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They don’t speak on the bus. Maybe it’s the fragile truce that’s formed since the bus passengers proved they were both somehow still alive. Together. Maybe it’s the soft peace that’s settled since Naim allowed himself to bury his face in Ryan’s shoulder once again. And Ryan nuzzled against him in return. Maybe it’s wondering if Ryan, too, sees his ghost watching as they pass through an endless, empty landscape.
Naim finds he really doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t have to extract himself from their shared headphones.
For hours, Naim leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window, exhausted from a night spent in terror yet still unable to sleep. Ryan shifts beside him, and he turns his head to check on him. Ryan, who, unlike him, seems unable to stay awake. Even in sleep, though, there’s a furrow in his brow, pulled tight against a fresh scab.
A pang of guilt twists through Naim’s stomach at the thought of Ryan’s own sleepless nights, haunted by a monster that’s stolen his face. I did this, he thinks.
Naim waits for Ryan’s eyes to flutter open, but, mercifully, he settles back heavily against Naim’s side. Naim can’t deny his sense of relief. He’s not sure he can face Ryan. He doesn’t think he can face the gravity of what he’s done. He’s spent weeks pretending it didn’t happen, that he didn’t step across that doorstep to sign two death notes. On some late sleepless nights, Naim wishes his second self had impersonated him, desperately wanting to believe he wasn’t capable of doing such a thing. Yet, each morning when dawn brightens the horizon, Naim’s prayers go unanswered.
He can’t let himself read too far into the desperation and reprieve across Ryan’s face at the bus stop. He has to prepare himself for when this ends. It’s only Ryan’s decency that he allowed Naim to escape with him. Naim supposes he’s lucky. If it were him, he’d probably leave himself in the street and run himself over for good measure.
Naim’s not entirely sure where they’re going. He knows they’re going east, so they’ll likely be getting off the bus in Melbourne, but what then? Maybe that’ll be their farewell, prolonged by just a few hours until they both can blend into crowds in opposite directions. They weren’t supposed to see each other again. Ryan meant to board a bus and leave their town far behind. If Naim hadn’t run into him, he’d have done the same. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s all part of a greater plan to elongate their suffering.
Naim finds he doesn’t mind where they go as long as he can grasp these last minutes together in an iron fist. It’ll have to be enough. It won’t ever be enough.
-
Melbourne finds them cold and wet in the drizzling rain. Naim traveled with only the clothes on his back. Sweat-damp and thick with the remaining scent of scorched concrete and ash-covered earth.
For a few long moments, they stand amongst the crowd. Neither of them speak, seemingly lingering in the hushed quiet from the bus. Naim feels Ryan’s eyes boring into the side of his face, but he can’t face him. He couldn’t look at him when the bus slid to a stop. He can’t face what Ryan looks like fresh from sleep. He can’t face that the first time he saw it is in these circumstances. How can he face that he’ll never see it again?
“Are you ever going to look at me?” Ryan asks, interrupting his pathetic inner monologue. His voice croaks from underuse.
Naim’s heart kicks in his chest. He shrugs and turns slightly to face him, selfishly letting his gaze stray to the curve of Ryan’s shoulder, the angle of his jaw. He fights down a flush as he follows the line of his chain below the collar of his shirt. “I am looking at you,” he says petulantly.
Ryan scoffs and takes a step closer, and Naim fights the urge to flinch back. “Naim,” he says quietly, and Naim’s helpless to finally meet his eyes. He’s not sure what he expected to see. Anger? Loathing? Disgust? Any combination and more would be sufficient.
But, Naim does not see any of those things. Ryan’s hair is mussed, flattened where he’d been resting against Naim’s shoulder. He’s got sleep in his eyes and deep circles below. He doesn’t look angry. He looks… curious perhaps. Gentle. Maybe he still looks exhausted. Maybe he looks somewhat wary of the person he sees before him. He’s the most beautiful thing Naim’s ever seen.
“Now, you’re staring,” Ryan points out with a satisfied smirk. Because he’s a dick. Naim’s cheeks heat, and he hunches his shoulders down into his windbreaker.
