[The fact that John's not speaking aloud definitely just makes him worry more- and god, those words he picks up aren't helping. They make his own heart skip a beat before he exhales a steady breath, shakes his head.]
You don't have to talk about it. I'm not gonna make you. But you remember what you told me, right?
[Somehow, he doesn't seem at all surprised that things are bleeding through. They've been so loud in his own head all day that it seems impossible they shouldn't. But he just lifts his head from his hands, and his face is so pale and drawn from nerves and lack of sleep that he looks sickly.]
Ryan, you didn't see him...
[But now he can: Petre with his head low and eyes upraised, hands balled tight in a plain grey t-shirt, small and pathetic, pale eyes pleading openly. No. Don't leave. I don't want to stop. Not commanding John but begging. Nothing has ever looked more sincere.]
[If those aren't mixed feelings he doesn't know what the hell are. That memory's something difficult to brush off, and he's not even the one who experienced it- but he reaches up to set a hand on John's shoulder, pushing on.]
How'd you describe what he was doing? 'Targeted campaign to destroy your life'? John, d'you really think...
[There's uncertainty in his tone, though. Ryan always wants to think the best of people, sometimes to a fault- and god, that look.]
[There should really be an audible slam as John locks down his thoughts; he has an idea of what's getting through, but it's all way too freely shared, and he didn't want anyone knowing about this. If Ryan has contact with Petre again, it could all get back to him so explicitly that he'd know it wasn't just stray ideas from Ryan's head.
But Ryan gets it. He understands how fucked up this is. And John hasn't even begun.]
He snuck out last night. Came back so - so fucking drunk. Probably about 2 am.
...and started talking like that, I guess? You sure he was that drunk?
[Ryan's worrying at his lip, not removing his hand so long as John doesn't seem to care too much; he'd felt that disconnect when he locked down on what he was thinking, is trying to control his own end, but it's not quite as easy.]
He doesn't remember a second of it. You tell me. On both counts.
[But that's not the whole story. If he's sharing this, he has to share it all, and Ryan is his only option. He can't open this whole shitstorm up to anyone else now.]
When he said he didn't want to stop - he kissed me. [The whole story, John.] We kissed.
[That makes it out before he manages to shut down his thoughts, staring over at him-- not accusing, just... thoroughly bewildered. He remembers the way John reacted to the accidental flirting when they'd first met, how he flinched from some of Ryan's touches; Petre kissing him, he can believe that, but them kissing each other?
There's the briefest little flicker of something like jealousy, fleeting, before he shoves it down.]
Look, I'm fucked up enough about this as it is, okay. You know damn well I didn't want it, but -
(I don't know I don't know it was good I don't fucking know anything)
[His face goes back into his hands, before they drive through his hair again, pulling tight enough to hurt. He needs to focus. This is perhaps the most he's ever needed focus in his life and he's all over the place. Answer the questions, not the reactions - that's all he can do.]
- nothing. I doubt he even remembers how he got home. He tried to fuck a guy at the bar named Jon, for god's sake, he's cracking up worse than me, and he was sulking about getting turned down. And then it all turned into this messed up thing about how I was different. Not like other guys, that was his line, of all fucking things. And I fell right into it.
[It's a testament to how much he needs to know the answer that nothing else leaks out. He's completely earnest, slightly wide eyes fixed intently on John- there's no way he believes it, not after all the warnings he gave Ryan.
He doesn't want him to believe it, and a small, guilty part of him knows it's unfounded jealousy. Petre gets what he wants, doesn't he, isn't that what they'd talked about last time? John can't be something else on that list.]
[The look in his eyes when he turns to face Ryan again is utterly bleak. None of the usual spark there, whether it be from amusement or fury or malicious glee.]
I'll never know what to believe. All the answers were in that night and I ran away, and now he's got all the power again if I try to bring it back up. He was drunk. He's got an out for everything whether it was true or not. I was right there and knew exactly what was happening and just got - fucking suckered into -
[And he turns away again.]
(you can't that's stupid you can't be manipulated into wanting something you don't but i was but you goddamn well can't it doesn't work that way but what does that stop it stop it)
[He can't help it. He's tried to avoid anything that could come off too intimate, but the conflict in those thoughts weakens what's left of his resolve to ignore what he wants to do; the hand on John's shoulder turns into an arm around him, pulling him in, nothing tentative about the gesture.]
