive boy’.

Alejandro chuckled again at her clear disagreement, “They did not mean it in the way that you mean it. They were worried that their son was a… Well, they thought he was gay.”

She raised her brows higher, “He… is.”

“Really?” Alejandro rolled his eyes, “You know - I wish he’d have told me. As his husband, I really should know these things.”

She batted his shoulder, earning a sly smirk from him. After a moment of wiping down his hands, he leaned back against the work top, beside her. He had begun wiping down his hands with a grubby old cloth - that was more hole than cloth - only succeeding in smearing more car-juices across his calloused palms.

“They used to always compare him to me. Oh - they thought the world of me. Alejandro’s so strong, so powerful, demands so much more of people. Why can’t you be more like Ale? Heh…” He elbowed Farah in her ribs, flashing her a devious look, “If only they knew the things I was doing with their son behind closed doors, ey?”

“Ale!” Farah grimaced.

The man barked out laughing, clapping her back and squeezing her into a side hug. She couldn’t help but smile at him, however. It was something she had always enjoyed about Alejandro: his closeness, when he allowed people to get close. It was as if a switch went off in his head. He’d spend days - or weeks - keeping people at arms-length, grunting, rolling his eyes, grimacing and snapping. Then one day, he’d wake up and decide that he was friends with a person. From then on, it was nudging and grinning and sharing inside jokes, like they’d been lifelong pals. Just like how he had been with Farah.
She had thought it would be hell, working for Alejandro. The man was cold and distant, often losing his temper and berating her over the smallest mistakes. But around two months into her employment, he just suddenly turned into… someone new. Someone she wanted to make proud. He had begun complimenting her attention to detail, praising how efficient she was with the tools she was given, openly admiring her no-bullshit attitude towards asshole customers. And, honestly? There was nowhere else in the world she would rather work.
When he finally released her, he shoved his hands back into his pocket, smiling down at the floor like he was lost in thought.

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a ‘good man’. It’s as much of a fantasy as a ‘good woman’. Both leave a bad taste in my mouth,” He cocked his head, glancing back at her, “Being a good person should be enough, no?”

She paused, before nodding - and without thinking, the words just slipped from her mouth, “He is a good person.”

She tightened her lips - he blinked at her. There was a silence between them, but enough was said. She could see the discretion in his eyes. An unspoken promise. I won’t tell. And what more could she do, but believe him?

“I’m… there’s this man-”

“Alex.”

She glared at him, and he raised his hands, defensively. With a knowing smile, he folded his arms and fell quiet, to listen to her plight.

“This man. He’s so kind and sweet, but-” She tried to find the right words, “He keeps pulling away. Like every time I try to talk to him about how he feels, or how I feel, he… turns off. He broke down the other day. It’s the first time I’ve seen him be anything but ‘fine’, and now? It’s like he’s avoiding me. Which is really awkward, because he lives with me.”

Alejandro nodded, slowly, rubbing his beard, “He’s embarrassed? He feels - uhm - im… unmanned?”

“Emasculated.”

He clicked his fingers, “Emasculated.”

“I can understand why. The way he was raised, I mean. My father is an emotional man. He taught us to cry when we needed to, to shout if we had to, and laugh when we could. Even still, my own brother is a very… unresponsive man,” She rubbed her arms, staring down at the floor, “If my brother is that way, despite my father’s encouragement, I can only imagine the way Al- ahem - this man must feel. But… understanding the problem doesn’t mean I know how to fix it.”

Alejandro made a disapproving sound, “Farah - you break an old mechanic's heart. You can fix everything, by understanding the problem.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “I’m not sure. I’ve tried to. I try every day. I ask him if he’s okay - he says he’s fine. I tell him to talk to me - he says he’s fine. But he just won’t talk. He’s like a car - filled with fuel, ready to go - but every time I turn the key. Just… nothing.”

They were silent again, as Alejandro mulled this over. This is why he became a mechanic and not a therapist. Cars were like people in all ways but one. They needed fuel, they needed rest, they needed maintenance. But cars didn’t have souls. They didn’t have minds. They didn’t feel or hurt or lie. Cars either worked - or they didn’t. And nine times out of ten, if the car wasn’t flashing or sputtering or stalling, the car worked. Humans were different. They were cunning and deceitful. They didn’t flash or hiss. Most human’s breakdowns were quiet and indiscernible from a ‘bad day’.
But they still crashed. Still broke down. Still needed ‘fixing’.
Or, sometimes - on the very rare occasion - they just needed time.

“Have you considered… maybe you need to leave him?”

Farah’s head whipped around, her eyes wide, “We’re not - I’m - He’s… we’re not together! And even if we were, if I were with him I wouldn’t just leave him! Ale, that’s terrible!”

“No, no,” He laughed, shaking his head, “I mean leave him. You said he broke down, no? And when he did, what did you do? Did you scream at him? Tell him to stop crying? Hurt him in any way?”

“No,” She scowled, “Of course not.”

“No. You probably stayed with him. Comforted him. Told him everything would be okay,” The mechanic shrugged, looking away, “Perhaps that’s all it takes. I know it must be difficult, trying to decipher when he’s ‘fine’ from when he’s actually fine. But everybody has good days, just like the bad ones. Maybe sometimes he really is… fine.”

She scrunched her lips up, glaring at the floor. Alejandro watched her, sympathetic.

“The best you can do is wait for another crash. And when you show him that he can cry - he can be vulnerable - he can trust you - he will learn to be okay. He might even learn when to tell you when he’s not,” He ran a hand through his hair, “Until then, leave him. Allow him to breathe. Allow him to navigate whatever’s going on inside his mind. Just because he can’t always communicate how he’s feeling, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. He’s probably just… confused. It takes time, Farah. You can’t undo years of silence, with one conversation.”

She listened in silence, nodding softly. When the quiet came between them, Alejandro shifted his gaze back to Horangi and Konig. The pair were just outside of the shop now; Horangi was leaning against the shutters, watching as Konig carried in a tire (definitely not trying to show off to his boyfriend). He imagined this sort of conversation would have been better left to them. Farah, had she known them better, would probably have turned to them for advice, before she came to Alejandro. Horangi would know a lot more about the crushing weight of social expectation, considering his pride. Konig would have known more about suffering in silence, considering he would literally rather starve half to death than actually ask for help. Even still, Alejandro could only hope he had done a good enough job. His hopes were lifted, when he heard Farah sigh, content.

“You know… you would make a good father, Ale,” She looked up at him, “With advice like that. Your sons and daughters will be lucky.”

“Ay!” He threw her a look, “Do not let Rudy here you talk of such things! I managed to sate him with a cat, for now, and even she is a pain in my ass!”

Farah cackled, “You don’t want kids?”

“Ehh,” He made an uncertain gesture with his hand, “I am happy with what I have in front of me, here and now. Children - I do love them - but from a distance. I like the ones that I can send home when they start asking annoying questions.”

She chuckled again, shaking her head at him, “Well. You didn’t send me home.”

