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The first time Ryan felt it - that sick, gnawing dread that only ever came from feeling like something was watching him - he had assumed it was partly due to his trauma after fleeing the stuffy outskirts of Melbourne with Naim.
He tried not to think about it. There was no reason to, now that it was over - now that the entity was somehow gone. It never made much sense to him, anyway, how it had always managed to follow him back in that wretched town, only to lose its grip after they left. He had been worried sick the entire time in the bus, and he’d glanced at Naim nearly every second to make sure it was really him. That sick, terrified part of Ryan - especially that part that didn’t believe he deserved Naim - refused to believe anything at all.
He was genuinely surprised when the entity still hadn’t shown up after three weeks of “living” in the big city. It felt strange; terrifying, and Ryan thought there had to be a catch. The world rarely offered happy endings for people like them; those usually took more than just a one-way ticket.
It was just… too good to be true.
So when he wakes up one night with that familiar, eerie lump of fear down his throat, Ryan nearly loses his shit.
Naim is standing over his bed, still as a statue, staring at a spot somewhere on Ryan’s face.
Ryan springs upright, wide-eyed and immediately sober from sleep. His first instinct is to lunge at him with two fists, but he shoves the impulse down in case it really is Naim.
“Naim?” he says, voice thick. His heart is pounding fast. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Are you real?”
Ryan pauses. He watches Naim carefully. It’s hard to see his face in the dark, so he scoots a little, just enough to reach the lamp on the bedside table without keeping his eyes off Naim. He flicks it on.
Dim yellow light fills the room, lending Ryan a clearer view of Naim. He’s still standing there, wearing the too-big hoodie that Ryan had slid him into this morning, fists bunched up at his sides. His lips are tugged down in a frown, and there’s a deep crease in between his brows.
Ryan feels his insides soften. “Naim,” he whispers, reaching out to grab his hands. “What’s wrong? Why are you up right now? You…” he trails off. He wants to say that he scared the shit out of him, but decides against it. “Did you have another nightmare? You okay?” he asks instead.
Naim shakes his head; he takes a tight breath. “I don’t know.”
Ryan pulls him close. Naim tries to wring his hands free, shoving himself away, and Ryan - he knows better than to push it.
“It’s just me, Naim,” he says, solemn, making an effort not to raise his voice, because fuck, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid too. Maybe it really is the entity and he's going to die right here, right now, and he's being a massive fool for not fighting it while he still has the chance. But something is holding him back.
He doesn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to anyone like this - with a tenderness he’d once been deathly afraid to show, because the world roughed him up and taught him it was easier to be intense. But here he is. Naim makes it so easy. He makes being tender feel so good and rewarding, because Ryan knows it’s what Naim needs. And he feels all but desperate to meet his needs.
“How do I know it’s really you?” Naim says quietly. “How do I know this isn’t just another nightmare?”
Ryan doesn’t know what to say. It hasn’t occurred to him that Naim might be feeling the same way. That he might be having the same apprehensive thoughts and doubts. God, he feels like such a jerk for only noticing now. How long has Naim been doing this - just staring at Ryan while he slept? They never really had much chance to talk about it, either; they were always on the move. Their days were filled with public libraries and cold park benches and loud hubs. They never lingered too long. And when they did, it was to sleep in cheap, run-down motels that changed every night. Sometimes they even traveled to neighboring cities.
In retrospect, Ryan should’ve done something about it. He should’ve prodded around, made sure Naim was feeling okay, but he’d been inside his head the entire time. How is Ryan supposed to explain that he doesn’t know, either? He doesn’t know a lot of things, and he doesn’t know if this is just a bad nightmare ripped right out of a horror film - and if it is, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever wake up from it.
But then he looks at Naim - at his sad, crumpling face and the red flush on his cheeks. His Naim. And he immediately feels stupid. He can’t help a smile. Why wouldn’t it be Naim?
Gently, Ryan reaches forward again, and this time Naim doesn’t push him away.
“You’re okay,” Ryan says, rubbing slow circles on the back of Naim’s hand. “See? It’s me. I’m real. You’re real.”
Naim stares at their hands.
It’s silent for a while. Ryan keeps doing this, drawing little circles on Naim’s soft skin until the tension leaves his body. And then he pulls him closer, easing him back into the bed. He slides under the duvet wordlessly. Rests his head on Ryan’s arm and buries his face in Ryan’s chest.
“There we go. See? Everything’s fine,” Ryan says, using his free hand to gently play with Naim’s hair and massage his scalp. He tries not to overthink it because, well, he doesn’t really know what he’s fuckin’ doing. “Is this okay? Can I do this?”
Naim nods.
“Okay,” says Ryan. That’s all he needs from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly.
Naim shakes his head.
Ryan hums. He presses his lips to Naim’s hair. “That’s okay, too. We can stay like this for a while. We don’t have to sleep.”
“I’m just scared,” Naim mumbles, his voice small and weak. “I’m sleepy and tired all the time. I’m just. I’m tired of moving and I’m tired of - of being scared.”
“I know.”
“...What if it’s still out there?”
Ryan gives a small chuckle, as if his stomach isn’t clenching at the thought. As if he hasn’t thought about that himself at least ten fucking times today. “I’ll kick its ass,” he whispers, meaning it. Because he will. “It can’t get us here, you know that, right? We’re safe. You’re safe.”
“You don’t know that,” says Naim. He props his head up to look at Ryan. “What makes you so sure?”
Ryan smiles at him. “Well, I’m not sure.”
Naim frowns.
“But you know what I’m sure of?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sure I’ll kick its ass.” Ryan grins, sliding his hand down to squeeze Naim’s waist. He dips his head down to kiss Naim’s forehead, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose. Just trailing down tiny light kisses. Then, using his fingers, he tilts Naim’s chin up and kisses him.
Naim’s breath hitches, but soon he melts into it. It’s a slow, gentle kiss, nothing like the hungry kisses they usually shared. Just two warm lips pressed together with no intention of going beyond what it is, because that’s what Naim needs - Ryan knows this.
And maybe, this is also what he needs.
Maybe this is what they both need.