“Can’t help it,” he mutters, pulling his sleeves down over his hands.
Ryan huffs a laugh and takes a step back. Naim misses him. He’s missed his laugh. “You hungry?” Ryan asks, tilting his head.
Yes. “No,” Naim says, instead. He’s ignored the pains in his stomach for a long while already. What’s a bit longer, anyway? It’s not like he has any money.
Ryan levels him with an unimpressed look, raising his uninjured eyebrow in question. “You’re full of shit,” he says. In another life, he’d reach across the space between them to give Naim a half-hearted shove. This isn’t that life. Not anymore. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Naim’s not entirely sure. Was it before the entity attacked him at the house? Before Ryan told him to get lost in a stolen car?
“Based on your lack of response, I’m gonna assume it’s been awhile.” Ryan says after a pause. “What do you want? Like McDonalds?”
Naim’s stomach chooses that moment to growl so loud it's audible over the bustle of the station. Ryan looks at him with such disbelief that even Naim can’t fight the smile that pulls at his lips. “McDonalds it is, it seems,” Ryan concludes, a crooked smile of his own on his mouth.
Ryan pays. Unlike Naim, Ryan seems to have planned his escape a bit better; as in, he has money to spend. Naim, however, has the thirty dollars stolen from his mother’s purse and a lighter that sits in his pocket like a steel weight.
Naim sits down at the most secluded table he can find. No windows behind him and facing the front door. This way, he can see if it’s waiting. One way in and out. Once he’s settled, he allows himself to watch Ryan. Even in the middle of a fast food chain, he still stops Naim in his tracks. As if sensing his gaze, Ryan glances in Naim’s direction, stopping briefly in surprise, before quickly turning forward. Naim turns his gaze to the table until Ryan returns.
Ryan drops a heavy tray of food on the table, plops down in the booth across from him, and lets out a momentous sigh. He lowers his head back on the seat. “I’m so fucking tired, man.”
Naim hums in agreement, distracted by the ache in his stomach and the pile of food in front of him. Naim’s not sure it’s a great idea that Ryan’s spending money on the first day of being on the wrong, but Naim reminds himself that it’s not his business. He’s not going with him.
Ryan snorts. “Eat, Naim. I know you’re starving.”
Naim hold out about five more seconds before he’s reaching for the fries. He has to fight back a groan at the taste. It doesn’t matter how low he’s stooped in life lately: he refuses to be someone that moans at the taste of food. Certainly, not over a Melbourne McDonalds. The first and second burger and Coca-Cola go down just as easily. Ryan, who’s still making his way through Burger Number #1, watches him in disbelief as he finishes the last bite.
“When I said I knew you were hungry, I did not anticipate this,” Ryan points out.
Naim halts his chewing to glare at him. “It’s been awhile,” he counters. “Besides, all this running works up an appetite,” he adds with a rueful smile.
Ryan laughs quietly. “True that.”
With a belly full and surrounded by fellow fast food enjoyers, Naim’s guilt lessens just a bit.
Ryan finishes his burger and leans back to rest an arm over the back of the seat. Naim tries not to think about being tucked under that arm. Even a cheeky remark about how Naim must be preparing to hibernate all winter doesn’t spoil the warmth in his chest.
A flicked of movement in the doorway catches his eye, and he jerks to the side to watch over Ryan’s shoulder. But the door swings open and a blonde man steps through. When the door slams shut, Naim doesn’t see anything staring back from the darkness.
Naim settles back into his seat with a shudder. Ryan’s watching him warily and leans in. “Do you see it?” he questions.
Naim shakes his head. “Just some other blonde guy.”
Ryan nods slowly, shoulders relaxing under his coat. “So, I’m the blonde guy.”
“What?”
“Well, you said ‘some other’ blonde guy.”
Raising an eyebrow, Naim fixes him with a disgruntled look. “If you’re asking how you compare to a random man at McDonalds and your murderous alter ego, I’d say you’re at the top of the list.”