He paused, staring back at her for a moment, before shrugging, “Well… you’re a friend. It’s my responsibility to help you, no?”

“No,” She shook her head again, “And even if it were, it’s a father’s responsibility to teach his children. I think you’d make a better father than you realise.”

He furrowed his brow, a little taken aback by the sentiment. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, something caught his eyes: specifically, the bright flash of a soldering iron. He sighed, exasperated and pushed himself off of the work top. Farah could only grin as she watched her boss charge over, berating Konig and Horangi in a language they didn’t understand, as Horangi sheepishly set the iron down, nearly setting the wooden work bench alight. She shook her head at the scene, her arms folded over her chest. He really did look like a father.

Chapter Text

“My everything hurts,” Konig whimpered, kicking at the gravel beneath his feet, “My hands feel like string.”

“We’re almost home, 왕,” Horangi sighed, his own jelly-like arm wobbling to meet Konig’s back.

Despite the burning against his shredded palm, he massaged the coarse material of Konig’s khaki jumpsuit. He couldn’t help the soft smile on his face as he did, recalling the sad look on Konig’s face when he had first tried putting it on. The material hugged him in all the wrong places, pinning his arms against his ribs, and the cuffs riding up his arms and legs. Feeling sorry for him, Alejandro had provided him another jumpsuit; so really, Konig was just wearing two jumpsuits tied together - and even then the zipper was straining against his chest.
If that wasn't an incentive for Horangi to tear it off as soon as they got home, the soft sound Konig made as his back was rubbed certainly was.

“When we get home, I’ll help get all those knots out of your shoulder,” He mumbled, kissing the man’s upper arm.

Konig caught his eye, flushing softly, “Maybe we could run the bath?”

The smaller man hesitated, looking uncertain. They were only in their first week of employment. They had a couple more to go before either of them were paid, so they were still a little… frugal, with the amount of energy they used. Even still, he couldn’t deny the idea of slipping into a warm bath with his boyfriend, after a long day of sweating away… it was awfully appealing.
He nudged closer, rubbing the scarred side of his face against his boyfriend’s arm.

“That sounds wonderful, 왕,” He whispered, “Then I can give you a full body massage, hm?”

Konig had turned crimson by now, looking away, “You shouldn’t talk like that in public.”

“Is it so wrong? Wanting everyone to know that I get to touch you like that?” His hand slid to the small of the man’s back.

“Horangi!” Konig stiffened, stopping in place, “What has gotten into you, Tiger?”

Honestly. Horangi wasn’t sure, either. Neither of them were particularly fond of PDA; they were only really touchy with one another in the comfort of their own bed. But, then, Horangi had been stagnant for so long. He had spent countless days sitting in bed, scrolling through job offers that went nowhere, or taking photos out of their window. He never really had the energy or motivation to be overly affectionate; never managing more than a soft kiss or gentle petting. If he was completely honest, his own self worth had plummeted around that time, and it felt wrong to throw himself over his doting boyfriend, who had been working hard for them all day.
Now? Now there was life flowing through him. He had got out of the house - actually done a nine to ten hour shift - actually done anything at all with his day. He had earned his keep today, alongside the man he loved. And he'd be damned if he didn’t feel good.

“I just…” He shrugged, leaning against his giant, “I want to be close to you.”

Konig paused, his eyes flickering over Horangi’s face. He had never been a bold man. People often assumed he was - because of his gait and height. But, in most ways, Konig was withdrawn and meek because of his stature. Too often he’d been ‘knocked down a peg’, just because his presence was so swallowing. For these reasons alone, he never liked making a spectacle of himself. He strayed from anything that would draw too much attention: be that speaking too loud, moving too much or putting on a public display. That included PDA.
Even still, he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at Horangi’s attention. Like himself, Horangi was rather proud and had an air about him. It was endearing, to say the least, that the man was so willing to drop that air, just so he could touch Konig. Make him feel wanted.
So… slowly, his hand slipped over the dip of the smaller man’s waist, hoisting him a little closer. And he held him like that as they walked. He tried not to think about the people passing them by - and what they must have thought of him, holding another man so shamelessly. After a few streets passed, it felt natural. Just to hold his boyfriend - a bright beacon emitting ‘he is mine’ in the eyes of those who looked upon them.
He felt Horangi’s hand slip a little lower.

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

The hand returned to the small of his back.

Chapter Text

Johnny let out the softest of sound, as he felt soft lips brushing against his throat. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he managed to just barely crack them open and find a set of opal brown eyes staring back at him. He couldn’t help the smile that cracked across his sleepy face - as Simon’s lips moved to meet his own.

“Sorry, doll,” He whispered, his voice deep and gravelly, “Thought you were already awake.”

Johnny didn’t answer, just slipping his arm over the man’s neck and pulling him down atop of him. He could feel Simon smirking into his jaw as he settled his full weight down on the man with ease.

“Are you feeling any better today?”

He contemplated the question for a moment - it was clear that he was much better than he had been a day or two prior. He was sleeping again; he’d had showered; Simon made sure he got out of bed at least once a day; Price had been cooking for him, which was sweet of him. Especially considering the last time they had spoken properly, Johnny had blown up in his face. He hadn’t quite known what to expect when returning back to the real world and having to deal with the consequences of what he left behind. Screaming in people’s faces, breaking down in public, opening up old wounds. Literally.
But - so far, everyone has been so… kind. Patient. Gentle.
It sometimes made him uneasy, watching Price, Nik, Rudy and Ale tiptoe around him like a hair-trigger bomb ready to blow. But, he had to admit, he preferred it over them sinking their teeth into him - or tearing him a new one for how stupidly he’d behaved.

“Aye, love. Not like I could get worse.”

Simon chuckled, kissing under his chin, forcing his head to crane back, “Well, if that’s your lowest, Johnny, you’re gonna be a cakewalk.”

“Wow. Ta,” Johnny threw him an unimpressed look, “My breakdown not low enough for you?”

Simon snorted, his own words hitting him a moment too late, “Johnny.”

“No - seriously, Si! What a prick!” Soap sank down in the bed, folding his arms with a scowl.

“I just meant that, I’ve seen your low point now. And we got through it,” He ran his hand through Johnny’s hair, “You got through it.”

“Aye. And you threw water over me. Cunt.”

“And you brought up Gary. Double cunt.”

They stared at one another for a long moment. Johnny was the first to crack - he tried to purse his lips and suppress the noise, but the laughter tumbled out of him, victorious. Simon paused, before joining him. He leaned forwards, shaking his head as his hands cupped Johnny’s cheeks.

“What am I gonna do with you, ey?”

“Love me - forever and ever and ever,” Johnny flashed a teasing grin, “I’m like a curse me - once you have me, I never leave.”

“Well - I’m royally fucked then, aren’t I? I’ve had you more than once.”

“Simon!” Johnny hit his chest, looking less than impressed, “I’m trying to be cute; stop being such a whore!”

