Work Text:
“Ryan.”
No response.
“Rya—mmm.”
Nothing.
“Ry, for Christ's sake.”
The blonde couldn't help but smile against Naim's lips. He tugged Naim's bottom lip in between his teeth before letting it slip free again, chuckling quietly at the soft hitch in Naim's breath. Their bodies were still pressed against each other, much to Naim's disapproval; he had no chance of breaking out of the strong, muscled arm that had locked itself around his smaller frame. The more he struggled, the more his shirt rode up, and the more he could feel Ryan's bare skin against his own. It only seemed to encourage Ryan to hold him a little tighter, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing slow circles into the small of Naim's back. Naim shot him a glare that would've been convincing had it not been immediately ruined by the smile threatening to creep onto his face.
“'M goin', m'goin',” Ryan finally managed to mumble into the kiss, though he made absolutely no effort to prove it. Instead, he stole another second, taking Naim's tongue into his mouth to suck on it gently—partly because he wanted to and partly because it was an incredibly effective way to stop whatever complaint Naim had been trying to make. Judging by the way Naim's eyes fluttered shut and rolled back just slightly, Ryan considered his objective accomplished. He smiled into the kiss again, unable to help himself. He could've stayed there all night if the rest of the world would've just left them alone.
Ryan couldn't begin to tell you how they had gotten into this situation. Well, yes he could. They'd started with smoking a joint, which had turned into talking, talking into laughing, laughing into being much closer than either of them had intended, and somewhere in between neither of them had noticed Ryan's arm winding around Naim's waist or the fact that they'd stopped pretending there was supposed to be any space between them. He just really didn't want to think about anything else other than Naim and the way he sounded and the way he felt and the way he tasted and the quiet little noises he made without realizing it whenever Ryan kissed him just right. He didn't want to think about tomorrow. He didn't want to think about Monday. He didn't want to think about church or school or whispers or how he was disappointing God. He just wanted to think about Naim.
It was 3:03 AM on a Sunday night, and he knew they both had church in the morning. They'd barely talked at all on Friday, with reading groups and lab pairings having no luck in bringing them any interactions with one another. Ryan had felt both slightly relieved and utterly crushed. Relieved because every conversation lately seemed to end with someone looking at him differently than they had before. Crushed because avoiding Naim had somehow hurt worse than all of it. He had full awareness and knowledge as to why no one would want to be around him right now. He heard all the whispers in the hallways and mumbles in the pews. He caught conversations cutting off the second he walked by. He could practically hear their thoughts written across their faces whenever he looked at them for too long. Whether they knew anything or not didn't seem to matter anymore. Somehow they all looked at him like they did.
Ryan had felt completely cold inside since the ritual. A full-body chill that lingered beneath his ribs and crawled slowly up his spine before settling into the back of his neck and the base of his skull like something breathing against him. There was no warmth in him anymore, not even when there were others around him. Not from crowded classrooms, not from Sunday sermons, not even from the sun beating down on the back of his neck between classes. It was as though something had hollowed him out and left only the shell behind. He felt completely abandoned in both body and soul. There would be times where his instinct was to pray— to pray and have faith that there was somebody out there listening. Someone he could say sorry to and beg for it to stop. Someone who would tell him he wasn't beyond saving. But whenever he felt even the smallest moment of clarity, whenever he felt closer to finding that light, that same cold, shameful, dead feeling settled in his stomach before climbing into his throat. It didn't speak. It didn't have to. It simply made him afraid. Afraid of praying. Afraid of hoping. Afraid that if he admitted what was happening out loud, it would become real. It told him to run away. It told him faith wouldn't save him, but denial would.
But there was no denying the warmth inside his chest with Naim beside him in his bed.
Ryan had smelled the faint scent of weed drifting in through his cracked bedroom window before he'd even heard the quiet creaking of old, worn wood. He had never been more appreciative of the fact that his room sat furthest from everyone else's. If anyone else had caught the smell— or worse, caught sight of the familiar brunette standing outside—there would've been literal hell to pay.
"You gonna join me or just stare at me?" the brunette teased quietly when the blonde had finally peeked his head out the window.
In fact, it was so quiet Ryan had almost missed it completely, his blue eyes were too busy tracing the other's face. His lips, mostly. They curled into an amused smile around the joint balanced lazily between two fingers.
Inhale.
Huff.
Exhale.
Smoke drifted lazily into the cool night air, carrying that earthy smell with it as Naim smiled just a little wider.
