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The city was full of sounds, the silence always permeated by rolling cars, distant chatter or the droning of a plane overhead. It was unlike the rural town they’d lived in before, where days could pass by with barely a single sound in the silent bush. The quiet had once been nice but now the noise was comforting, knowing that they weren’t alone.
And what was even better was the soft sound of strumming.
In the early morning light, or after dinner in the cooler summer evenings, Ryan taught himself to play the second hand guitar Naim had bought him a few weeks ago with the little money he’d saved up. It was entirely unexpected, how Naim had gifted it to him after they returned from work together one night.
With a slightly nervous smile, Naim had held out the light brown guitar to Ryan.
“I thought maybe it’d keep you busy,” he’d shrugged.
Ever since they’d run away, Ryan had been restless. Of course, Naim understood, and was upset about all that had happened too, but Ryan handled his hurt through frustrated pacing or waking up in the middle of the night to stand on the balcony, cold and alone. Naim didn’t know how the entity had been with Ryan, they never really spoke about it much. But there seemed to be a permanent crease between his brows all the time, and only when Naim kissed the frown lines away did he finally relax.
So when Naim happened to scroll past a decently priced guitar online, well he thought why not give it a shot? Ryan loved music, it was always playing somewhere around him whether it was on his phone or through his earphones. Maybe if he was occupied with learning it, he might let go of some of the anxieties that seemed to plague him day and night.
When he’d seen the guitar, Ryan didn’t know what to say. Naim was just kind and Ryan wasn’t used to this sort of care from another person. All this time, in the back of his mind was that insistent worry that the life they were just starting to build would be ruined by this curse, this fear. But how could that be a thought in his mind when Naim was standing there, smiling shyly at him with a gift that he’d thought would make Ryan feel better? He took the guitar with careful hands and a soft look of wonder for the boy in front of him. Then Ryan wrapped his arms around Naim, nosing at his neck and muttering thank you’s into his warm skin.
Every day since, Ryan had taken to fiddling around with the guitar.
He watched a couple tutorials on his phone and played with some random chord progressions. If he woke up in the night, he’d go into the lounge of their little rental flat and strum for a while. Naim loved listening to him, sitting together enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. Ryan tried teaching Naim some chords, but usually he got too distracted by the fluid motions of Ryan’s hands and didn’t remember a thing Ryan actually said.
It was the perfect gift and Ryan still hadn’t gotten anything for Naim to thank him. Not until he’d caught Naim scribbling away on a bit of paper at work.
It was a local supermarket, nothing special. They’d been working there together for a while; Naim behind the counter while Ryan did the heavy lifting out back. It was easy to stay close then, though there had been the occasional violent encounter with it. Accidentally trusting the one person they had in this endless city of people, only to realise too late that it was wasn’t them but the darkness and fear that had followed them all the way from that shit hole town.
But that night was different, no one in the world seemed to exist but the two of them, drifting through the store in the soft setting light of summer. It was late when Ryan had finished most of the stocking and came out to see Naim, and found him sketching something on the back of a receipt. It looked like a snake.
“Hey, watcha got there?”
Naim didn’t look up from the paper, only kept scribbling with an old pencil.
“‘s nothing.”
He’d folded the paper and shoved it away in his pocket, and they went home on the bus.
So Ryan had a bit of an idea of what to get for Naim as a gift. It definitely didn’t amount to a guitar but Ryan thought Naim would appreciate it anyway. Naim would be happy with whatever he got, Ryan thought with a smile.
And he’d been right.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Naim said while flicking through the blank cream pages of the sketchbook Ryan had given him. Naim was sure no one in the world understood him as well as Ryan did, not even his own mum. It was so strange, he didn’t even want to remember what life had been like before Ryan.
“I’ve seen you drawing on every fuckin surface you can, Naim,” Ryan laughed. “It’s the least I can do. For the guitar.”
God he was so fucking happy. Ryan had never smiled this much before Naim, big shit eating grins. Naim matched his toothy smile when Ryan gave him the set of matching pencils he’d also bought.
So, the two of them slept, worked, ate, drew and played music.