With a smirk, Simon snatched up the hand that had beaten against his chest - he pressed it against the headboard leaning over Johnny with a sly look to his darkened eyes. Johnny stared back up at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“Your fault, Johnny boy,” Simon whispered against his lips, “Only you that makes me act up like this.”

He swallowed, lifting his head to try and catch one of Simon’s kisses; but the man pulled away, grinning deviously as he did. He used his freehand to hold Johnny’s head down by his jaw - nothing too aggressive or forceful, but just enough that Johnny understood he wasn’t to move from where Simon held him. Simon’s lips navigated over new flesh, growing over areas that Johnny’s nails had stripped it from.
He ran his tongue up his jaw, then kissed over red lines embedded into the man’s throat. He felt Johnny jolt at the sensation and paused, waiting to be told to stop. No words came.

“This okay, Johnny?”

“A… aye…” Came the non-committal response.

His eyes twitched up and he found Johnny’s shoulder’s hunched, lips squeezed shut as he stared up at the ceiling. After the stagnation drew on too long, Johnny’s eyes snapped back down to him.

“Si?”

“Where do you want me, love?”

“W-wha-”

Simon shifted his weight, so he could rest his lips against Johnny’s chest, “Is here okay?”

“Everywhere. Everywhere’s fine, Si,” Johnny laughed, nervously - this was bizarre, “I’m yours, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, softly, as he climbed back up the trunk of the man’s body, until they were head to head once more, “And I take care of what’s mine, Johnny. You didn’t like it when I kissed your neck. Usually it drives you wild… I’m assuming it’s the scratches?”

The Scotsman turned pink, his eyes darting away. He didn’t like how easily Simon seemed to just crack the case open. Like the scratches in his skin were some sort of secret message that only Simon could decipher.

“I want you to be comfortable, Johnny. I want you to feel good,” Simon whispered, kissing the man under his jaw and nipping at the skin softly, “So tell me where to kiss you - I’ll kiss you all over if I can, but that’s up to you.”

“I just…” Johnny looked away, his cheeks hot, “I’m…”

“Are you not into it?”

“What?”

“If you want to stop, I’ll stop,” Simon rested their foreheads together, “We don’t have to do anything.”

“No - I want to! I do, it’s just…” He gnawed his lower lip, “Well, with everything that’s been going on recently…”

“You’re not in the mood?”

“No, I - just - I-”

“Johnny,” Simon furrowed his brow, “It’s alright, babe. If you’re not in the mood, you’re not in the mood. It’s okay. You’re not gonna be up for it one-hundred-percent of the time. That’s fine.”

Johnny felt guilt eat at him. He cast his glance down between them, trailing his hand down Simon’s torso, “Y-you can still… y’know, if you want.”

Simon stared at him, looking incredulous - and slightly insulted, “Nah, I’ll pass. I prefer my partners to be active participants.”

The guilt deepened. Johnny chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t quite sure where to take it from here. He could tell Simon was in the mood, but after everything that happened recently, between the anxiety and the exhaustion, Johnny just wasn’t all too keen on it at the moment. But did that make him a bad boyfriend? Leaving Simon to fend for himself, because Johnny couldn’t get his shit together?
He thought back to how things had been with Makarov; it was one aspect that was a little easier for them: sex. If Makarov wanted it, they were having sex. It didn’t matter if Johnny felt sick, was tired - or already asleep. Makarov got what he wanted.
Johnny wasn’t stupid. He knew how immoral it was; but it worked for them. Or rather, it worked for Makarov. And when Makarov was happy, they both were. So yeah, in some twisted way, it worked for them.
But Simon was new territory. Simon had been insulted by the idea of pleasing himself on Johnny, without Johnny’s participation in pleasing himself. Simon was horny - Johnny wasn’t - Johnny wanted to please Simon - but Simon wouldn’t let him unless Johnny was actually into it.
He considered, for a moment, faking it out. Letting Simon use him and pretending to be just as into it as Simon was. But something told him Simon would catch on - and be very, very displeased if he did. Besides, he couldn’t just lie to Simon about something like that. He shifted so he was sitting up, forcing Simon to straddle him as they rose.
He knew there was really only one thing he could do.
Makarov had been complicated. He never told Johnny what he wanted - he either took it from him, or made Johnny guess, punishing him when he got it wrong.
But Simon wasn’t like that. Johnny hoped at least. He knew, despite everything he learned from being with Makarov, he wasn’t alone in this relationship. Simon wasn’t an enemy that Johnny had to navigate and fight to understand. He was just Simon. He was his.

“I… don’t know what to do,” Johnny whispered, looking uncertain.

Simon paused, cocking his head as he looked down at his lover, “What do you mean, love?”

“I don’t want to leave you high and dry, but…” He dipped his head against Simon’s collarbone, “I really don’t feel sexy right now.”

“You’re always sexy,” Simon sighed, stroking his face, “But I know what you mean. Johnny. You’re mine - but your body will always be yours. You have every right to tell me when you don’t want to be touched-”

“But-”

“No, buts, Johnny,” Simon shook his head, “I’m not an animal - I don’t need sex. And you certainly don’t owe me your body. Alright? Do you want to have sex?”

Johnny hesitated, shaking his head.

“Then that’s the end of it,” He rested his temple against Johnny’s, “No ifs, buts or maybes. Just a no.”

There was a long pause between them as Johnny soaked Simon’s words up. A no. No excuses. No ‘I’m tired’, no ‘I feel sick’, no ‘maybe another night’. No need to lie. No need to hide away. No precautions necessary. If Johnny didn’t want to be touched, all he needed to say was ‘no’.
It was that easy?
He felt his throat tighten. He had to cling to Simon, praying the man didn’t move. All Simon would have to do is look up - and he’d see the tears filling Johnny’s eyes, the way his lip trembled, the way his face contorted into an ugly expression as he tried to stop himself from crying.
But Simon didn’t need to look up. He felt the way Johnny’s chest spasmed as he suppressed a sob. He heard the shaky breathing, felt the tension as he clung to him. He wrapped his arms around the man, pulling him impossibly closer as he cradled his head, lovingly.

“God, Johnny… what shit have you been through?” He whispered, more to himself than to John.

Johnny buried his face in Simon’s neck, letting his breath fall out of him in trembling clusters as he seeked out his touch. Something to ground him, remind him that this was real - that Simon wasn’t just some dream he had conjured to give the memories of Makarov at bay. But he was there. Johnny could feel him, touch him, smell his cologne and the warm, fresh laundry scent on his hoodie. He could just have him like this, against him, telling him everything was okay, for as long as he needed. Simon was a dream - yes - but he was the sort of dream you could hold. And Johnny would hold him as tight as he had ever held onto anything before.

“I’m sorry, I’m not up for it,” Johnny whispered, his nails digging into the plush hoodie on Simon’s back, “I promise I will be soon.”

“You don’t have to promise me shit, Johnny. You’re worth the wait,” Simon slowly craned them back, so that Johnny was laying on top of him, head against his chest, “And even if you swear it off completely, I’m not with you for your body… But it is a bonus.”

