Work Text:
It starts out a good, completely normal day. Ryan used to be suspicious of those. Perhaps it’s time he gets back in the habit.
A few hours before close a woman comes in for an oil change. She’s unassuming, perhaps in her late 50s, with a fluffy blonde perm and maroon tracksuit. She comes out of the front office waiting room as Ryan finishes up. That’s fine. People do it all the time. By the time Ryan finishes he barely remembers she is watching him at all. He waves her over to check her out.
Ryan flips his screen on to pull up his calculator app. His background flashes for a few seconds. It’s a close up picture of Naim hugging his neck in their apartment mirror, taken before they went to their first rave together a few months ago. There are smears of silver glitter on Naim’s cheeks, his tongue pointing out from behind his teeth. It’s Ryan’s absolute favorite picture of Naim. He’s been meaning to print it out for ages.
“Aww. What a cute picture of your friend.”
“Boyfriend,” Ryan corrects automatically, punching in the cost of her oil change and tire patch. He rotates his phone to show her the total, but when he looks up at the customer she’s evaluating him oddly.
“Boyfriend,” she says slowly, testing the word in her mouth.
“Yeah,” says Ryan.
“I’ll pray for you,” she tells him, handing him her credit card from an overstuffed purse. He takes it silently, praying she doesn’t say anything else. He’s not that lucky. She smiles at him warmly. “You’re very young. It’s not too late to repent for your sin.”
Ryan almost drops her credit card. He opens his mouth to retaliate, realizes where he is, and firmly closes his mouth. He can’t lose this fucking job by making a scene. If she made a fuss to the boss, who would come to the defense of an almost 19 year old boy with a huge scar through his eyebrow over the word of a little old lady? Besides, he actually kind of likes it here. Okay hours, decent pay. Their survival in Adelaide and Naim’s future education depend on Ryan’s job.
He processes her payment and watches her drive away. For the rest of the afternoon he turns the scene over and over in his head. It shouldn’t bother him. It was a 20 second interaction in his 9 hour workday. He’s never going to see her again. Maybe it would bother him less if she didn’t wear the same shade of lipstick as his mother, or if her stupid outfit wasn’t the same color as his grandma's dining room curtains, or if kind smiles from older women didn’t strike a raw cord of longing in his chest.
Maybe if not for the cruel reminder that God doesn’t love him. Maybe if not for the fact that he still cares about receiving any of God’s love.
Through the course of the afternoon, his mood switches from storm to tempest. By the time he goes to pick up Naim from his shift, it’s completely pitch black outside. The wind is strong, unusually so for a normal July evening. He stares at the glass displays behind the servo counter, fingers itching to buy cigarettes they can’t afford. He successfully resists the urge to flip off Naim’s boss, despite her sharp eyes following his every move. He watches Naim bundle into his coat instead, thumbing the lid of his zippo open and closed in his pocket as he waits.
“What’s wrong?” asks Naim when they walk for nearly ten minutes in total silence. “You’re being really quiet.”
“I’m always quiet,” deflects Ryan. He shoulders Naim’s bag higher on his back. He glances briefly at Naim. “It’s no big deal.”
The reflection of the amber streetlights glitter in Naim’s eyes. Ryan isn’t looking closely, but he knows Naim’s brow must be furrowed too. “Not always.”
“Whatever.”
“Fine, be a dickhead,” Naim says. “Just wanna know like, why you’re not talking to me. It’s kind of weird.”
“I’m not being a dickhead. You run your mouth enough for the both of us,” Ryan snaps.
“Fuck you,” Naim fires back. “I’m trying to help.”
“Never ending questions aren’t helping.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Nah, I don’t.”
Naim moves closer. Ryan twists away to keep distance between them. “Bullshit,” says Naim. Ryan says nothing. He refuses to look at Naim, knowing his eyes are brimming with hurt and possibly tears. He’s lost many an argument by looking.
