Chapter Text
It’s been 3 months and two days exactly since Johnny and Kerry last slept with each other. He knows, because he remembers the night exactly–it was an afterparty with the rest of the band. There had been an obscene amount of drugs and alcohol, but Kerry traded it for the rush of Johnny. It wasn’t uncommon. Most of the band slept around, with fans, with each other, with their partners who either knew or didn’t. It was just the way things were.
Johnny joked once that it raised morale. Some half-joke about how it works so long as no one passes STDs to the rest, and it became an unspoken rule to not treat it seriously. Just some fun, and it was harmless for the most part. The occasional groupie thought they were more important than they were, or output found out about the other output, but still. Harmless.
It was different for Kerry, and deep down, he suspected Johnny knew it too. That night three months ago had been different. There was something more in the way Johnny touched him, the way he looked at him. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Kerry found himself staring at the phone, debating whether or not to call Johnny. It was late, but he knew he would still be up. He always was.
Johnny's apartment was steeped in the usual chaos - clothes strewn across the floor, bottles of various liquors scattered about. He sat on the edge of his bed, tuning his guitar, when his phone buzzed. He picked it up lazily, seeing Kerry's name flash across the screen. Hesitated for a moment, then answered it with a tired sigh.
“Ker?”
“Good, you’re up.”
“Always up at this hour,” he set down his guitar, leaning back against the wall. “What d'you want?”
"Need to see you," Kerry said with an urgency Johnny couldn’t ignore. "Got some fresh ideas for the new song, but... it’s more than that. Can I come over?"
It was late, he was tired, he had better things to do than listen to Kerry’s song ideas. Fresh ideas were one thing, but the… something in his voice meant there was more to it. Johnny paused in his tuning, lowering the guitar to his lap. The unexpectedness piqued his interest, unfortunately.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Come over.”
He hung up, running a hand through his hair that needed to be washed. This was how it always went with Kerry. One call, one look, and he found it difficult to say no in the end. He quickly cleared a space on the couch, tossing aside a few empty bottles and stray pieces of clothing. Don’t care about being presentable, he kept telling himself, just want a clean spot for us to hang. When he heard the knock at the door, he cracked it open to Kerry’s face on the other side.
“Hey,” Kerry said, almost sheepishly. Almost.
Johnny stepped aside to let Kerry in wordlessly. The apartment was dimly lit, cigarette smoke lingering in the air. Looked like sh*t, honestly, but it was home. Johnny closed the door behind Kerry, the sound of the latch clicking in the silence. He gestured vaguely for Kerry to sit, but ended up flopping down on the couch himself. Then he reached for a cigarette, lighting it.
"So, what's so important that you had to drag your ass over here at..." he glanced at the clock, then snorted. "One in the morning?"
Kerry didn’t immediately sit. He took in the familiar mess, the stale smell of smoke, the half-empty bottles. “Been thinking. About everything.”
He moved to sit on the couch next to Johnny, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Johnny shifted a bit to make room, his shoulder pressing against Kerry's. The closeness felt normal, comforting. He took another drag on his cigarette, the burn grounding him.
"Thinking 'bout what, exactly?" he asked.
He had a feeling he already knew, but it didn't stop him from asking the question. Kerry's closeness made him buzz like the nicotine did. Almost found himself looking over at the other man involuntarily.
“About Samurai.” Kerry frowned at himself, it was a damn lie. Try again. “About us.”
Johnny's expression didn't change, but inside, he felt a pang of—something. He looked away, taking another drag of his cigarette to buy himself some time. "What about us?"
He knew what Kerry was getting at. He didn’t want to hear him say it.
"Been… thinkin’ about that night we shared, a few months ago.”
"We’ve had a lot of nights, Ker,” he said, pretending he didn’t think about it too. “You’ll have to be more specific."
Kerry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Pretending not to take Johnny's feigned ignorance to heart. "You know which one."
Johnny's eyes flicked back to Kerry, but he looked away again almost immediately. Yeah, he knew which one. How could he forget it? He'd replayed that night over and over in his head, both as a painful memory and as a guilty pleasure. But he couldn't admit that. So he played dumb, like he always did. It was a bullsh*t excuse and they both knew it. But he didn't want to acknowledge it. Admitting would make it real.
"I really don't," he bluffed with a shrug. "We drink a lot. Nights blend together sometimes."
Kerry felt the sting of hurt at Johnny's deflection, but tried not to let it show. Tried not to take it personally, either. He'd been here before, after all. The walls Johnny put up were as familiar as the man himself. Johnny flicked his eyes back to Kerry, the cigarette hanging from his lips, giving him a momentary distraction. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.
"Alright," Kerry said finally.
He could see the disappointment in Kerry’s eyes, no matter how much the other man tried to hide it. He felt guilty, but also confused. He couldn’t stop himself, and knew he owed Kerry more than just a half-hearted agreement in the dead of night. But he was drowning.
"Alright?" he repeated. "That's it? You drag your ass all the way over here for that?”
“You shut me down then get mad when I give up. I don't know what else to say now.”
“I'm not mad, f*ck, I just..."
He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face roughly. He was mad. Mad at himself. Mad at the world. But mostly, mad at Kerry for making him feel all the things he didn't want to feel.
“Why’re you doing this?” he finally asked, looking over at Kerry. “This... us. Why does it matter?”
He took a major gamble and leaned over closer to Johnny, hoping to make him understand. "It's 'cause I care about you, gonk. More than I should."
Johnny tensed up, every nerve in his body going on high alert. He really wanted to pull away. Wanted to push Kerry, yell at him and tell him to get lost. But he couldn't bring himself to do that. And Kerry knew he was pushing boundaries, crossing lines that Johnny had carefully drawn. Johnny closed his eyes, a wave of frustration and something he refused to acknowledge washed over him.
"Don't," he groaned. "Don't say that."
“Why?”
"Because it's... it's just so..." What, scary? Confusing? Exhilarating? "This thing, it’s just not good, man.”
“Why?” Kerry pressed.
Johnny wanted to scream. To punch something, to break something. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so exposed to the one person who could hurt him most. But he somehow managed to swallow it back like bile.
“We get drunk, we hook up. We’re friends. Always been that way. Why are you wrecking it?”
Kerry's heart sank. He reached out and gently touched Johnny's arm, as if trying to compel him to understand, fully expecting to get backhanded for it. Almost wanting to, just so he can go back to the uncaring bullsh*t. It hurts less, after all. That’s what he tells himself. Johnny nearly reeled back at the touch, flinching as if it burned. But he didn’t pull away. He let Kerry’s hand rest on his arm, felt the warmth of it.
"Don't touch me," Johnny muttered, voice hoarse, but he leaned into the touch.
Kerry withdrew his hand slowly, respecting Johnny's boundaries while also feeling a pang of disappointment. Johnny remained silent, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room. Kerry could see the turmoil in his eyes, the conflict raging within him. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but he knew it wasn't the right time. It never would be.
"I'm sorry.
Johnny's jaw tightened, the apology only making him feel worse. He didn't want Kerry to be sorry, he wanted him to forget about this whole damn conversation. To just go back to how things used to be. But even he knew that wasn't possible. Nothing has been the same for a long time. Maybe it never was.
"So am I,” he took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs.
Johnny loathed how he wanted to reach out and pull Kerry closer. He was drowning in his own thoughts, for f*cks sake. He wanted to tell Kerry to stay, to touch him again, to hold him like that night. That stupid night. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t. Instead, he refused to look at him.
“You should go.”