Johnny laughed, playfully hitting his chest again, “Idjit… I love you, Simon.”

Simon’s heart exploded in his chest. He tried to suppress the smile that fell over his face, burying it into Johnny’s overgrown, slumped mohawk.

“Love you too, Soap.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea?” John asked, leaning against the doorframe.

His eyes scanned over the room, making a disapproving sound as his gaze found the rage-eaten door swinging from the hinges with a sickening whine. He couldn’t help but think about Kyle, shaking in the corner of his room whilst that monster… Price was just thanking what few Gods he believed in that the fucker didn’t have a weapon.
Kyle, who was busy packing up his things for the south, turned to look over his shoulder at Price. He wrinkled his nose, thinking for a moment, before shrugging.

“Yeah, course. Everyone needs to go back to their roots at one point or another.”

“He didn’t seem all too pleased about it,” Price rubbed his beard, shuffling further into the living room, taking a seat on the arm of the couch, “Seems like you were fighting tooth and nail to get him to agree.”

“Ah, yeah. Johnny’s always been like that. Was rearing to get out of his parent’s house since he was a kid.”

“They good people?”

“Oh yeah. Don’t worry about Johnny, Price. His parents are class,” Straightening up, Kyle unfolded a shirt, glanced it over, then refolded it and stuffed it into his suitcase.

“Only… well… you heard what Mak said. About Johnny’s…”

“We’ve talked about this. He said a lot of shit to get in your head,” Gaz began zipping his suitcase up, “He doesn’t know shit about Johnny’s parents. Johnny never talks about them - definitely not to that fucker.”

“Why doesn’t he talk about them, then?” Price queried, plucking the suitcase from Gaz’s grasp and beginning to roll it out into the hallway.

“There’s nowt much to talk about,” The younger man made a dismissive gesture; he couldn’t help but smile at the way Price had taken his suitcase from him, without putting much thought into it. He just followed behind the man, hands shoved into his pockets, “Dad’s a working man - mum’s stay-at-home. Has three older sisters. They’re all raised Catholic… That’s about it really.”

Price hummed, shoving the suitcase into the boot of the car and slamming it shut. He seemed lost in thought as he made his way around the car. Gaz watched the older man as he strapped himself in. He could tell, despite Gaz’s constant reassurances that Makarov had been ‘spouting shit’, Price was still a little anxious around the whole situation. It didn’t surprise Gaz; Makarov had a terrifying way of leaving an impression on someone. He had certainly left an impression on Gaz and Johnny - even physical ones on Simon and himself. But the impression it had left on Price seemed… deeper. Maybe it was because he had attacked Price at his core - bringing up his obvious love for his boys. Making it something perverse and twisted. Maybe it was because this was more personal; the man had abused Price’s husband for years before Price knew who either of them were. Maybe it was just because Makarov had hurt all four of Price’s boys now: Nik, Johnny, Simon and Gaz. And Price wasn’t one to let shit like that slide.

“Didn’t know our Johnny’s Catholic,” Price said after a little while, starting the engine up.

“Oh - I don’t think he is?” Gaz cocked his head, “He never really speaks about religion. I always just assume he’s an atheist.”

“Hm… Well I can’t imagine the church would be all that cozy for a boy like Johnny - what with the mohawk and piercings and six-foot-tall-masked-maniac following him around like a lost puppy?” Price chuckled.

“Tell me about it. You should have seen his mum’s reaction when he first came out to her,” Gaz turned his gaze out of the window, watching granite streets pass them by in flickers.

“Thought you said she’s decent?”

“She is - they both are. It just… it took them a while to get used to, you know?” Gaz looked back at Price now, sympathy lacing his gaze, “They’re all raised to believe one thing, and then someone they love goes against the grain and… who could blame’m for being a little wary.”

Price shook his head, making a sound of discontent, “Never understood the religious lot. Why does other people’s business bother them so much? Why does it matter to them if some bloke wants to get it on with another?”

“Well…” Gaz looked uncertain suddenly, “I mean… this sort of thing isn’t the sort of thing you can just spring on someone. It wasn’t just gonna change Johnny’s life, it change the family too.”

Price wrinkled his nose, “Ey? How’s that then?”

“I mean - it just does, doesn’t it? Johnny had to change his name - his sisters started calling him brother - parents started calling him son. Had to start asking his dad for advice on certain things, rather than his mum. Hell, his parents raised a house of girls - and now they’ve got this son that they never knew they had-”

“Oh.”

Gaz paused, looking back at Price, just to see the dawning on his face. There was a silence between them as things began clicking into place.

“He never told you?”

“Never came up, did it? Not right interested in what’s in people’s pants these days. There’s enough between me and Nik - not arsed about anyone else,” Price shrugged, “I can see why that’d be a shock to any parent, though. Religious or not.”

“Well - it certainly gave his mum a start. Not his dad, funnily enough,” Gaz smiled, fondly, “They fought a lot at first - didn’t speak to each other for a long time. But… the day came when Johnny got his first surgery, and his mum and dad were right by his side. Telling him how proud they were - how sorry they were for missing out on seeing him become the man he is - how much they love their little boy. So… yeah, they made mistakes. But they’re decent.”

Price hesitated, before nodding slowly, “I suppose. As long as they’re making up for it.”

“Course. They’re chuffed to have him home,” Gaz chuckled, “It’s dragging our Johnny’s arse back down south that’s the difficult part.”

Price chuckled - he was about to find something witty to say about taking Simon along with them, and Johnny being attached at the hip - but he was cut off when Gaz suddenly squeaked and reclined his chair so he was hidden under the car windows. Price furrowed his brow, staring at Gaz like he’d just gone mad. Gaz didn’t offer up an explanation, just making vague gestures for Price to ‘move the fucking car’ - which Price couldn’t do. Because they were in traffic. Furrowing his brow, Price looked beyond the window. Outside, a young man in a thick leather jacket with curly black hair and eyes comparable to lightning, leaned against the wall of an old antiques shop, smoking as he scrolled through his phone.
Price paused, the conversation from a couple of nights ago resurging in his mind. He remembered Gaz freaking out and snapping at Johnny over some young man in Garrick’s contacts. Gaz stared back at Price… and horror overcame as he saw Price’s moustache raise as he smiled, wickedly.

“Don’t - Price!” Gaz sneered as Price reached over to open the window, “Price - I’ll never forgive you - you fucking fossil!”

The pair struggled for a moment, scrambling as the window opened and closed - Price tried calling out but couldn’t between his chortles and Gaz’s manic screams for him to stop. Then something lit up in Price’s brain, like he suddenly remembered something. His smile widened as he suddenly yanked the wheel to the left, pulling the car up on the curb and punching his palm into the car horn.

“Price-!” Gaz was ejected forwards, as Price pushed his seat upright.

He stared at his boss, mortified, before Price reached across, rolling the window down.

“Alright, son?” Price was all smiles as he looked past Gaz at–

Gaz turned back around, his cheeks glowing hot, “Hey, Russ.”