Ryan takes a sip of his soda and smiles, sharp and boyish. “As long as it stays that way.”
Naim rolls his eyes and reaches into another bag of fries, much to Ryan’s amusement. His jacket sleeve rides up his wrist, and Ryan releases an inquisitive sound. He shoots out a hand to block Naim’s fingers on their quest and gently tilts his hand. “What?” Naim asks petulantly, glancing up to glare at Ryan. But, Ryan’s frozen. Eyes fixed, Naim realizes, on the bracelet of bruises darkening his skin. With a flash of humiliation, Naim snatches his arm back, fries forgotten, leaving Ryan’s hand outstretched across the table and empty. “Ryan–” he starts.
“It hurt you,” Ryan says quietly, and suddenly, the burgers and fries sit like lead in Naim’s stomach.
“It….” Naim tries, digging a nail into the cuticle on his thumb until blood blooms. “It mostly used to just watch me, or…” Naim trails off. How is he supposed to admit to Ryan that he’s kissed and been kissed by an evil entity wearing his face? Although, Ryan’s for sure returned the favor. Naim isn’t sure why he feels jealous of a demon. “It didn’t hurt me much until last night,” he settles on.
Ryan’s gaze is intense and unyielding. “What did it do last night?” he demanded, somehow keeping his voice under the buzz of conversation around the dining area.
Naim shifts, uncomfortable at the memory. “I don’t–.” He swallows. Ryan’s fingers twitch toward him from where he’d let his arm fall to the table. Desperately, Naim wishes to threat his own through them. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”
Ryan exhales through his nose, studying him. Eventually, Naim must pass some sort of test because he takes another sip of his Coke, but not without another quick glance at Naim’s, now covered, wrist. “Fine,” he agrees. “But we’ll talk later.”
Naim doesn’t finish his fries.
When their trash is thrown away and both of them are fighting sleep in their booths, Ryan pulls out his phone.
“Where should we go next?” He asks Naim, briefly glancing up.
Naim startles awake, his heart rate soaring. “We?” He questions.
Ryan looks up from his phone with a puzzled expression. “Of course,” he says softly. “I want to stick together. It seems safer that way, don’t you think?”
It is not safer, and they both know it. He’s not sure why Ryan’s pretending it is. “Yeah,” Naim agrees instead. He’s not sure why he’s pretending either.
“What about where you’re from?” Ryan asks, glancing up from his phone. His curls hang greasy over his forehead. “Do you have anybody we could stay with?”
Naim shifts uncomfortably at the thought. It feels like it’s been years since he left. He’s not sure anyone he’d left behind would accept him with open arms after months of no contact, and before that, years of withdrawing following his father’s death. “I’m not sure that’d be a good option,” he says eventually.
“You think they’d tell your mom?”
Naim shrugs. “I doubt it. It’s not like she made the best impression at the end,” he admits.
“Why’s that?” Ryan asks curiously, setting his phone down to give Naim his full attention.
Naim grimaces at the thought and traces the swirling pattern of the table top with his finger. “She kind of lost it, I guess. When my dad died. Stopped going out, stopped taking care of herself.” The stopped taking care of me goes unspoken. “It was hard to be around it, honestly. In a way, I can’t blame her for moving us.” Naim lifts a shoulder. “We didn’t have many friends to begin with when I was growing up, but it only really got worse before we left.”
Ryan hums thoughtfully and slowly reaches out an arm to tangle their fingers together. Naim pauses, studying their intertwined hands in the fluorescents, out in view of what feels like the whole world. But, the world does not end, and they are still in the McDonalds dining area. Naim allows himself to have this, at least for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “That really sucks.”
Naim lets out an involuntary snort. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “Yeah, it really did.”
Ryan runs his thumb over Naim’s knuckles. “Do you think she’ll report you missing?” Ryan asks.
Naim hasn’t even considered it, but he disappeared and left her alone at a gas station with a known demon stalking him, a demon she’d cursed him with. “I really don’t think so,” he mutters bitterly. “She probably just thinks it killed me.”