"Are you fuckin crazy, mate? What the fuck are you doing here?" Ryan whispered harshly, though it still came out louder than he intended. The words carried a strange mixture of anger and something far less pleasant. Desperation. "Seriously, Naim. What the fuck."
Naim had been leaning casually against the wooden gate surrounding Ryan's backyard when the blonde had first opened the window, one foot crossed over the other like he'd all the time in the world. The moment Ryan appeared, though, the distance between them disappeared almost unnaturally quickly. One second he was by the gate, and the next he was in front of Ryan's window, moving so effortlessly it barely looked like he'd taken any steps at all. Ryan blamed the darkness for not noticing.
Naim's eyes looked different tonight. Red from the weed, pupils blown wide from the lack of light. Two days ago, exhaustion had carved heavy shadows beneath them, but tonight those dark circles were simply...gone. His skin looked healthier somehow. Brighter. There was even a faint little sparkle in his eyes that caught the moonlight.
Ryan hoped it was just the moon, anyway. Anything to crush the wings of the butterflies threatening to break free from the cage inside his stomach.
Naim stayed quiet after his first question, simply watching Ryan with an expression that was impossible to read.
Ryan immediately regretted raising his voice.
His shoulders sagged as he unclenched his fists with a quiet sigh. Leaning farther out the window, he reached for the joint in Naim's hand without really thinking. Their fingers brushed for the briefest second before Ryan stole a quick drag.
Naim said nothing.
The teasing grin had disappeared, replaced with a strangely neutral expression that made Ryan somehow feel even guiltier.
"I'm sorry for..." Ryan started before shaking his head. "Well. No—you know it's not safe." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Someone's gonna see us. My parents are sleeping, for Christ's sake." The words spilled out before the heat rising into his ears had any chance to settle but Naim's silence continued.
Naim’s hazel eyes wandered over Ryan's face, lingering on the messy blonde curls catching silver in the moonlight. Then, without saying a word, he plucked the joint back from Ryan's fingers and took another slow hit.
He smiled then. Not the teasing smile from a moment ago, something softer. Something so effortlessly beautiful that Ryan was certain he would've woken up the entire neighborhood just for the chance to tell them all to take a look.
"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here." Naim's voice was barely above the rustling leaves. "But… don't you miss me?"
Then, Naim’s smile curled into the smallest smirk, and the butterflies escaped their cage.
They climbed into Ryan's stomach, fluttered against his ribs, lodged themselves in his throat, and settled somewhere deep inside his chest where they made it impossible to think.
"Naim..." Ryan had wanted to explain himself. He wanted to tell him that of course he missed him. Of course he did. God, there wasn't a single thing in the world he had missed more.
Looking at Naim at the time, that disgusting, lingering feeling of someone standing just behind him started to grow stronger. It settled between Ryan's shoulder blades and crawled slowly up the back of his neck until every tiny hair stood on end. His stomach twisted. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to grab Naim by the shoulders and tell him to go the fuck home. To fuck off and leave him alone for both of their sakes before something happened. Before whatever had been following Ryan decided it wasn't satisfied with just him anymore.
/Something is wrong with me, Naim/, he wanted to say. /I'm scared./
But he did none of that.
Instead, he had simply pushed his window open the rest of the way and stepped back, silently waiting for Naim to climb through. The brunette's smaller frame slipped through the opening, landing lightly on Ryan's bedroom floor. Ryan immediately made a mental note to get rid of the crutch of their joint before anyone found it in the morning. Before his parents woke up. Before somebody smelled it. Before somebody started asking questions.
Everything was happening too fast.
Ryan felt like he was dreaming.
Why is Naim here?
Why did I let him in?
How did he get in my room?
He's in my room.
Oh my God.
He's in my room.
Ryan had definitely fucked up.
Naim took a step closer, and Ryan had never hated their height difference more. The brunette tilted his head down just enough to look up at him through long eyelashes and messy bangs that had fallen into his eyes. There was something impossibly gentle about the way he looked at Ryan, like he was afraid of startling him. A small, tender smile rested across his pink lips as he reached forward and carefully took one of Ryan's hands into both of his own.
His hands were warm. So, so warm.
Ryan hadn't realized how cold he'd truly become until that moment.
Naim lowered his gaze, his thumbs absentmindedly caressing each of Ryan's knuckles before tracing the red gashes running against his pale skin. He followed every dip in his fingers and every scar across his palm with slow, deliberate care, as though committing them all to memory. Ryan couldn't help but notice that he paid extra attention to the fingers he would normally wear his rings on. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent.
Ryan didn't dare look down. If he did, he thought he might cry.
Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on the strands of dark hair hanging over Naim's face, watching them sway ever so slightly every time he breathed. Ryan realized he was barely breathing himself.
After another quiet moment, Naim stopped tracing Ryan's hand and gently intertwined their fingers together. He lifted their joined hands and rested his chin against them, never once letting go.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, with more concern in his voice now. "Talk to me."
Ryan silently thanked every miserable year he'd spent learning how to swallow his feelings before anyone else could see them. He was thankful for the shadows spilling through his bedroom, too, the pale moonlight casting enough darkness across his face to hide what little composure he had left. He shook his head almost instinctively and looked away, praying the tears gathering in his eyes hadn't caught the light.
"I just..." His throat tightened around the words before they could escape.
It's so lonely.
It's so tiring.
It's so cold.
It’s always watching me.
It's terrifying.
Ryan shook his head harder, almost frantically now, trying to force the thoughts back down where they belonged. If he could just get angry instead, that would be easier. Anger was familiar. Anger didn't make him feel weak. He clung to it desperately, willing the frustration to drown out the fear threatening to swallow him whole.
"It's bullshit," he muttered, his voice cracking despite himself. He laughed once through his nose — a bitter, humorless sound—and scrubbed a hand down his face. "It's fucking bullshit.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Naim had rushed out, immediately unlinking their hands so he could cup Ryan’s face completely.
Ryan bit the inside of his cheek so hard he thought he tasted blood. The sharp metallic tang spread across his tongue, but it did nothing to stop the pressure building behind his eyes. His tears spilled over anyway, hot against his cold skin. He shook his head over and over, frantic and almost involuntary, staring off to the side, then down at the floor, then somewhere over Naim’s shoulder. Everywhere but into Naim’s eyes directly. His chest tightened with every breath. He couldn't believe Naim was seeing him like this.
Naim held onto Ryan’s face with more tension, his palms firm against his cheeks, gently but insistently forcing the blonde to look at him. “Ryan, hey, Ryan, look at me.”
Ryan’s body trembled ever so slightly with the effort he was exerting to keep himself from collapsing into a full-body sob. His shoulders rose and fell with harsh, sequenced breaths, each inhale catching in his throat before he forced the next one down. That was the first time anybody had touched him so carefully since the ritual. It was like he had a disease. His lungs burned from trying so desperately to regain control. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking painfully in the middle, forcing the rest of his apology into nothing more than a hoarse whisper. The words scraped against his throat on their way out.
Naim’s fingertips slipped into Ryan’s blonde curls, absentmindedly twisting the soft strands as he continued to cradle his face. Ryan lifted his own hands, covering Naim’s where they rested against his cheeks, needing to feel that he was really there. He leaned forward until his nose brushed against Naim’s, the gentle pressure grounding him. Their foreheads settled together, warm against warm, and Ryan continued to nuzzle into him, rubbing his tear-soaked cheek against Naim’s dry one. The dampness cooled against the air before disappearing into Naim’s skin. Their eyelashes fluttered together every time either of them blinked, soft little tickles that somehow pulled the smallest smile from Ryan's lips, so faint it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. In the darkness, illuminated only by the pale wash of moonlight slipping around the curtains, neither of them would have noticed it anyway.
Naim had closed the window after climbing in, a choice that would have earned him an eye roll from Ryan any other night. He usually liked leaving it cracked open, liked hearing the rustling outside or feeling the breeze drift through his room. But now, with the stale warmth wrapped around them and the sounds of the outside world shut away, it felt strangely comforting. The room seemed smaller, quieter. Like it belonged only to them. Ryan knew if he concentrated hard enough he could probably hear the soft snores of his family drifting faintly through the hallway, the occasional settling creak of the old house, the hum of life somewhere in the distance.
Instead, all he heard was, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” whispered by Naim in that pretty little voice of his.
The words brushed across Ryan’s skin as softly as Naim’s lips did. He dragged them gently along Ryan’s damp chin before pressing a quick, chaste kiss against his mouth, soft sighs spilling in between each contact. Ryan looked at him through hooded, watery eyes, his face flushed pink and his lips parted as Naim continued to graze featherlight kisses across the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. Every kiss lingered for just a heartbeat longer than the last, patient and reassuring, as though Naim was trying to piece him back together one touch at a time.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered once more.