“Gaz!” The man chuckled, leaning into the window and grinning toothily at the younger man.

“Oh - you two know each other?” Price feigned surprise, “Well, isn’t that convenient? You know, I was actually just stopping to ask if you know anything fun to do in town? Only, my friend Gaz, here, has a few hours to kill and-”

“Price, oh my God, no,” Gaz whimpered, his head falling forwards into his hands as he shrank in his seat.

“As you can see, he’s very tense,” Price snorted, clapping Gaz’s back.

“Well - I can certainly loosen him up,” Came Russ’s blunt response.

Gaz was sent into orbit, his gaze latching onto Russ’s.
He remembered, once, sitting down to watch Deadpool with his family - his father had always been a huge Marvel fan - and there came a scene (a montage) of Wade Wilson having sex with his girlfriend in several different positions and styles. And he remembered sinking into the sofa, trying to avoid any eye contact with his parents throughout the whole ordeal.
This was worse than that.
Gaz kept his gaze far - far, far, far - away from Price as he let Russ’s words crash over them like a tsunami. For one second - as the silence drew out - he was sure Price was going to start the engine, drive away and forbid Gaz from ever talking to ‘that dirty man’ ever again.

Instead, Price just cleared his throat, “Well - I’ll leave the nitty-gritty to you boys. Garrick?”

Gaz stared back at him, dumbfounded. Price flashed him another look, as if to say ‘get your head in the game’. He didn’t realise he was in any sort of game at all, until he heard the car door open. He glanced back at Russ, who was holding the door open with a gentlemanly smile - one Gaz was sure Price would have approved of, if Russ hadn’t already made his intentions with Gaz so blatantly obvious. Slowly, Gaz climbed out of the car. He felt like a lamb who had just been cast in front of a hungry wolf… by it’s own mother. He managed to throw Price one last accusing glance before Russ had his attention completely.

“You’re not this timid over messages,” He laughed, “I thought maybe you were just nervous at the coffee shop - are you like this all the time?”

“No!” Gaz scowled, on the defensive for reasons even he didn’t understand, “It’s just… You make me a little… nervous.”

“Why? I’m harmless,” Russ smiled - but got that smile was anything but harmless. After a moment, he reached forwards and adjusted Gaz’s hoodie, pulling it closed and zipping it up, “It’s chilly - and we’ll be walking for a while.”

“Where are you taking me?” Gaz asked, trying to hide the fact that he was slightly charmed by the care Russ was taking with him.

“I don’t know yet,” Russ grinned again, “Thought we’d wonder about a bit? I’ll buy us something to eat. When it’s getting late, we’ll go out on the town. Get some drinks. Cocktails. And if you’re up for it, you can come back to mine, and I’ll show you a good time.”

Gaz turned pink, trying not to read too much into the casual invitation, “We’re making a day of it then?”

“Well… it took your friend ambushing me on the sidewalk for you to come talk to me in person,” Russ slipped his hands over Gaz’s waist, “Who knows when I’ll next see you again? Might as well make the most of it. Or at the very least, give you the incentive to come back.”

“Oh…” Gaz hesitated before relaxing slightly, “You’re very confident in yourself, then?”

“Hmm,” Russ hummed, “Sometimes confidence is all you need.”

They met eyes - and, oh god - his eyes. Gaz stared into them, captivated. It felt like staring into some forbidden world. Like his eyes were something incomprehensible. Silvers and greens and whites - he had never seen white in an iris before. It shone like a gem - they just couldn’t be real.

“You boys keep it clean, alright?” Price called from the car, shattering Gaz’s train of thought, “Gaz, do you have protec-”

“Oh my god, Price,” Gaz hissed, “Shut. Up.”

“I’ve got it covered - uh - Price,” Russ nodded his way, patting his back pocket, “But thank you, sir.”

“If you say so,” Price nodded back, then grinned, “Curfews at nine - have him back by eight-thirty.”

“He’s joking,” Gaz laughed, sheepishly, before throwing Price an uncertain look, “You’re joking, right?”

“Have a nice night, boys.”

“Price-!”

And he was gone.

Chapter Text

Hey Guys!

So, a few quick things.

I finally have a coherent ending planned for this story - but it's going to be a while until I get there lol. As it is, there's around 42 chapters left. I know. A lot, yes. But I hope it'll be worth it in the end - I have a very big idea for the ending :)

Posting might not be as regular, as outside of this I have a part time job and University (kill me). But as usual I will try to write at least a chapter a day. Apologies for the irregular posting times, I try to write whenever I have a moment free, but I'm in my final few months of university so the work is coming in troves :(

There will be a sequel - and I know what you're thinking: Moose, why would we need a sequel to a story with over a hundred chapters???
I promise, if the ending of this story lands as well as I hope it does, you're probably going to want a sequel >:D

Also, when this story is finally finished, anything that isn't relevant to the story (Authors notes) will be deleted, because I want the story to just run smoothly.

I would also like to apologise because there might not be a chapter tonight - I was at work all day today and then spent around six hours planning and replanning the rest of this story, so that it's somewhat coherent lol.

Anyway, that being said, I'd like to thank you all again for your wonderful comments and engagement with this story. I know I say it a lot, but you'll never know how much it means to have such wonderful people actually enjoying the things I put out there, especially for my first story.

Love you all so much, and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

~ Moose :)

Chapter Text

“So… why are you in England, then?”

The question came out clunky and unnatural; it was all too obvious that Gaz was grasping at anything to fill the silence. But the poor guy didn’t know what else to point out, other than the stark difference between them; the only thing blatantly obvious about Keegan. His accent. And really who could blame Gaz? He had only met the bastard yesterday!
Russ didn’t seem to mind, sipping his beer for a moment - some sort of Pilsner that Gaz made a mental note to make fun of when they were more comfortable with one another. He swallowed, pondered the question, then shrugged.

“Why are you in England?”

What an odd response.

“I was… born here?” Gaz cocked his head, his brow slightly furrowed, “Were you?”

Russ didn’t answer, mimicking Gaz’s action with a killer smile. Realising the man wasn’t going to respond, Kyle leaned back, folding his arms and taking a moment to fully take in the man; or what little he allowed him to. Russ seemed normal enough - grey shirt under a brown leather jacket, strained blue jeans and thick boots. His hair was a little… outdated - like it had crawled out of the 80s and latched onto Russ’ head like a face-hugger. But Gaz couldn’t help but like it. It was unapologetic and Russ rocked it like he owned it.

“You’re American, right?” Garrick asked, spinning his little umbrella around the cocktail glass.

He wasn’t sure what he was drinking; he’d let Russ order it for him. Stupid, yes, he knew - but he was pretty sure that if Russ had any bad intentions with him, Price had already seen his face and would hunt the fucker down.

“Sure,” The man smiled, softly.

Gaz shifted, uncomfortable, “Why are you being so… opaque?”

Russ laughed now, “Opaque. I like that… We have plenty of time to get to know each other, Gaz. No need to rush.”