Ryan frowns, his grip tightening. “You mean Not-Me?” He asks, inquisitively.
Naim nods jerkily and averts his eyes.
“She knows about it?” Ryan asks, breathlessly. “She believed you?”
Naim shrugs and chews at his bottom lip. “She’s the one that did it to me,” he admits eventually. “She called the deliverance healer. Said she wanted me to be scared of how I felt. That it would keep me ‘safe’,” he gestures.
Ryan inhales sharply and Naim braces for the outburst. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Ryan exhales shakily. “That’s fucked up,” he offers after a moment.
Naim shrugs again. “Yeah,” he says plainly. His throat feels tight. “I’ve been thinking about something she said. In her confession at church,” he admits.
Ryan hums in question. Naim wants the heat of his hands to seep into his bones and spread through his whole body.
“She was talking about the silence. About feeling like something was coming for us. About finding Jesus. Finding… people,” his voice breaks and Ryan leans millimeters closer. Naim finds a nice ketchup stain on the table to stare at. “She said that fear keeps us safe. Keeps us away from temptation.” Naim pictures her in the wreckage of the mill. He thinks of his last sight of her, blurred by the glass of the gas station. He’ll never see her again. “I’ve been wondering if maybe she was haunted too,” he admits quietly. “Or, I don’t know, maybe my dad was. Someone she knew, at least. Otherwise, how would she know what it’d do to us?”
“Naim, look at me,” Ryan says and Naim is helpless to it. “You didn’t deserve that.” He’s looking at Naim with such honesty, such kindness that Naim feels sick. Suddenly, Ryan slides out of the booth, and before Naim can mourn the loss of his hands, he slots himself against Naim’s side across the table, the length of him hot against Naim’s skin even through the fabric of his clothes. Naim can’t look away from him. His eyes are so blue, so soft looking at him even after everything he’s done.
“Ryan,” Naim whispers sorrowfully. “I need to tell you something.”
Ryan shakes his head in refusal. “I don’t–” Ryan swallows hard. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it,” he admits. “But I want to. I just… I just need some time.” He’s looking at Naim like he’s afraid he’ll push him off the booth.
Naim shoves down the apprehension and places a hand down on the table, palm up, and he waits until Ryan tentatively sets his hand against his, watching as their fingers lace together once more.
“I understand,” Naim tells him, his throat tight. “If I’d know what would happen, I never would’ve—“
“Naim,” Ryan interrupts him, dropping his hand to lightly grasp Naim’s shoulder, drawing his attention back. “What you did… it was so fucked.” He sighs and leans closer until Naim can feel his breath. “What happened after… what they did to us. It wasn’t your fault.”
Naim sniffs as Ryan pulls him in, feeling splayed open. He tucks his nose into the side of Ryan’s neck and inhales the scent of his sweat. “Ryan…” he breathes into his skin. Ryan shivers beneath him.
“We’ll talk about what happened,” Ryan states. “Soon, I promise. Just not tonight. I’m tired as fuck, man.”
Naim snorts, despite the circumstances. He can’t argue there. “You slept the full bus ride,” he says, tentatively wrapping an arm across Ryan’s stomach, offering comfort as best as he can in a cramped vinyl booth.
“What, and you didn’t?” Ryan jokes, sliding his hand up Naim’s shoulder to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Naim sighs in pleasure and burrows deeper into Ryan’s shoulder. “Couldn’t,” he says. “Kept seeing it in the fields.”
Ryan stiffens, and Naim whines in protest as Ryan pulls him back, hand sliding out of his hair to grasp his shoulder. “The whole time?“ Ryan asks in a low voice.
Naim leans in, seeking out Ryan’s warmth again, and Ryan meets him halfway. Ryan huffs as their foreheads gently knock together. “It’s okay,” Naim urges in a whisper. “Nothing could be done about it as long as we kept moving.”
“Next time you’re waking me up. Anytime you see him, actually,” Ryan insists, eyes bright. We’ll look out for each other.”