Before the final word had fully left his lips, Ryan leaned forward to close the distance between them, sealing their mouths together. The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, before relief overtook restraint. His tongue slid gently against Naim’s, warm and familiar, and his hands, large and steady despite the lingering tremble in his fingers, found their way to Naim’s hips. He held him there as though letting go would unravel him all over again. The brunette moaned and took advantage of the difference in their height, his hands slipping from Ryan’s face to lace around the back of his neck, fingertips disappearing into the curls at his nape as he pulled them both deeper into the kiss. Ryan melted into the familiar weight of him, the scent of Naim's shampoo and the feeling of his skin surrounding him until, for just a moment, the rest of the world disappeared.
With his back towards his bed and his hands still on Naim’s hips, Ryan had slowly walked them over to the edge of the mattress. The blonde took a seat on his bundled up blanket and led Naim to sit on top of his lap. They had made shameless noises against one another as their bodies started to move together. Ryan could feel Naim’s bulge pressing up against his own and broke the kiss to look down at Naim grinding his hips on top of him. Ryan’s breathing had started to grow heavy, and questions on where Naim had learned to do this soon escaped his mind.
But as Ryan looked up at the boy on top of him, he could tell Naim was simply chasing his own high as well. His lips were parted so seductively that Ryan had to hold himself back from slipping his fingers into the brunette’s mouth. His eyebrows were scrunched up and lifted ever so slightly. With each drag of fabric against his cock, and the feeling of Ryan’s hands keeping him in place, he let out a sultry “ah, ah, ah” that Ryan wished he could record and listen to with his earbuds anytime he wanted.
With Ryan’s eyes dead set on Naim’s, drinking in the sights and sounds, he could feel the precum beading at the tip of his cock from watching Naim. He loved that he could do this for him. Loved the way Naim seemed to disarm him and allow him to just feel. Feel good. Feel happy. Feel like he was about to cum.
Naim must have shared the same feeling. Ryan moaned a soft “fuck, Naim,” and let out a fucked out laugh as he watched the brunettes smaller hands go down between them to pull down their trackies. Ryan mustered up the will to fullybreak his gaze from Naim’s face to look down at Naim working both of their cocks with determination. Fuck, is this how Naim jerked himself off when he was alone? In his room, in the shower, with his hands between his thighs and thoughts of Ryan on his mind.
Ryan, deciding to finally pull his weight and not act as a personal dildo, attached his lips to Naim’s neck, licking the arteries that protruded from the flesh. Naim was panting at this point, and they couldn’t tell whose precum was whose. Ryan worried that the wet noises and strangled whimpers and whines would wake his parents, but that worry flew out his mind when Naim moved his head to the dip between Ryan’s shoulder and neck. He kissed up that curve and up his jaw, licking and leaving the smallest of bites for worry of evidence.
Naim’s lips felt so soft, so wet, and Ryan had to remove one of his hands from the smaller’s hip to cover his own mouth. Naim’s tongue had accidentally licked and kissed the lobe and curve of his pierced ear, and Ryan let out a full body shudder. His eyes fluttered and slightly rolled back; but before Ryan could ask Naim if he could do anything else to that area, the brunette was already hovering his lips there.
“C’mon, c’mon, cum for me,” the brunette whispered in a voice so seductively that Ryan barely recognized it. “I’m so close, Ryan. Fuck, you make me feel so, so fucking good.” Naim’s voice had lowered into a whimper at the last two words, and the two had to shove each other’s faces in the crooks of their necks to muffle their broken, whiny moans as their cum spilled onto Naim’s hands.
So, yes. That was how they had gotten themselves into this situation. With Naim insisting he really, *really* had to go, and Ryan simply refusing to let him.
It was funny how, at the beginning of all this, Ryan had been the reasonable one. The one trying to convince Naim that sneaking into his house in the middle of the night was dangerous. That they were going to get caught. That one of them was going to get hurt.
But Naim had always known exactly what to say. Exactly how to smile. How to talk Ryan down, convince him otherwise, and coax him into doing stupid, reckless shit.
Or...
Was it the other way around?
After a few more moments of soft kisses and breathless laughter, Naim had finally managed to sneak his way out of Ryan's grasp. Granted, that was only after climbing into his lap and straddling him long enough to steal a few more kisses, but eventually Ryan relented with a reluctant grin.
As Naim wandered over to the window to straighten his shirt and smooth down his hopelessly messy hair, Ryan found himself watching instead of helping. Moonlight poured through the glass, washing over Naim's face in pale silver. His lips were still flushed and swollen from kissing, his shirt hung wrinkled from where Ryan had been clutching at it, and there was a crooked little smile on his face that could have convinced anyone he'd just walked off the cover of a magazine.
Ryan couldn't help himself.