It's okay, you don't have to know- look, it's confusing shit even without all the rest of it, I shouldn't have asked you to--
[Ryan exhales slowly, shakes his head.]
Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, okay? You just... have to figure out what you're gonna do about it, I guess. What happens now.
[He stiffens up immediately, and one hand rests firmly on Ryan's chest as though to push himself away - but then the fingers just curl a little and it hangs slack, almost holding Ryan's shirt but not quite. His whole body follows suit, sagging against Ryan, his superhuman levels of fight completely gone after the last 24 hours. How little it took in the end. The suggestion that he might be special to someone.]
Nothing happens. [The thought is dull and lifeless, but there's a suggestion of fierceness that would be present if he just had the energy.] He never knows, and it never happens again. If I'm so goddamn special, it just means I finally have a reason for why he wants to fuck with me over everyone else. It doesn't change anything.
[Except that Petre can be vulnerable. He can feel. He can hurt. But that pain is none of his business, even if it's enough to add a hint of doubt to his final thought.]
[Ryan doesn't quite hold him so much as just... lets John lean against him- his other hand comes up to rest on his arm, steadying his slumped body, but he doesn't wrap it around as well.]
It changes not knowing why he was doing it. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but- you have that.
[And after a moment's hesitation he adds, more tentatively:]
[It's the right response - being held really would be too much, bring on something close to claustrophobia, but this is okay. For now, it's okay. He's too lost in his own upset to realize that they're very much in public, and this could be read in a million wrong ways.]
Does it? I always knew I was a prize. Knowing what game he's winning doesn't change shit. It's just more selfish than it was before.
[The breath he lets out at Ryan's careful question shakes his whole body, it's so heavy and unsteady.]
[His grip tightens just slightly, reflexively, at that shuddering breath.]
...that's the important thing. To figure out, I mean. Just- have to decide what you want, or at least what you don't, right?
[Ryan's not sure what else to say. It makes him feel more than a bit helpless, useless as a friend to have about as much idea of how to help as John does of what he wants right now, but he just doesn't.
He frowns up at the twilit sky, gives John a gentle little nudge.]
--c'mon. We better get inside. Just... keep leaning on me, okay, if anybody was looking I'll say you're sick. You look like shit, they'll buy it.
[Just the slightest spark of humour, but enough to cut some of the tension in the air around them. He even looks up for long enough to let Ryan know he's grinning faintly before standing up and obeying Ryan's commands. Look sick. Lean against him. Hobble back toward the school.
Ryan's heading off the potential rumours for him already, when he didn't even realize how compromising their position looked. Is that part of friendship, too, that selflessness? He's about 100% certain he won't be able to manage that.]
[Ryan flashes a brief grin back at him before letting his face settle back into mild concern- fortunately, it's not an expression he has to fake- and guiding John back toward the doors. For once, he's come up with a lie he can get away with.]
No! No, fuck, not back to my room. (He'd probably try to get us into a threesome or something, jesus.)
[You're welcome for that accidental thought, Ryan. Try not to picture it, that might really send him off the deep end.
He doesn't know what else to suggest, though. Ryan's got a roommate as well, and the two of them sitting in silence with ever-shifting facial expressions is going to look weird anywhere.]
[The very thought makes him miss a step, stumbling for a moment- but, blessedly, the image doesn't translate. He shoves it aside fast enough for that, thinking about what to do instead.]
--alright. Alright, I have an idea, just go along with it.
[Ryan guides him along to the infirmary, where the presiding staff member looks like she's about to question them for being out right now-- but a look at John and a stream of thoughts from Ryan make her pause. They're not leaking out, whatever it is stays between them, but after he's 'spoken' to her (with a fretful, worried look the whole time) she eventually sighs, nods, gestures them in with a reminder to Ryan that he's not staying all night. ]
[Smart. Actually quite tricky, and fooling a teacher to do it as well. He stumbles into the curtained-off space they've been given and stretches out on the bed (sweet relief, he could just sleep right now if his mind weren't still so cluttered with the night before), another small grin appearing on his lips.]
[A matching, almost mischievous one tugs at the corners of his own mouth as he settles onto the edge of the next bed. Now that they have some privacy, he feels like John probably wants space after being so close on the way.]
I told her you weren't actually ill, just feeling stress-sick, and that I was worried about you and thought you needed to rest. She's letting me stay for a while, you can sleep here for the night.
