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Naim never thought he'd be comforted by seeing the demon/creature/eldritch being following him with the intent to kill, but thhe only thing that he can feel when he sees Ryan's familiar silhouette (but it's not, exactly, the posture is wrong, the pose is stiff, the air of violence and death hangs around it like a blanket) is relief. Relief because if that thing is out there, than the man currently sleeping on his shoulder is the actual Ryan. Is his Ryan. He could sob. He kind of wants to, but also kind of thinks that there's no tears left in his body.
If he's being honest with himself, really, if the Ryan next to him wasn't real, he would've accepted it. Because if it weren't Ryan, if it was that thing, then that means Ryan would've actually been missing. Hunted. Dying. Ryan had told him, what seemed like so long ago, now, that he only wanted this thing to look like Naim. Naim agrees. He can't imagine living, trying to move on, knowing Ryan was dead and Naim had killed him. Whatever death may have followed for Naim would've been deserved and welcomed.
But it's not. Ryan is here, next to him, beautiful and alive. So, so alive, with his chest rising and falling steadily and his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. He's safe, and Naim's safe, and maybe they'll have to live with this thing for the rest of their lives but goddammit he'll fucking take it if it means he gets to spend the rest of his time with Ryan. Wonderful, beautiful, alive Ryan. He doesn't know what comes next for them, what comes after they get to the city, or the next year, or the year after that.
Hell, maybe Ryan won't forgive Naim for telling on him and Hunter. Naim certainly wouldn't forgive himself. Maybe Ryan is going to part ways with him once they get off the bus, once Naim tells him how the thing is scared of fire, how important it is to keep a lighter or some source of flame on him at all times. Naim sighs, leaning over onto Ryan. It doesn't matter. He can't change it now, and won't try to change his mind when they're off the bus. Whether Ryan lets him stay or not, he's going to enjoy this moment of peace after all the bullshit he's been through.
Naim wakes slowly. The music playing through his one earbud has stopped, and there's a hand in his hair, brushing over the shorter buzz at the nape of his neck. He blinks his eyes open, squinting a little at the bus lights, looking up at Ryan. They'd fallen asleep with Ryan hunched over slightly to rest his head on Naim's shoulder, but now they're the opposite way around. Naim's not sure if it happened naturally, or if Ryan moved when he woke up, trying to make Naim more comfortable. Ryan looks over as he shifts, smiling down at Naim.
"Hey." Naim blinks again, staring at him. He tilts his head up to press a kiss against Ryan's lips. He chuckles, pushing Naim's head up with his hand to slot their lips together properly. Naim clears his throat when they part.
"Did you—did you run into the thing?" Ryan's face tightens, the easy comfort falling from his eyes and being replaced with almost distrustful worry.
"Nah. Not up close. I thought you were it at the bus stop. I thought it found me because I was alone." He looks more appraisingly at Naim, at the bruises and scrapes marring his neck. "Did you?" Naim reaches up and brushes his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises on his throat.
"Yeah." He wants to elaborate more, but his mouth feels dry. "It doesn't like fire." The shrieks of the thing echo in his mind unnatural and inhuman as it first curled up in the corner of his bathroom, bleeding profusely from the face, then in the warehouse. Naim knows it wasn't real, knows it was just a ploy by the thing to tug at his heart and convince him to free it. But Ryan's face, eyes red and wet with tears, assuring Naim that he wanted this, that it would be better this way, is something he will never be able to scrub from his mind.
Ryan runs his fingers over the hair at Naim's nape. "I'll take your word for it." His hands still. "Then…" his voice trails off but it's clear what he's asking. Naim shifts, turning closer into Ryan.
"It uh, pretended to be you. Showed up at the front, then went around to the back and talked to me. Said stuff about conversations we've had." He swallows. "That girl, Jessica, said it got better at mimicking but I didn't it would be… like that." He can feel Ryan's eyes boring into the side of his head, but just looks out the window at the countryside, slowly fading into suburban homes. "I didn't unlock the door but I trusted it, I guess. Put my hand up to the screen." He shakes his head, hair fluffing up against Ryan's jacket. "Stupid mistake. It broke through, tried to grab my head. I ran, went to get out of a window but uh. It pulled me back in." He can still feel the phantom of that thing's hands around his ankles, the press of Ryan's rings against his skin as it had dragged him back in the house.
"You don't have to tell me." Ryan's voice comes out in a rush. "I don't- I believe you. I think you're my Naim. You don't need to go over it if it's that bad." Naim hazards a look up at Ryan, finding his eyes a little watery. He kinda wants to call Ryan stupid for believing him already, but fuck if it's not everything he's ever wanted.
"I’m okay." Ryan looks down.
"Your hands are shaking." Naim follows Ryan's gaze. They are. He stills them by grabbing Ryan's shirt tighter.
"Oh. Maybe um. Maybe later then." He looks up at Ryan. "I feel like you should know. Just…" he scrambles for words, but can't find any. "I think you should know." Ryan nods.
"Okay." A smile. "We'll get a motel and we can uh, clean up and talk." And yeah, there is a lot to talk about, and yeah a shower sounds really nice right about now. And maybe some ointment for bruises and other injuries too, because Naim's pretty sure he can feel every part of his body ache with pain at every beat of his heart. He grabs Ryan's hand and squeezes it.
"Okay." He feels the light pressure of Ryan's head leaning against his own, hears the quiet rasp of his thumb over the skin of Naim's hand. He can feel the cold ridges of his rings pressing into his hands, and his own rings. It's a comfort, such a stark difference from the bruises and broken skin on his ankles left by fake copies of those same rings. Everything about Ryan is a comfort, from the steady beat of his heart, to the slight up-and-down of his chest, to the steady brush of his thumb, to the way each of his breaths make Naim's hair flutter against his skin.
And maybe someday he won't find any of that so miraculous. Maybe someday it'll be something he gets to take for granted. Maybe someday he'll be able to take Ryan for granted, his prescence, his love, his affection. Maybe someday he'll be able to look at his the angry red of the stitches on Ryan's still-healing ear without feeling a sharp stab of guilt at the knowledge that he did that. Maybe someday, years from now, he'll be able to make up for all the pain he's caused, to himself, to Ryan, to Hunter. Maybe Ryan can forgive him, and maybe, just maybe, he can forgive himself.
But not today. Today, he holds onto Ryan's hand, and looks at his wonderfully alive, wonderfully human face, and counts himself as just about as lucky and undeserving as he can be.