He slid off the edge of the bed, crossed the room, and rested a warm hand against Naim's cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over soft skin before he leaned in for one last kiss.
Naim accepted it without hesitation, smiling into it like he had nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.
Ryan was about to open the window for Naim when the other laughed softly and said, "No, I got it."
Then he drove his fist into the glass.
The crack split the room apart.
Ryan jerked backward as a spiderweb of fractures raced across the pane, thin white lines flashing through the moonlight before the entire window exploded inward. Thousands of glittering shards scattered across the bedroom, skittering over the hardwood floor and bouncing across the comforter. A rush of freezing night air flooded inside, carrying the smell of damp earth and wet leaves.
"Naim!"
His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. His pulse hammered against his ribs.
Naim didn't even flinch.
He stared out through the ruined window with an unreadable expression, his arm still outstretched. Tiny pieces of glass clung to his flesh and sparkled against the blood beginning to gather around his knuckles. A slow, dark trail slipped down his wrist before falling onto the floor with a soft, almost delicate tap.
Ryan hurried over, reaching for his arm. "Jesus, are you okay?"
Naim didn't answer. Instead, he smiled. It wasn't forced nor angry. It was the exact same warm, crooked smile Ryan had kissed only seconds earlier.
Then he slammed his hand into the jagged remains of the window again. The sound made Ryan's stomach lurch.
More glass shattered loose, tinkling across the floor as Naim dragged his torn up hand free. Crimson streaked across the splintered frame, catching silver in the moonlight before dripping onto the sill. Ryan grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to pull him back, but Naim felt strangely rigid beneath his hands, as though every muscle had turned to stone.
"Naim, stop!" he yelled, no longer registering his sleeping parents.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Ryan stepped in front of him, and turned him around, desperate to catch his eye.
For a heartbeat, Naim looked directly at him and Ryan's breath caught. Because his eyes weren't focused on Ryan. They were looking through him.
At something standing deeper inside the room.
A chill crawled across Ryan's skin.
Slowly, against every instinct screaming not to, he turned around.
The bedroom was empty.
The unmade bed.
His desk.
The half-open closet.
Nothing else.
He let out a shaky breath and turned back—
Naim was gone.
Ryan's chest tightened.
The shattered window stood wide open to the darkness outside. The yellow curtains drifted lazily in the cold breeze, whispering against the wall. Glass covered the floor, glittering like frost beneath the moonlight, but there wasn't a single footprint leading away.
"Naim...?" His voice barely carried.
The silence that answered felt wrong, too complete, even the crickets outside had stopped. He wondered where the fuck his parents were. And what the fuck he was going to say to them.
Then something cold landed on the back of his hand. Ryan frowned and another drop struck his shoulder, brushed his cheek.
His fingers trembled as he reached up and touched the wetness. When he pulled his hand away, it gleamed dark in the moonlight.
His heart stopped. And with an agonizing slowness, he lifted his head.
The ceiling was bleeding.
Thin, dark rivulets seeped between the cracks in the plaster, gathering into heavy drops that fell one by one onto the floor below.
Tap.
...Tap.
......Tap.
Each drop echoed impossibly loud, as if the room had become hollow.
Ryan stumbled backward until his calves hit the bed. Something shifted behind him. He spun around. Naim was standing beside the bed now, completely silent.
His clothes were untouched, but tiny fragments of glass still glittered in his hair. His smile hadn't changed.
"What if they had heard us?.. Do you hear them?" he asked softly.
Ryan opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Naim tilted ear head up, listening.
The knocking came again, a steady paced, three slow knocks. Not at the bedroom door, but the broken window. From outside.
Ryan stared into the darkness beyond the frame but nothing looked back.
The knocking came a third time. Closer. As if whatever had been outside was no longer waiting there.
As if it was already inside. The knocking started to come from the floorboards as well.
Naim knew how much Ryan got off to watching him.
The brunette held up a large shard of glass in his hand, gripped so tightly that the blood from his hand was squirting out at this point. With a twinkle in his eye and a smile, Naim brought the glass to his throat and began to cut. Sliced himself so deeply that his arteries sprayed blood onto Ryan's wall. The flesh split open as he dragged the rugged material across his skin over and over again, until Ryan thought his head was going to fall off.
Ryan woke with a scream lodged in his throat, bolting upright so violently the blankets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt. Every frantic breath scraped through his lungs as he stared wildly around the room, trying to convince himself he was awake.
Moonlight spilled quietly across the floor. The window was shut. Whole and untouched and not lodged into the skin of the boy he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe.
Then—
Three soft knocks tapped against the glass.