[He likes that smile, in the safe, friendly way he likes a lot of things about Ryan that he'd never admit. It's not quite clear why he wouldn't admit them if they're safe and friendly, but he's got enough on his plate without questioning that. He's just not the effusive type, that's all.
(Charming. That's the word that's always coming to mind with Ryan. Charming.)]
She probably thinks I'm high. I'll catch shit for it somehow tomorrow. [He nods, though.] Still a good plan. Really good.
[Nevermind smiling, being told it was a good plan has him beaming, looking more than a little proud of himself. Like he's said, he takes risks when he has good reasons, and he figures this is definitely one.]
You're welcome. Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll leave you alone in the morning?
Maybe I'll get lucky and come down with the plague. Hide out here for the rest of the year.
[His eyes close for a moment, head tilting up and sinking more firmly into the pillow, but he's not ready to sleep yet; he rolls his shoulders, twists his back once or twice, and then his eyes open again. Even when he used to sleep on solid ground and park benches, his body never felt as tense as it has lately.]
It was just - that night. Everything, how it all happened. It didn't mean anything.
[His tone pretty much adds a giant I'm lying through my teeth to the end of the statement.]
[He's not sure whether he wants to call John on that, whether it's a good idea-- the tone makes it obvious, but his thoughts had felt so conflicted earlier. In all honesty he's not sure John's aware.]
...didn't mean anything for the two of you? Or for you?
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You don't have to talk about it. I'm not gonna make you. But you remember what you told me, right?
(Don't forget this. Don't miss the manipulation.)
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Ryan, you didn't see him...
[But now he can: Petre with his head low and eyes upraised, hands balled tight in a plain grey t-shirt, small and pathetic, pale eyes pleading openly. No. Don't leave. I don't want to stop. Not commanding John but begging. Nothing has ever looked more sincere.]
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[If those aren't mixed feelings he doesn't know what the hell are. That memory's something difficult to brush off, and he's not even the one who experienced it- but he reaches up to set a hand on John's shoulder, pushing on.]
How'd you describe what he was doing? 'Targeted campaign to destroy your life'? John, d'you really think...
[There's uncertainty in his tone, though. Ryan always wants to think the best of people, sometimes to a fault- and god, that look.]
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But Ryan gets it. He understands how fucked up this is. And John hasn't even begun.]
He snuck out last night. Came back so - so fucking drunk. Probably about 2 am.
[Looks like he's talking about it.]
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[Ryan's worrying at his lip, not removing his hand so long as John doesn't seem to care too much; he'd felt that disconnect when he locked down on what he was thinking, is trying to control his own end, but it's not quite as easy.]
(does that make it better, or not.)
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He doesn't remember a second of it. You tell me. On both counts.
[But that's not the whole story. If he's sharing this, he has to share it all, and Ryan is his only option. He can't open this whole shitstorm up to anyone else now.]
When he said he didn't want to stop - he kissed me. [The whole story, John.] We kissed.
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[That makes it out before he manages to shut down his thoughts, staring over at him-- not accusing, just... thoroughly bewildered. He remembers the way John reacted to the accidental flirting when they'd first met, how he flinched from some of Ryan's touches; Petre kissing him, he can believe that, but them kissing each other?
There's the briefest little flicker of something like jealousy, fleeting, before he shoves it down.]
And he doesn't remember that, either?
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(I don't know I don't know it was good I don't fucking know anything)
[His face goes back into his hands, before they drive through his hair again, pulling tight enough to hurt. He needs to focus. This is perhaps the most he's ever needed focus in his life and he's all over the place. Answer the questions, not the reactions - that's all he can do.]
- nothing. I doubt he even remembers how he got home. He tried to fuck a guy at the bar named Jon, for god's sake, he's cracking up worse than me, and he was sulking about getting turned down. And then it all turned into this messed up thing about how I was different. Not like other guys, that was his line, of all fucking things. And I fell right into it.
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[It's a testament to how much he needs to know the answer that nothing else leaks out. He's completely earnest, slightly wide eyes fixed intently on John- there's no way he believes it, not after all the warnings he gave Ryan.
He doesn't want him to believe it, and a small, guilty part of him knows it's unfounded jealousy. Petre gets what he wants, doesn't he, isn't that what they'd talked about last time? John can't be something else on that list.]