Naim blinks up at him, his facial features blurring together from this distance. “Next time?” He asks dumbly.
Ryan must agree because he fixes him with an unimpressed look. “What, you think I’ll just leave you after all of this?” He leans in so close Naim can feel his lips brush his cheek with every word. “I’m not leaving you again, Naim. Never.”
Naim can’t help the weak sound that escapes his chest as Ryan finally, finally, tilts his face to press their lips together.
It’s chaste and sweet and so different from anything Naim received from that thing. Ryan pulls back too soon.
“You smell like a campfire,” he states with a slight wrinkle to his nose. “What the hell were you up to?”
Naim chuckles, chasing his mouth. “It was a long night.” He presses closer to steal another short kiss to Ryan’s slack lips. “Figured out it really hates fire.”
Ryan leans back, wide-eyed. “You’re serious?” He questions.
Naim pulls back as well, studying Ryan’s face, the tense line of his shoulders and downturned mouth. “I’m serious.” He lifts a hand to trace Ryan’s eyebrow with his thumb. Ryan stares at him expectedly, impatiently. “It came to my house last night,” he says with a bitter smile. “Broke in.” He twists a curl between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought it was gonna kill me. It almost did.” Naim takes his hand back to trace the swelling along his jaw, can’t help but press down slightly to feel the ache. He knows his skin will be black and blue by tomorrow. He’s morbidly glad about it. A reminder. “I tried to fight it off. It just… it wouldn’t stop.”
Ryan lets out a soft noise of protest and gently pulls Naim’s hand away to press a kiss against his fingertips. “Naim,” he breathes, hot against Naim’s skin.
The lighter sits as a comforting weight in his pocket, a weight he misses when he pulls it out. But, it’s worth it to see Ryan’s face of wonder when he sparks it in the space between them. Even after hours spent together on the bus, pressed close, he can’t help but feel relief that Ryan doesn't collapse in agonized screams, that the day hasn’t been some kind of elaborate trick. Ryan’s pupils are small in the light. “It can’t handle the fire,” Naim offers. “I burnt it and was able to get out. It tracked me to the mill and I was able to trap it there.”
Ryan presses soft kisses along the bruised length of Naim’s wrist. “How?” Naim lets him push his sleeve up to expose more of the damage. He doesn’t say more but Naim can read enough in the tense hunch of Ryan’s shoulders.
“I set it on fire,” Naim says proudly, grinning when Ryan’s head shoots up to look at him. His face is full of such disbelief that Naim can’t help but let out a bark of laughter. “Holy shit, your face.”
Ryan schools his expression and fixes him with a flat look. “You’re such a dickhead,” he retorts, but even he can’t fight a smile and punctuates it with a gentle nudge to Naim’s shoulder.
“C’mon, you just make it so easy,” Naim coos with a pout. Slipping a hand to the nape of Ryan’s neck, he gently tugs him forward to press another kiss to Ryan’s mouth.
Ryan hums appreciatively. “I guess I love camping now,” he says when they separate.
Naim tilts his head to look up at him. “Guess I do too,” he responds, stomach warming from Ryan’s soft smile.
Ryan pecks his cheek and leans back, throwing an arm back over the seat back, and this time, Naim gets to settle further against Ryan’s side. “Well, if we don’t know where we want to go yet, how about we at least get a motel room for the night?” Ryan asks.
Naim could cry. “Yes, please.”
Ryan throws his head back to laugh, and Naim is mesmerized.
-
The motel is… not great with its peeling paint and dead lawn and rude receptionist, but it’s clean, if not dusty, and the parking lot is moderately full, and the door has three locks. It’s perfect.
When the door is shut and bolted, they pause, watching each other in the dim lighting.
“What side of the bed?” Naim asks.
“Do you want to shower first?” Ryan offers at the same time.
“Uh,” Naim says dumbly, blinking. “Sure?”
Ryan nods, stepping aside for Naim to walk further into the room. Ryan drops his bag on the floor and flops down onto the mattress with a groan, shirt riding up above his hips.