“Right - but, it’s not exactly rushing anything, learning where you’re from,” He sighed, leaning forwards again to sip from his straw.

Russ watched him, with a content smile. And Gaz wished, then, that he had his grandfather’s unnatural talent to read minds. Russ seemed so at peace - like nothing could phase him - or that he was completely content in learning and saying nothing at all. As if they could have sat in silence for hours, just watching one another and Russ wouldn’t mind one bit. But Gaz would. Hell, they’d only been sitting down for ten minutes and the younger man was… irritable.

“Yeah. I’m American,” Russ shrugged, when he caught Gaz’s uncertain expression, “I actually came to England… two - three years ago? I was gonna travel the country, but… I don’t know. Maybe I like the Northern accent.”

“Which one?” Gaz cocked a brow.

“The ones’at talk like this,” The American replied in a horrific interpretation of a Yorkshire accent, “Good, eh?”

Gaz pursed his lips, trying his best not to laugh in the man’s face. Russ read right through it, feigning offense.

“I think it’s proper good!” He carried on, “I practised this!”

“Stop - you’re gonna get us mugged,” Gaz grasped his arm without even thinking.

There was a blip in their conversation, Russ’ eyes flicking down to Gaz’s hand on his arm. Gaz followed the gaze - realised - and tried to retract his hand, but the American immediately caught it in his own. They locked gaze’s, Gaz’s face more flushed than it had been five seconds ago.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, you could’ve just said,” Russ teased.

And, again, Gaz felt that awful, wonderful feeling. The sinking and soaring. He hesitated, before offering an experimental squeeze. And Russ squeezed back.

“I like your accent too,” The man turned Gaz’s hand over, gently tracing the lines on his palm, up to his wrist.

“I’m from down South,” Gaz laughed, sheepishly, “Fareham.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s near Portsmouth,” He smiled, fondly, “Gorgeous, it is. Right next to the sea. Beautiful during the summer. Terrifying during sea frets.”

“You wouldn’t find me near the coast,” Russ grimaced.

“What? You scared of a little water?”

“A little water? You mean the fucking ocean? No thanks,” The man grinned, again displaying those sharp pearly whites, “If we were meant for the ocean, God would have given us gills.”

“We had them once.”

“And then we evolved. What were we trying to escape, that’s all I’m saying,” He tittered, his fingers trailing back down to toy with Gaz’s.

“Well - what is it? God or evolution?”

“Well, that’s the big question isn’t it?” They met eyes for a moment, before Russ’ beautiful smile returned, “But when both are telling you to stay the fuck away from the water-”

Gaz snorted, almost shooting his drink out of his nose. Russ watched him with intrigue, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the other man’s laughter. He said nothing as Kyle sputtered, pressing a napkin over his face as he tried to choke out the drink he had inhaled. It would have only taken a glance - from anybody nearby - to figure out Russ was obsessed with that sound. His mind immediately began tripping over itself for ways to hear it again.
When Garrick finally looked up, he felt his heart melt. He hadn’t seen anyone look at him that way before. Of course, yes, he was always surrounded by the warmth and love of his family - his mother, grandfather, siblings. But they had to love him. They were family. And then, of course, there was Johnny. But Johnny could learn to love a lamp post if he hung around it long enough.
Russ was… someone else.
A complete stranger.
And he had sought after Gaz.
It had only been two days - technically even less than that - but he was already looking at Gaz like his world revolved around him. It was… intense.

“So - I have to ask,” The American shifted closer ‘accidentally’ bumping knees with the Brit, “What’s with the - uh…”

He gestured to his own face.
Gaz blinked.

“The bruise?”

“Oh-!” Gaz chortled, “Right. That. Uhm, yeah, I…”

God. Where did he start? The fact that his best friend was being stalked? That his house had been broken into? That he was basically held down and beaten by said stalker? That he had tried not to think about it until he talk to his grandfather?

“Are you just clumsy, or-?”

“No - uh - I… I was, sort of - uhm - attacked?”

Russ’ smooth, charming aura was halted. His mouth fell open, brows knitting together.

“Holy crap. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his freehand, “It’s a long story. Basically - there’s this guy - not as in a guy. He’s my mate’s guy - an ex, I mean and… Right, let me start over.”

Kyle wasn’t sure for how long he spoke for; but Russ listened the entire time, that sweet, concerned face never changing, even as he paused to sip his beer. Kyle’s words were taut and carefully spoken over the gentle lull of others’ conversations and unrecognisable jazz music playing over their heads. He couldn’t pinpoint when Russ had taken his hand again, but when the story was told, he was glad he had. It gave him something to anchor onto - something to reel himself back in on - help him ground himself, as he let out a shaky breath and glanced down at the table.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m so-”

“No,” Russ reached out, gently cupping his cheek, “That sounds so fucking scary. I’m so sorry.”

Gaz’s eyes roved back up, finding Russ’. After a beat, he craned his head into his hand, smiling softly. Russ ran his thumb over the divot between Kyle’s eye and cheek as he mimicked the gentle smile. Then his expression shifted into something a little more guarded. He slowly retracted his hand, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

“I, uh… went through something similar,” He admitted, rubbing the knuckle of Gaz’s thumb, “With an ex of mine. She didn’t stalk me or nothing - but she had a bad habit of… throwing her weight around. I’ve had to lock myself in a room or twice, too.”

“That’s awful,” Gaz frowned, cocking his head.

“Ah, it’s in the past,” Russ shook his head, “Besides - she was a tiny thing. Couldn’t really do any harm. I couldn’t imagine some big Russian son of a bitch breaking my door in.”

“It doesn’t matter how big she was,” Kyle leaned closer, fiddling with a zip on the cuff of Russ’ jacket, “I don’t know what’s worse, a stranger hurting you, or someone you love and trust.”

“Maybe it doesn’t make a difference,” Russ closed the gap further, “I don’t think you truly know what anyone is capable of, until you see them at their worst.”

The background noises faded slightly as Gaz looked up at the man, swallowing softly. It should have been eerie - the way Russ looked at him after saying such an ominous thing. But it wasn’t. He was so disarming. His voice and energy smooth and relaxing like a sedative. Kyle wished he could shake himself, slap himself in the face. Scream that this was probably a dangerous game to play. He didn’t even know this man, for fuck sake, but… but, oh god, he wanted to.

“My name’s Keegan.”

Gaz blinked, his lips parting slightly, “I… I thought-?”

“Russ is my surname. Keegan Russ,” He shrugged, nonchalantly.

A beat, and-

“Kyle. Garrick.”

“Kyle. Hm,” Keegan raised a brow, “I assumed you were a ‘Gary’ or ‘Garret’ or something?”

“Why’s that?”

“My roommate - he said usually the name ‘Gaz’ or ‘Gazzer’ comes from those names,” He shrugged again, looking quizzical.

Kyle couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, “You’ve been talking about me, then?”

“Of course,” That charming grin reappeared on the American’s face, “How could I not?”

