Chapter Text
The apartment was unusually quiet that evening, the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears and made Pony’s chest feel heavier than usual. He’d been in bed for hours, wrapped in every blanket they owned, and yet he still shivered under their combined weight. His head throbbed, and the sharp sting of a sore throat made every breath feel ragged.
Johnny hovered nearby, perched on the edge of the bed with a steaming mug of tea. “Here,” he murmured, setting it on the bedside table. “Sip it slowly. Don’t gulp.”
Pony croaked a faint laugh, his voice rough. “You sound… bossy,” he said, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed how grateful he was. Johnny had been like this for years now—quietly careful, almost obsessively attentive whenever Pony wasn’t feeling well.
“I’m bossy because you’re pathetic right now,” Johnny said lightly, brushing a damp strand of hair off Pony’s fevered forehead. His fingers lingered there, longer than necessary, because he couldn’t stop himself from making sure Pony was warm and safe.
Pony groaned, curling closer into Johnny’s shoulder. “I feel like death.”
“You look like it too,” Johnny whispered. “I called Darry and Soda earlier—they’re bringing some meds and soup. They’ll be here soon.”
Pony murmured something unintelligible, nuzzling deeper into Johnny’s chest. The steady rhythm of Johnny’s heartbeat was almost hypnotic, and despite the fever, Pony’s breathing slowed. For a while, it was just the two of them, tangled in blankets, the world outside forgotten.
Johnny adjusted the covers around Pony like he was tucking in something fragile. Then he hesitated, hands hovering over Pony’s shoulders, before settling to gently massage the tension out of them. Pony let out a soft, contented sigh, letting himself relax fully into Johnny’s touch.
Minutes passed this way, soft and quiet, the only sounds the occasional cough from Pony and the soft clink of Johnny’s hands shifting. At some point, Pony muttered, “Don’t leave,” almost a whisper, almost a plea.
Johnny’s chest tightened. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Pony’s messy hair. “I’ll stay right here. All night if I have to.”
Pony shifted closer, curling into him, and in that simple act of trust, Johnny felt a wave of something he rarely allowed himself to name. Tenderness, love, a protective ache that made his chest hurt in the best way. He tightened his hold, letting Pony rest against him, letting the quiet of the apartment wrap around them like a protective cocoon.
Eventually, Pony’s soft breathing evened out, and Johnny stayed awake a little longer, just watching him, brushing his hair back, pressing gentle kisses along the line of his jaw and temple. The warmth of the apartment, the soft murmur of Pony’s breathing, the gentle weight of him in his arms—it was enough to lull Johnny into sleep himself.
Johnny woke to the faint sound of a key turning in the lock and the low murmur of voices drifting from the front room. He blinked blearily, careful not to jostle Pony, who was still curled up against him, fever-warm and breathing steady. Easing himself away from the bed, Johnny padded quietly out of the bedroom, running a hand over his tired face.
Darry and Soda were in the kitchen, setting a couple of paper bags down on the table. Soda glanced up first, giving him an easy smile. “Hey, Johnny. We brought what you asked—some cold medicine, soup, and a couple other things. How’s Pony doin’?”
Johnny let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still runnin’ a fever, but he’s sleepin’ now. Wore himself out.” His voice softened almost unconsciously. “Didn’t wanna leave him long.”
Darry gave a small, understanding nod, sliding one of the bags toward him. “Good thing he’s got you watching over him. He’ll bounce back quicker with you making sure he rests.”
“Yeah,” Johnny murmured, glancing toward the bedroom door as if drawn back there already. “He… he don’t like bein’ sick. Gets restless. But he’s out cold right now.”
Soda leaned an elbow on the table, grinning. “Figures. Bet you finally got him to quit fussin’ and lie down, huh? You’re the only one who can manage that, Johnnycake.”
Johnny ducked his head at the teasing, but there was no heat in it. He busied himself with unpacking the bag—medicine bottles, soup containers, a pack of saltines—grateful for something to do with his hands. “Thanks for bringin’ this stuff,” he said quietly. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Darry said simply. His gaze lingered a moment, steady and knowing, but he didn’t press.
“You need anything else, you call.”
Instead of heading right out, Soda dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, stretching his long legs. “We ain’t in any hurry. Might as well sit a minute.”