Blushing at the sight, accidentally knocking his shoulder against the wall as he stumbles. He hopes Ryan thinks it’s just exhaustion. Naim double, triple checks the lock on the door, pushing the desk chair under the knob for good riddance. Next, he shuts the blinds and yanks the curtains closed, careful to not look outside for too long.
“Does it bother you?” Ryan asks gently, watching him from the bed. “The window?”
He meets Naim’s eyes and Naim expects mirth, ridicule at the very worst, but all he can see is gentle curiosity. Naim feels the familiar sting in his eyes and he blinks back tears. “It’s always in the window,” Naim admits softly. “At night mostly.” He tugs at a thread on his jacket sleeve absentmindedly. Ryan’s quiet, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and Naim can’t look away. “I don’t want to see you and it at the same time,” Naim tells him, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “I just want to see you.”
Ryan’s face softens further, and he offers Naim a crooked smile. “You have me.”
Naim can’t fight the tear that tracks down his face. “I’m gonna…” He gestures as he crosses the room to the bathroom.
Naim moves to shut the door behind him but pauses at the deep feeling of discomfort. He cracks it open and peeps his head out. Ryan’s still sprawled out across the quilt. “Ryan?”
Ryan hums in response, eyes still shut.
“Can you sit in here?” Ryan sits up abruptly. “I don’t want to be by myself,” Naim explains lamely.
Ryan blinks, once, twice. “Yeah, Naim, of course.” He rises to his feet, knees popping, and crosses the four steps to the bathroom, gently moving Naim to the side so he can step through the doorway. Suddenly, Naim’s aware of how tiny the room is. “Is this okay?” Ryan asks, and Naim nods.
Hands moving to his jacket zipper, Naim’s cheeks go hot at Ryan’s eyes tracking the movement. “Can you turn around?” Naim whispers. Never mind the fact that Ryan’s hand has already been on his dick in the back of a public bus. There’s something different entirely about stripping naked with someone for the first time.
“Yeah,” Ryan responds softly, gaze heated. God, Naim wants him to keep those eyes on him. Perhaps, Naim thinks, he can learn to tell Ryan and Not Ryan apart just by the look in their eyes on him. Slowly, Ryan turns to face the door. As he undresses, Naim keeps his eyes on the expanse of Ryan’s back, the line of his shoulder blades, the chain laying against the back of his neck. His shoulders tense when Naim’s belt clinks against the linoleum floor.
As the water warms, Naim studies himself in the mirror, surveying the damage. His eyes trail over the blooming bruises that span the length of his ribs and hip. He knows he’ll feel his fall at the mill in his shoulders tomorrow. Faint discoloration circles his neck, and his jaw feels swollen and sore. Mindful of Ryan next to him, patiently waiting with his eyes fixed on the shut door. Naim leans close to the mirror and hesitantly opens his mouth to inspect for signs of damage. His throat is red, and it’s grown increasingly hurtful to swallow, especially since eating.
The thin shower curtain is a slight comfort, blocking his view of himself in the mirror but still allowing him to see the silhouette of Ryan through the murky plastic.
Naim swallows and clears his throat roughly. “You can turn around now,” he offers, warmth settling in his belly at how quickly Ryan spins to face him. Naim feels even more exposed. As he scrubs down with the cheap, citrus scented motel soap, he wonders if Ryan’s just as fixated on the hazy outline of his body against the cream colored shower tiles.
All too soon, after biting the inside of his lip bloody as he gently washed the tender skin of his scalp, Naim shuts off the faucet, wanting to ensure Ryan has his fair share of warm water. Naim sees Ryan’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, his lead leaned against the wall. For a moment, Naim watches him, shivering slightly without the blanket of steam.
“You okay?” Ryan asks hoarsely, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
Naim nods. “Yeah,” he adds, wrapping an arm around his chest as he shivers against the cold. “Can you pass me a towel?’