“You’re mad, you know that, yeah?” He chuckled, “You have to be cracked to be this… well this, after knowing someone for one day.”

A deep laugh rumbled from Keegan as his hand trailed up Garrick’s arm, “God, if you knew how good you look…”

His heart fluttered. He had never been ticklish - but now every nerve ending was lighting up under Keegan’s callused fingers. He wondered what must have toughened the man’s skin - maybe he was a rock-climber? Maybe he played guitar? Maybe Gaz should have asked, instead of just staring at him, drooling like an idiot?

“I’m… I don't want to be rash, but,” Keegan’s hand trailed back down, his foot gently brushing against Kyle’s ankle, “Can I take you back to my place? I know it’s already past your curfew, but-”

Kyle laughed now, reminding himself to tear Price a new one later. He felt butterflies erupt below his diaphragm. This was another first for him; he wasn’t quite sure how to respond without coming across as desperate or pushy.

“I… I think I’d like that,” He mumbled, his eyes glinting under the warm glow of the overhanging light.
***

Gaz ran his hand over the bedsheets, as his gaze fluttered around the room. It was decorated, he was pleased to find. He had gathered it’d be one way or the other with Keegan; considering the strange atmosphere that seemed to follow the man.
Sure, he seemed presentable enough, the well-kempt, albeit dated hair; the leather jackets and weathered jeans. Kyle figured he either took as much pride in his space as he did his appearance; or he acted as he looked - an 80s bachelor.
The room was painted pastel blue, though a sunlamp gave it a comforting pink-purplish colour, the floor was carpeted in white shag and the furniture was minimal; a blue sofa in the corner, a chest of drawers, a lamp and some shelving units over the bed. What really captured Garrick’s attention was the wall adjacent to the bed, opposite the window. It was filled with musical memorabilia: signed posters, vinyls, band shirts, two electric guitars and a signed case with a pair of drumsticks sat within.
Gaz figured his previous assumption was somewhat valid then; he probably played guitar. He tried to conjure up some flirtatious line about Keegan having to show him his musical talents some time - but it fell short as the man made his way into the bedroom, his leather jacket folded over his arms, revealing the tight grey shirt he had worn beneath, pressing against a broad chest.

All Gaz could muster was, “Hi.”

Keegan paused, midway through hanging his jacket up, to look over his shoulder and flash him a bright grin, “Uhm… hey.”

Gaz looked away, blushing.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“My roommates are out for the night,” He smirked, striding forwards until he was between Garrick’s knees.

He moved so swiftly - and with such confidence, that all Kyle could do was gaze up at him, and offer up an expectant nod. God - why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like he was a virgin - he’d slept with people before. But, then… they had been people he’d known. One or two flings he had worked hard on, expecting them to go further than they actually did. A couple of boys in his college and university years - people he had considered friends, then partners, then strangers when things ultimately ended.
But Keegan?
The wannabe retro American man that he had known for less than two days?
And it was apparent the man wasn’t huge on commitment, considering one of the first things he had told Gaz was that he was quitting his job - and Gaz wasn’t the type to just hop into a one night stand. So what was he doing?
He shouldn’t do this - he knew that - this was a stupid, dangerous thing for him to do…
But.
All his worries seemed to melt under Keegan’s palm as it brushed his jaw, coaxing his head up. And then their lips connected.
And nothing had felt so right, in a long, long time.

“It’s just us,” Keegan whispered, guiding Garrick onto his back.

And back he toppled, under the silent command. He let his eyes flutter closed as Keegan worked on his neck, surprisingly gentle. Kyle hadn’t been sure what to make of the man; if he had met him at a bar, he’d have assumed he was more Johnny’s style - leather and dark smiles and coarse hands. But this… this felt more like something that belonged to Kyle.
He wasn’t sure when - or how - the man managed to undress him. But before he knew it he was on his back, laid bare for Keegan to touch and kiss as he pleased. And, of course, Keegan was just as freed. Their skin slipped together in fluid motions, hands grasping at whatever they could find for leverage as their lips danced between pants and quiet moans.

“God - you’re so cute,” Russ chuckled as his hand slipped into the arch of Garrick’s back. He pulled the man up to straddle his lap, gazing up at him.

Gaz pressed his forehead against Keegan’s, losing himself in that silver vision. Those eyes would be his undoing - he knew it - he could see it a mile off. But he couldn’t stop. He caught Russ’s lips again, muttering something that was smothered between tooth and tongue.

“Hm?” Keegan purred into his lower lip as his hand slid from his hip to his throat, gently tilting Gaz’s head back to kiss at his pulse.

“I said I fucking love your eyes.”

Keegan smirked against the man’s throat, his free hand slipping down Gaz’s back, “I love your laugh - your smile - the way you get all flustered when I tell you how pretty you are.”

As if to emphasize Keegan’s point, Gaz buried his face into the man’s chest, his own hands greedily clinging to Keegan’s shoulders. His breath hitched as the American’s hand slipped down his thigh. Keegan tipped him back again, rolling his hips to earn a weak moan from the latter. A moment later, the American was trailing kissed down the Brit’s chest - then his stomach - then his-

“Fuck - Keegan-!” Gaz gasped as the warmth enveloped him. His hands curled into the sheets by his hips, his head rolling back.

Keegan’s smirk deepened as he pulled his head back to kiss down Garrick’s thighs, “I love the way you say my name, pretty boy.”

Chapter Text

It was raining when he woke up.
Well - raining was putting it mildly. Water fell in troves, spraying off of the outer panes and ramming against the roof over his head. He had woken up alone. He probably should have expected that, of course. He had spent most of his night with Keegan reminding himself that it was a stupid thing to do - that the man would scurry off to find another pastime once he had gotten what he wanted from Gaz. It didn’t make it hurt any less.
But then - what else had he expected?
Men didn’t usually go for Garrick.
He wasn’t Johnny - he couldn’t just snatch up anyone he wanted.
He wasn’t Ale or Rudy, or Nick or Price. He’d never settle down like this.
He was always too busy - always wrapped up in the lives of others, trying to keep things afloat with a smile and keen eyes and helping hands. Hands always too busy to hold onto the things he wanted, eyes too wandering to stop on what was before him, a smile so overused, it didn’t actually mean anything anymore…
God, did anything good ever last.
He swallowed, shaking his head.
When did he start thinking like that? When had his self-worth been determined by the presence of strangers - and how long they chose to stay with him? Had he really strayed that far from who he wanted to be?
He needed to speak to his grandfather, set his head straight.
This wasn’t him.