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I'll never know what to believe. All the answers were in that night and I ran away, and now he's got all the power again if I try to bring it back up. He was drunk. He's got an out for everything whether it was true or not. I was right there and knew exactly what was happening and just got - fucking suckered into -
[And he turns away again.]
(you can't that's stupid you can't be manipulated into wanting something you don't but i was but you goddamn well can't it doesn't work that way but what does that stop it stop it)
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[He can't help it. He's tried to avoid anything that could come off too intimate, but the conflict in those thoughts weakens what's left of his resolve to ignore what he wants to do; the hand on John's shoulder turns into an arm around him, pulling him in, nothing tentative about the gesture.]
It's okay, you don't have to know- look, it's confusing shit even without all the rest of it, I shouldn't have asked you to--
[Ryan exhales slowly, shakes his head.]
Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, okay? You just... have to figure out what you're gonna do about it, I guess. What happens now.
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Nothing happens. [The thought is dull and lifeless, but there's a suggestion of fierceness that would be present if he just had the energy.] He never knows, and it never happens again. If I'm so goddamn special, it just means I finally have a reason for why he wants to fuck with me over everyone else. It doesn't change anything.
[Except that Petre can be vulnerable. He can feel. He can hurt. But that pain is none of his business, even if it's enough to add a hint of doubt to his final thought.]
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It changes not knowing why he was doing it. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but- you have that.
[And after a moment's hesitation he adds, more tentatively:]
Do you want it to change anything.
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Does it? I always knew I was a prize. Knowing what game he's winning doesn't change shit. It's just more selfish than it was before.
[The breath he lets out at Ryan's careful question shakes his whole body, it's so heavy and unsteady.]
Ryan - I have no - fucking idea what I want.
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...that's the important thing. To figure out, I mean. Just- have to decide what you want, or at least what you don't, right?
[Ryan's not sure what else to say. It makes him feel more than a bit helpless, useless as a friend to have about as much idea of how to help as John does of what he wants right now, but he just doesn't.
He frowns up at the twilit sky, gives John a gentle little nudge.]
--c'mon. We better get inside. Just... keep leaning on me, okay, if anybody was looking I'll say you're sick. You look like shit, they'll buy it.
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[Just the slightest spark of humour, but enough to cut some of the tension in the air around them. He even looks up for long enough to let Ryan know he's grinning faintly before standing up and obeying Ryan's commands. Look sick. Lean against him. Hobble back toward the school.
Ryan's heading off the potential rumours for him already, when he didn't even realize how compromising their position looked. Is that part of friendship, too, that selflessness? He's about 100% certain he won't be able to manage that.]
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[Ryan flashes a brief grin back at him before letting his face settle back into mild concern- fortunately, it's not an expression he has to fake- and guiding John back toward the doors. For once, he's come up with a lie he can get away with.]
...d'you want to go back to your room, or-?
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[You're welcome for that accidental thought, Ryan. Try not to picture it, that might really send him off the deep end.
He doesn't know what else to suggest, though. Ryan's got a roommate as well, and the two of them sitting in silence with ever-shifting facial expressions is going to look weird anywhere.]
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--alright. Alright, I have an idea, just go along with it.
[Ryan guides him along to the infirmary, where the presiding staff member looks like she's about to question them for being out right now-- but a look at John and a stream of thoughts from Ryan make her pause. They're not leaking out, whatever it is stays between them, but after he's 'spoken' to her (with a fretful, worried look the whole time) she eventually sighs, nods, gestures them in with a reminder to Ryan that he's not staying all night. ]
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Hidden depths.
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I told her you weren't actually ill, just feeling stress-sick, and that I was worried about you and thought you needed to rest. She's letting me stay for a while, you can sleep here for the night.
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(Charming. That's the word that's always coming to mind with Ryan. Charming.)]
She probably thinks I'm high. I'll catch shit for it somehow tomorrow. [He nods, though.] Still a good plan. Really good.
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You're welcome. Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll leave you alone in the morning?
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[His eyes close for a moment, head tilting up and sinking more firmly into the pillow, but he's not ready to sleep yet; he rolls his shoulders, twists his back once or twice, and then his eyes open again. Even when he used to sleep on solid ground and park benches, his body never felt as tense as it has lately.]
It was just - that night. Everything, how it all happened. It didn't mean anything.
[His tone pretty much adds a giant I'm lying through my teeth to the end of the statement.]
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...didn't mean anything for the two of you? Or for you?
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