Today was like any other of their recent days together. Summer was inching closer in the late of November. Golden light streamed in through the glass balcony door, illuminating the kitchen and the little lounge the two boys sat in. Naim was on the floor, his sketch book open on the coffee table, pencils scattered here and there. Ryan sat on the couch facing him, strumming some new song he was learning on his guitar. Somewhere outside, the chortles of a magpie mingled with the buzzing sounds of the city below. It was a Saturday, peaceful, comfortable.Naim peaked up at Ryan, laughing when the guitar made a weird high pitched sound.
“Shit, with that talent you could start a band,” Naim remarked, twirling a pencil between his fingers. Ryan glared down at him.
“You try learning this fucking song. My fingers can’t take this shit.”
But Ryan remained concentrated, focusing on the patterns of the song like nothing else mattered more than getting every melody right.
Naim decided to draw him.
It wasn’t exactly easy to replicate the intricate details of Ryan’s blonde curls or the lines of his face or muscles. But Naim had been practicing, I mean what else would he draw? The boy in front of him was his muse. He hadn’t shown Ryan any of the drawings yet. It was sort of embarrassing, the obvious crush he had on him. They hadn’t even talked about their relationship yet or what they really were to each other. Since leaving, it had been stay close to survive, to fight another day. With danger waiting at every lonely corner, they had been too tired to unravel everything they felt for one another.
But right now, it was plain as day to Naim how much Ryan meant to him.
He started with his face, the curve of his jaw and neck. Then his eyes, blue like the summer sky. His lips, arguably Naim’s favourite part of him to draw. He was just about to add strings to the guitar when he noticed a presence beside him.
“What the fuck- hey! I’m not finished and you- wait!”
Naim reached for the sketchbook but Ryan held it away from him, grinning.
“I just want a closer look!”
Naim stood up but gave in trying to snatch the drawing back when Ryan kissed him, a slow, teasing collision of lips that didn’t last nearly as long as Naim wanted it too.
“You forgot to put strings on my guitar, how am I supposed to play it?”
Naim felt his cheeks heating up as Ryan studied the sketch and then started flicking through the pages.
It was him. It was all him.
Naim had drawn all their memories together, even moments when the entity had appeared to him in the face of the one he cared about the most. The dusty brown snake engulfing the frog from the first time they hung out. The mill, burning orange and yellow across the page. Ryan in his backyard behind the hanging laundry, talking to the shadows. Ryan kneeling before the deliverance healer, gazing and unsure. Ryan sleeping on the bus with an easy smile, his blonde curls spilling over the blue seat. Ryan lying shirtless in bed.
Oh fuck Naim was so totally busted.
He looked at Ryan carefully, trying to see what he was thinking. He was tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth, trying to hide a creeping grin.
“Oh fuck off,” Naim muttered and Ryan snickered.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were obsessed with me.”
It came out like a teasing question and Naim only felt his ears turn redder, trying to look anywhere but at him. Then there was the gentle slip of arms around his waist, and Ryan’s stupid smile against his neck. And he was kissing fucking nipping at his skin which was making Naim’s head foggy and certainly wasn’t helping his face cool down. Naim lifted his hands to tangle them into Ryan’s hair, pulling slightly, making Ryan sigh against his neck.
“Hmm…I didn’t know I was that ripped,” Ryan whispered. He’d dropped the sketchbook onto the floor, open on a page where Naim had taken careful consideration of Ryan’s muscles; arms, chest, abs…
“You just had to ruin the moment, fucking cunt.”
Naim pushed against the other’s chest, earning a laugh like pure sunshine from him. If only Naim could capture such a sound on paper so he could have it with him forever.
“Will this make you feel better, hmm?”
Ryan lifted the short sleeve of his shirt and flexed his arm, the muscles there bulging.
Ryan. Restless, concentrated, smiley, hot as fuck Ryan. Naim wouldn’t survive this.
“You are so fucking stupid!”
And then they were on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms like they had been when they went to the mill that first time. The same golden sun shone down on them only now through the window of their place. Though the exhaustion had taken its toll, and it felt as if they’d been dragged through literal hell, somehow they hadn’t lost this, their playfulness with each other.
“Alright I’m taking the damn book back,” Naim shook his head with a smile as he picked up the sketchbook from beside them.
“Can I just see me one more time? Come on…”
Ryan pretended to reach for it and Naim tightened his grip. Suddenly, a little spike of pain prickled at Naim’s finger. A trickle of dark red blood dripped down his hand from a small paper cut.