No matter how Naim’s energy vibrates next to him to continue fighting until they resolve things, Ryan gives Naim the silent treatment the entire rest of the way home. Truly, Ryan’s no better than his father. He drops his coat in the living room and trudges to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed fully dressed. He doesn't bother shutting the door. It doesn’t matter anyway. Naim won’t try to follow him.
Sleep takes Ryan quickly. By the time he emerges, his phone says he’s been out for two hours. Two hours hidden away in the dark like a coward, all because he can’t man up and make himself tell Naim what’s wrong. Two hours hidden away because he let something so stupid and trivial turn into something wrong at all. He forces himself up and out of bed. He peels off his jeans and uniform shirt and exchanges them for a pair of raggedy sweatpants and a flannel pullover. He quietly exits their bedroom.
Naim’s sitting on the living room floor, headphones in, drawing on the walls. He’s not wearing pants, just his boxers, with loose crew socks and one of Ryan’s hoodies. The sleeves completely engulf his hands. Just the tips of his fingers are visible, clutching a thick ink pen as he scribbles black birds on the white peeling plaster. Ryan licks his lips and finds them dry. He rubs his eyes. Fuck, Naim looks so pretty.
It takes a second to crack the tenor of sleep from his voice. “What kind of birds are you drawing?”
Naim pulls out his earbuds. He stops drawing but doesn’t look away from the wall.
“Crows.”
“What kind?”
“Normal ones, I guess.”
Ryan swallows the lump in his throat. “Like the ones you drew for my birthday?”
Naim turns around. “Yup.” His gaze does a full body scan of Ryan. “You good?” His eyes finally flicker up to meet Ryan’s own. “Better, at least?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. His throat is scratchy and his back is kind of sweaty, but he does feel marginally better. Naim nods. Ryan can see the ragged edge of his left thumbnail, bitten to a stump and ringed with dried blood. Naim has been anxiously picking at himself and it’s all Ryan’s fault. Ryan can’t resist anymore. He reaches for his boyfriend, moving to haul him up. “Come here, dove.”
Naim tosses his pen down and allows himself to be lifted to his feet. Ryan wraps his arms around him immediately, drawing him into his chest.
“Sorry for being a dickhead,” Ryan mumbles into Naim’s shoulder. “Fuck, Naim.”
“You ignored me,” Naim says, arms stiffly at his own sides. “For like, hours.”
“I know. I reckon that was dick move of me, wasn’t it?”
“I hate when you do fucking do that.”
“I know.”
“What did I do wrong?” Naim takes a deep breath. “You were a cunt for no reason.”
“I was being a huge cunt,” agrees Ryan. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I swear.”
“Okay.” Naim’s arms finally encircle his waist and squeezes. Ryan tightens his grip. “I was pissed at you but it’s okay now.”
“It’s kinda not. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I love listening to you talk,” Ryan says miserably after a long moment of silence. “I don’t ever want you to shut up.”
“I won’t.” Naim slides his cold hands under the back of his flannel, stroking Ryan’s back gently. “What happened?”
“There was a lady who kinda looked kinda like my mum,” Ryan confesses. He has never felt more like a pathetic little kid. “Told me she’s praying for my gay soul or whatever.”
“You hang a rainbow flag on your toolbox? How did she even know?”
“Phone background.”
Naim hums. “You can change it.”
“I don’t want to change it,” Ryan says. He shouldn't have to. “Your face is like, the only thing that keeps me going most days.”
Ryan pulls back to look at him. Naim’s hair is all mussed from the hug. His eyes are so, so kind. A small, sly smile brushes across his face. “Oh, am I? Interesting.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know it,” Ryan says. He lifts Naim off the ground in a crushing embrace. Naim squawks, beating Ryan’s shoulders half heartedly.
“Put me down, you cunt.”
Ryan doesn’t. He carries him into the bedroom and tosses Naim onto the mattress, climbing up to straddle his lap. He presses his lips against Naim’s neck, relishing the happy sigh that falls from Naim’s lips. Ryan starts kissing below his ear and works his way up the side of Naim’s cheek.
“Still a cunt?”
“Always,” Naim says with a smile.