Ryan grunts, standing up, and tosses a worn, white towel over the shower bar. Naim breathes a sigh of relief as he pats himself dry. Pulling it over his head, Naim squeezes as much water as he can out of his hair, clenching his teeth as dabs the fabric over the sensitive patch on his scalp. Plain water was one thing, stinging, lemon-scented soap and a two-decades-old towel were another.
Naim wraps the towel around his waist and pulls the curtain back, stepping gingerly over the edge of the tub.
Ryan’s rinsing his face in the sink. “Feel better?” He asks Naim.
Naim hums, leaning against the wall to watch him as he scrubs his face dry with a hand towel. “Much,” he responds. “Should be plenty of hot water left if you want to shower now.”
Ryan chuckles, tossing the towel down to the floor. Naim watches it fall with a frown. “If there’s not, at least I have you to cuddle me warm tonight,” He jokes, throwing a sharp grin to Naim in the mirror behind him.
Naim rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to reply with some cheeky remark, but Ryan’s frozen, face stricken in his reflection. Naim blinks. “Ryan?” He’s met with silence. Naim reaches a tentative hand out. As his hands brush against Ryan's elbow, he turns quickly and steps back as far as he can against the sink, gripping it until his knuckles turn white. His wide eyes flit across Naim’s body: his face, his chest, his stomach. Naim takes a step back of his own, and Ryan lets out a quiet, broken sound, eyes shining in the dim light.
“God, Naim,” Ryan breathes. “What did it do to you?”
Naim freezes, mind blanking at the horror he finds in Ryan’s voice. He glances at his reflection in the mirror and his stomach sinks, embarrassed Ryan’s seeing him like this. In the yellow fluorescents, he looks almost sickly. Like he’s been kept inside away from the sun for months, yet his torso is more brown and purple than anything else.
Naim wraps his arms around himself as he shrinks back into the wall, shielding himself from view as much as he can.
Ryan brings a hand to his mouth, exhaling heavily against it. He doesn’t speak but takes a slight step forward. “Naim,” he mutters. He ducks his face to find Naim’s eyes. Ryan’s eyes are so blue. So soft. Naim feels sick. “Talk to me.”
Naim releases a shaky sign, wincing at the dull pain in his ribs. Ryan sees it, of course he does, and then he’s crossed the narrow space between them and he’s hovering his hands over Naim’s sides like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch, like it’ll hurt Naim if he does. It probably will, but Naim craves it regardless. Gently, Naim guides Ryan’s hands down to cup his ribs on either side. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay.”
Ryan shakes his head, a tear spilling down his cheek. His fingers set into the gaps of his rib cage “You’re not,” he insists brokenly.
From this angle, Naim can see the dark color that dips below the edge of the towel in the mirror. He tentatively presses a finger into his hip, and closes his eyes against the dull ache.
Ryan grunts, knocking his hand away. “Don’t do that.” Naim meets his eyes. He isn’t sure what to make of what he finds. Ryan looks terrified, and Naim’s hit again that, no matter how caring and calm Ryan may seem, he’s just as scared as Naim is. The tightness gripping his chest lessens slightly. He lays his hand against the back of Ryan’s and squeezes gently.
“Hey, look at me,” Naim whispers. He pulls Ryan’s hand up to rest over his heart. He hopes Ryan can feel how fast it’s beating. Ryan sighs shakily and leans in to rest their foreheads together again. “I’m still here,” Naim assures him. “I’ll heal.”
Naim can’t promise that he’ll be okay— neither of them can. And really, it’s foolish to entertain the idea that he’ll ever truly heal. But, the door is locked and the window blinds are shut and a light is buzzing over their heads, and they have each other.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan breathes out against his face.
Naim shakes his head in protest. “You didn’t do it.”
Ryan shrugs, eyes downcast. “But it looked like me.”
And Naim supposes that’s true enough. “I’m sorry too,” he whispers. They both know it’s for more than a monster that stole his face. Naim tilts his face up for another kiss, but Ryan stops him with a gentle hand to his collarbone, careful still of the bruising around his neck.
Ryan’s brow is furrowed, eyes trained on Naim’s mouth.