Johnny stayed standing, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s out cold right now. Fever finally knocked him down. I don’t like leavin’ him, but… maybe it’s good he’s sleepin’ that deep.”
“Exactly,” Darry said, nodding. “Body needs rest. Let him be.”
Johnny exhaled, tension easing a little. “Yeah. He’s been restless all day—fussin’ about his schoolwork and his job. I kept tellin’ him to lay down, but you know him.”
Soda grinned. “Stubborn as a mule. Bet you’re the only reason he finally gave in.”
Johnny didn’t answer, just ducked his head with a faint smile. He sat down across from Soda while Darry pulled the empty bags closer, folding them into themselves, just to keep his hands busy.
“By the way,” Darry said, glancing up, “did he call his job to let ‘em know he’s out sick?”
Johnny shook his head. “Not yet. He could barely keep his eyes open earlier. I’ll call ‘em in the mornin’ if he’s still out of it.”
“Good,” Darry said. “Last thing he needs is trouble at work on top of feelin’ lousy.”
For a while, the three of them sat in the kitchen, talking in low voices. Soda carried most of the conversation, cracking a few light jokes to ease the heaviness, while Johnny busied himself breaking down the bags, setting the soup and medicine neatly on the counter.
After a bit, Soda stood, stretching. “Alright, we’ll get outta your hair. You’ve got your hands full. Just make sure you eat somethin’ too, Johnnycake—don’t run yourself down.”
Johnny huffed a tired little laugh. “I’ll try.”
Darry set a steady hand on his shoulder as he passed. “Call if you need anything. We’ll check in tomorrow.”
Once they were gone, the apartment felt quiet again. Johnny padded back to the bedroom and peeked inside. Pony hadn’t stirred—still curled under the blankets, breathing steady, his fever-flushed face relaxed at last. Johnny stood there for a long moment, just watching, before slipping in quietly, setting the medicine on the nightstand. He eased down beside him again, careful not to wake him, and let his own body relax a little while.
The apartment was quiet again after Darry and Soda left, their bags unpacked neatly on the counter. Johnny moved through the space slowly, exhaustion heavy in his bones, but he grabbed the bottle of cold medicine and a glass of water before heading back to the bedroom.
Pony was still out, curled under the blankets, hair plastered damp against his forehead. Johnny sat carefully on the edge of the bed and brushed his shoulder.
“Pony,” he whispered. “C’mon, wake up a sec.”
Pony groaned, shifting but not opening his eyes. “M’tired…”
“I know,” Johnny said softly. “But you gotta take this first, alright? Then you can go right back to sleep.”
After a little coaxing, Pony cracked his eyes open, bleary and unfocused. Johnny helped him sit up just enough, holding the water glass steady while Pony swallowed the bitter medicine with a grimace.
“Good job,” Johnny murmured, easing him back down. He smoothed the blankets over him again, pressing his lips briefly to Pony’s temple. “Now sleep. I’ll be right here.”
Pony was already half under again, mumbling something that sounded a lot like “love you” before slipping back into heavy sleep. Johnny froze for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, before he slid under the covers beside him. For the first time all day, he let himself relax, curling close until the warmth of Pony’s body lulled him into sleep too.
The next morning, pale light crept in through the curtains. Johnny stirred first, stiff from the long night but still cocooned under the blankets. Pony shifted against him, groaning softly as he blinked awake. His face was flushed, eyes glassy, but his voice was clearer than the night before.
“Johnny?”
“I’m here,” Johnny murmured, brushing his fingers over Pony’s hair. “How you feelin’?”
“Like I got run over,” Pony admitted with a weak laugh. He coughed, then winced. “Guess I’m not goin’ anywhere today.”
“Damn right you’re not,” Johnny said firmly. He reached for the water glass, holding it out. “Drink this. You already got one dose of the medicine in you last night—Darry and Soda brought more. You’re covered.”
Pony took a few careful sips, then flopped back against the pillows. His eyes softened as he studied Johnny. “You didn’t sleep much, did you?”
Johnny shrugged, sliding down beside him again. “Got enough. Don’t worry about me.”
But Pony did anyway, leaning into him despite the heat radiating off his skin. “Thanks, Johnny. You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
Johnny reached over and tugged the blanket higher around him. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta keep you from drivin’ yourself into the ground.”
That earned him a crooked grin before Pony tucked his face into Johnny’s shoulder, already drifting again.