Ryan brushes the soft bangs away from Naim’s forehead and gets to work covering his face in kisses. Naim’s hands fly up to grasp Ryan’s hair, laughing and squirming underneath him. Ryan grabs his waist tighter, pinning him in place to gently attack his neck again, nipping and kissing the exposed column of Naim’s throat. Ryan alternates his attention to both sides, nuzzling the neck of the hoodie down to expose more skin.
“You’re tickling me,” Naim wheezes. He makes zero attempts to drag himself away. He pulls Ryan in for a kiss to his lips instead.
“You’re so cute,” Ryan tells him when they resurface for air. Naim scowls. “Drawing on the walls in my big ass hoodie.”
“It’s just a hoodie.”
“Exactly, it’s my hoodie. And not wearing pants? Are you trying to drive me crazy…?”
“Nahhhh,” Naim says, drawing out the h slowly. He arches his back, pressing his chest further into Ryan’s. “Just wanted to be comfortable.”
“You’re a shit liar, dove.”
Naim takes Ryan’s cheeks between his hands and squeezes. “Are you going to keep talking or are you going to do something about it?”
Ryan grins at him. He slides both of his hands up the bottom of the hoodie and pushes it up. Naim isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. Ryan slides down Naim’s body, mouthing at the exposed stretch of stomach. He works his way back up slowly, pressing dry, soft kisses against Naim’s hipbones, abdomen, the curved spaces between each rib. Naim’s moaning softly, tilting his hips up slightly as Ryan moves against him.
Ryan is almost to his nipples when Naim pulls the hoodie down over his head. He’s laughing, that deep, husky laugh of his. Ryan sputters a raspberry onto the hollow curve between Naim’s sternum in retaliation, but Naim doesn’t let go.
“Fine.” He thought they were going to fuck, but this is fine too. Ryan relaxes his body, dropping his full weight onto Naim’s legs and lower torso. Hot breath fills the hoodie, but it’s comforting, not suffocating. He could probably fall asleep like this.
Naim spreads his legs wider, letting Ryan sink further onto the mattress. His arms cradle Ryan’s hoodie covered head, chest still heaving from his laughs. Ryan gently bites his stomach, then soothes it with a nuzzle of his cheek.
“Comfortable?”
Ryan doesn’t respond, too warm and safe in the shelter of Naim’s chest. Naim frees him a few minutes later. Ryan blearily lifts his head.
“What?”
“Falling asleep on me,” Naim says. His blunt nails drag across Ryan’s scalp. Ryan closes his eyes and flops down again.
“So?”
“You’re crushing me.”
“Shit, sorry.” He moves to get up. Naim slides down the bed instead, pulling up on Ryan’s forearms until they bracket his head. Naim winds both arms around Ryan’s neck and pulls him against his shoulder. Ryan slowly settles, careful to evenly distribute his weight.
“This is better,” Naim mumbles into the top of Ryan’s head. “You can sleep again if you want to.”
Ryan does want to. He burrows his face into the space between Naim’s shoulder and the soft cushion of the hoodie’s hood. “Okay.”
Naim kisses the top of his head. “I’ll wake you up.”
“Okay,” Ryan mumbles again. He’s never felt so comfortable in his life. The entire universe shrinks to Naim’s breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the brush of Naim’s lips on the top of Ryan's head, the faint hint of Naim’s jaw stubble tickling Ryan’s forehead.
“You don’t have shit to repent for, by the way,” Naim says softly. “Don’t listen to any of those cunts.”
“Hard not to, sometimes.”
“Yeah but like, it’s not your fault for anything. Being the way you are, or the shit that happened to us.”
“Do you think God really does hate me?” Ryan wants to ask, but he knows it’s not true. If God completely hated him, he wouldn't have given him Naim. He supposes it’s Ryan’s pittance for the horrors they’ve endured.
“You’re nothing but good,” Naim continues.
Ryan isn’t sure what to say to that. He squeezes Naim tighter and hopes he understands. From the way Naim squeezes back, he does.