“Ryan?” Naim asks softly, tugging gently on Ryan’s shirt sleeve.
“Your mouth,” Ryan breathes out.
Naim frowns, twisting out from under him to step to the mirror. He tilts his face up into the light. “Oh.” He leans into his reflection to study the discoloration blooming around his mouth and jawline. He touches a hand to the darkest spot. Ryan watches him over his shoulder in the mirror, jaw clenched.
He doesn’t speak. Naim supposes he’s waiting for him to share on his own. “I told you it came to my house last night. Before the mill,” Naim begins slowly, his voice barely more than a murmur. “My mum was out. Said she needed space from me.”
Ryan scoffs in disbelief, face stormy, and he shuffles up behind Naim. Naim gives him a small smile when Ryan rests a hand against his unbruised hip.
“It came to the screen door. Said it was going to wait for my mum to come home so I’d know it was really you. God, I was so stupid,” Naim says with a bitter laugh. “I knew it wasn’t you. I knew you wouldn’t be there after you found out.” Naim presses his forehead against the cool glass.
“But I let it get close to me, and it grabbed me through the screen. Ripped out some of my hair.” Naim watches as a tear wets the counter below him. Ryan smooths a hand up Naim’s spine, but stays quiet in favor of gently parting Naim’s hair. He lets out a quiet sound when he sees the wound, and Naim’s breath hitches.
“I tried to run. I swear I tried to get away. But it pulled me back. Ryan, it was choking me, and then— then it,” he breaks off with a gasp as Ryan curls his fingers through his necklace at the nape of his neck. “It tried to, I don’t know, rip out of my tongue, I guess? It had its whole hand in my mouth, and it was killing me.” Naim sobs, the dam finally breaking. Ryan buries his face into the side of Naim’s neck, and he can’t tell which of them is shaking more. “And then I figured out the fire and got out. Made it to the mill.” Naim gasps for a breath. “I spent the whole next day wondering if it had been you after all and I’d just killed you.”
The room is deafening with the buzz of the lights and the ragged sounds of their breathing.
“Jesus, fuck, Naim,” Ryan breathes out eventually. He wraps an arm around Naim’s waist to pull him back against his chest. He slides his other hand up Naim’s sternum until it rests lightly against Naim’s jaw. “Is this okay?” He asks, breath ghosting against Naim’s ear.
“Yes,” he whispers with a shiver. How could it not be when it’s his Ryan’s hands on his skin?
Ryan smooths a thumb across the bruised skin, gently tracing the length of Naim’s lips. A tear glides down Ryan’s fingers. Ryan tightens his other arm across Naim’s chest. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, and Naim hurts, aching down to his bones, down to his very core. “I’ve got you, baby,” Ryan soothes him as he sobs into Ryan’s hand, pressed flat against his mouth. “It can’t get you here. I won’t let it. I’m gonna fucking kill it, I swear to God, Naim.” He presses a kiss to the crook of Naim’s shoulder before gently biting down. Not enough to sting, just enough to remind Naim that he’s here, that he’s alive.
Naim’s not sure when they make it to bed. He’s conscious enough to know Ryan held him against the mirror until their tears slowed, that Ryan kissed him until his eyes slipped shut and he couldn’t keep his head lifted. He knows Ryan sat him down on the toilet seat with a folded towel on the counter top to pillow Naim’s head so neither of them would be alone as Ryan showered. He knows Ryan carried him to the mattress, slowly coaxing him into a spare shirt before untying the towel around his waist. He remembers Ryan’s hands carding through his hair, fingers gently rubbing ointment into the tender skin of his scalp. He feels Ryan slide into bed beside him and press himself against Naim’s back.
Naim exhales a contented sigh and settles into the warmth. Ryan presses a kiss to the base of his neck.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” Ryan mumbles into his skin.
Naim hums into the pillow. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I deserved it.”
If Ryan responds further, Naim doesn’t hear it. He’s finally asleep. And when he wakes up, he knows it'll be to his Ryan.