“Well that’s just great.” Naim stood up, heading for the bathroom.
“Don’t you dare open that,” he said pointedly at Ryan before he disappeared into the bathroom to grab a bandaid. As if Ryan would listen to him. Quietly, he picked the sketchbook back up and flipped through the pages once again.
“What did I just tell you?”
Naim appeared before him, all flushed in the face and flashing that shy smile.
“I can’t help it, they’re pretty amazing sketches,” he replied, leaning back on his hands as Naim sat down on the floor in front of him.
“Or maybe it’s just the model that makes them so appealing.” Naim grinned and Ryan breathed a laugh.
“Well I might just have to agree with y-”
“Hey, Ry! Did we forget to buy bandaids?”
It was Naim’s voice. It was coming from the bathroom.
In front of him, Naim stared into his eyes with that same gentle look, except now they were void of something vital, something inherently Naim.
And he had no bandaid. There was not a single cut on his finger.
Ryan felt the blood drain from his face.
It wasn’t Naim.
And as if the entity could sense the change in Ryan, the simple laughter from before vanished from Naim’s face.
“Please…” Ryan muttered, closing his eyes and hoping that maybe it was just in his head, that this was just a heat induced dream because today had been so simple and comfortable without having to remember that thing they couldn't escape. But the soft pressure on Ryan's neck tightened, and cool breath fanned over his ear.
“Don’t fight it…” the entity whispered, its bruising grip closing around Ryan’s throat. He couldn’t even move, couldn’t tell if he were to fight back whether the real Naim would get hurt because maybe it was really him.
“I’m here, Ry.”
His voice, oh it was exactly the same and it hurt, it fucking hurt because Ryan could listen to it forever. Sweet, soft, lovable Naim. There was nothing he could ask that Ryan wouldn’t do. Not even as his breathing faltered with the closing of his throat, the entity’s deadly grip perverting the gentle image of Naim that Ryan cherished so dearly.
“Naim.” Ryan’s voice was barely audible and little dark spots began to dance in his vision.
“Ryan? Ryan!”
The darkness in his eyes faded and Ryan coughed as the pressure on his neck vanished as well as the entity. Now, a much more worried looking Naim sat in front of him who reached a slightly shaky hand towards Ryan’s face before pulling it away. It was an unspoken rule between them, not to convince or touch but just wait because the entity wasn't patient like them, wasn't caring like them.
The room was light again and the sketchbook lay next to Ryan, open on a blank page.
“I’m- I’m sorry.” Still breathing heavily, it was all Ryan could think to say.
“Don’t be sorry, Ryan. I’m the one who left, I didn't mean for you to get hurt.”
Naim leaned into him then, and Ryan let him. They held each other close for a while, sitting with the fact that no matter what they did there would always be that constant reminder that they would never truly be free.
“Is your finger okay?” Ryan asked, breathing slower now against Naim’s shoulder.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
The genuine fear in Ryan’s eyes had really shaken Naim. Why did this have to happen to them?
“Will you play me something?” Naim asked, untangling himself from Ryan, who nodded.
“What do you wanna hear?”
They settled on the couch in the dying light of the evening, Ryan with the guitar in his lap and Naim sitting quietly next to him. He started strumming some chords from ‘Self Control’ by Frank Ocean. The melody filled the silence and Naim felt the stress melt away as Ryan played and mumbled the words of the song.
“I’ll be the boyfriend in your wet dreams tonight…” Ryan sang, giving Naim a stupid smirk.
“Idiot,” Naim smiled back, shoving Ryan’s shoulder with his.
And suddenly everything seemed a little better again. The summer calm, the easy chatter between them. Because despite all of it, they were never really alone. They'd chosen to stay together, to be close instead of forced apart by the opinions and hatred of other people. No one understood them, but it was okay because they were learning to understood each other, where no one else would.
Naim looked at the faded bruises forming on Ryan's neck and felt his stomach turn in worry, and guilt too. Gently he reached out to Ryan, twirling his fingers through his soft curls. The other boy leaned into the touch as he murmured bits of song lyrics, gazing at the one that he was sure he loved.
No, there wasn't anywhere else in the world Naim or Ryan would rather be than right here.