He sifted out of the bedroom, throwing his clothes on as he strode down the hallway. It was only as he reached the living room, when the rumble of fabric passed his ears as he pulled his shirt over his head, that he heard the strumming.
Soft, melodic, harmonising with the humdrum of rainfall.
And there sat Keegan, in the sliding doors that lead out to the balcony. He was sitting in a beanbag, his legs hanging out under the open rain, soaking his feet as he played the guitar. Funnily enough, Kyle recognised the song. It was his grandfather’s favourites; Here Comes The Sun, The Beatles. Kyle remembered sitting in his grandfather’s lap, teary eyed and sniffling as his grandfather gently hummed along to it - not long after his father died. He remembered his grandfather’s loving hand grazing through his hair, whispering the lyrics as he promised that better days were coming. That it wouldn’t hurt forever. That Kyle was still strong - still his brave, mighty little soldier. That his father was still there, with them…
Kyle wasn’t a particularly religious man; maybe he was, actually. He wasn’t sure. He never thought too much about it, if he was honest. But standing there, listening to this song after feeling so lost only moments ago - what else could this be if not some sort of sign? Maybe not from God, maybe not from his father, but from something. Something was keeping him there, quiet and still as Keegan played.
He almost didn’t notice when it stopped.
Keegan didn’t look back at him, though his head cocked to the side as if he had heard him.

“You running away, pretty boy?”

He didn’t answer. His throat was burning, and he didn’t trust his voice not to waver over the lump forming in his esophagus. At the thick silence, Keegan finally turned. Maybe Gaz’s eyes were watering? Maybe it was just the way he was standing in the living room like a lost child? Maybe Keegan was just that good at reading people?
Kyle swore he saw the man’s eyes soften into something soft and warm - like mercury in pools of white. He cleared his throat, offering up a half-baked smile.

“Thought you were the one running,” He laughed, loosely.

“Where would I go?” Keegan teased, his own tone gentle and patient.

And the silence came again. Kyle glanced down at his feet, kneading the carpet with the toe of his shoe - and Keegan just watched, waiting for him to say something.

“I… I like that song,” He said after contemplating his words for a moment.

“Hm? Here Comes-”

“Here Comes The Sun. Yeah, I know,” He took a step forward, as if testing the waters.

And Keegan said nothing. If he was honest, he was a little taken aback by Gaz’s sudden sheepishness. He had assumed things had ended rather nicely, last night. It had been soft and passionate, and they had held each other once everything was over and done with. He had even seen Kyle smiling, softly, in his sleep. That smile. Warm and blinding as the sun itself - something so beautiful and bold that not even the throws of night could knock it from this man’s gorgeous face.

“Are you okay, Kyle?” He asked, his eyes roving over the man.

He bit his lip, shrugging, “I… I sort of thought you had… left.”

Ah.
That’s where he’d gone wrong. He shifted in the bean bag, resting his arm on the mound he had been using as a backrest to flash that smile - that smile that Gaz was becoming addicted to.

“Do I look crazy to you?”

“No-”

“Then, you must think I’m stupid,” He cut him off, “Because I could only be crazy or stupid to leave a catch like you after a night like that. C’mere.”

Kyle hesitated, his heart rising in his chest like the early morning sun that just barely peaked over the buildings, stark white against heavy clouds. He fought the wobbling in his chin as he staggered forwards. Keegan shifted again, making space for Garrick on the bean bag - and when he was sat, Keegan hooked his arm around him, pulling him closer until their legs crossed over and Kyle was practically in the older man’s hip. Then he took Gaz’s hands, shifting the guitar over the man’s lap.

“I… I don’t know how to play,” Gaz admitted, a little embarrassed.

“It’s fine,” Russ shrugged, “Neither do I.”

“Liar.”

He smirked, before slowly guiding Garrick’s fingers to the right frets as he plucked at the strings. After a few rounds of trial and error, which they both giggled at, Gaz finally picked up on it, his fingers dancing across the basic frets in time to Russ’ plucking - and they made their way through the song. They did it again and again and again. Kyle would have played it until night came for them once more - and Keegan wouldn’t have stopped him - but by the fourth or fifth round, the younger man’s inexpert fingers were burning against the metal. He stopped, looking over at the pads, now indented with thin lines.
He didn’t mind too much; he always liked the idea of taking up some activity that gave him rough, callused hands. His father used to say tough skin was something to be proud of. Of course, he hadn’t meant the literal tough skin of working hands, but Kyle was so young when his father imparted such wisdom. And his father had always worked hard, giving him calluses across his palms - so, of course, little Kyle had put two and two together, and… he couldn’t help but admire those with hardened palmars and fingertips.
They always reminded him of his father.

“It stops hurting with time.”

Kyle felt his heart freeze in his chest, his head whipping around to catch Russ’ stare. Those words - the same words his grandfather had spoken as they cried over The Beatles’ song - fell from Keegan’s lips with ease. And Keegan just stared back at him, oblivious.
Kyle had a sense Keegan could read people - but that was bordering terrifying; he hadn’t even said anything to indicate he was thinking of his father. Hell - Keegan didn’t even know Gaz’s father had passed.

“What did you just say?” Kyle blinked, baffled.

Keegan cocked his head, “Your hands? You play enough, you stop feeling that burn.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Kyle laughed, “Yeah, right. Yeah.”

With a chuckle, Russ leaned forwards, pressing a kiss on the man’s shoulder blade, “What did you think I said?”

“Nothing,” Kyle laughed again, shaking his head, “I just… didn’t hear what you said.”

With an unconvinced hum, Keegan settled back against the beanbag, pulling Kyle down with him. And there they laid, Keegan playing softly as they stared out over the cold, sleepy city, rain droning like a melancholy choir, only a foot away through the open door. Kyle couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at ease.
Maybe this was stupid.
Maybe this was crazy.
Maybe this wouldn’t last forever.
But for now.
It’s all right.

Chapter Text

Hey guys.

So sorry for the radio silence. I am very ill at the moment (and it's not the type of ill that goes away after a week infortunately haha)
I won't go in to detail, but just know that I am okay but I might not be here for a while.

Do people still do hiatus'?

Ah well, this story is going to be incomplete for a while.

I hope I can start writing again in April - but at the VERY latest, I will be writing again in a couple of months, just with my own health and also uni work and work piling up on me out of nowhere.

But that's just life, and we have to do it haha.

Anyway - this is not the end!!

It just might be a while until we get there.

Much love to all of you, and again thank you so, so, so much for reading and continuing to read :)

Moose.

Chapter Text

Hello folks.

Wow.

It's been months, hasn't it?

Updates: I moved house, I'm working more hours, and I graduated from university.

It's been a bit full on, because I'm working more whilst actively looking for a new job. My love for writing hasn't fizzled out and I'm so sorry for how long it's been. In that time, I've been toying around with ideas and been revising this story in my head. That being said, I'm going to be rewriting this story to fit around the new plotline and to fix any mistakes I might have made.
I'm sorry again for all you have waited - and I'm sure this is not the update you wanted. I'll completely understand if this is disappointing, and if you choose not to read the rewrite. That being said, if you do decide to read the new version of this story, I hope you enjoy it. The new version will be titled the same - and if you can't find it, the first chapter should be on my profile by the end of the week.

Thank you for the continued support, and I can't wait to hear from any of the folks that were commenting on the story previously. I've missed y'all a lot haha.

For the final time,
Thank you so much,
Moose :)