howdy pardner

It went like this; Naim had worked at a store since they moved to the city and a couple years ago and Laura, his ever lovely manager turned friend, had a great aunt, Bonnie, who needed a couple strong, young pairs of hands to help her around her house. She was getting older and there was a lot of upkeep to be had for one single person with bad arthritis to do on her own. Naim, who had somehow managed to keep his side of the finances flowing with his art, was happy to offer his free time, and Ryan was quick to agree as well.

It ended up being less helping her out of necessity, and turning into a real friendship. The kind that Naim and Ryan treasured since leaving Bandee, and something they all benefitted from. They often brought her dinner, Ryan showed up and fixed stuff without her even having to ask. She particularly liked when Naim would come keep her company for an afternoon, even if it was silent and she read a book while he sketched something out in one of his books, or he sat and listened to one of her plentiful stories.

It was never the intention that her house would become theirs.

Bonnie sat them down one evening across her worn kitchen table, and told them her plan to move into a retirement home. How this house was really too much for her and the front steps were more trouble than they were worth. Only problem was, she couldn’t imagine selling it off to some random people, and if they were interested, she would love to sell it to them. 

Ryan and Naim spent a lot of long nights talking it over, weighing their options. The proposition felt heavy, but exciting. It meant more roots than either of them had ever imagined, a real solid life where they didn’t have to pack up and leave. 

Eventually, they settled on an answer. 

“You two are such nice, kind young men, and I hated to think of my home going to someone that doesn’t care about it the same way. It has given me a lot of good years and I hope it does the same for you,” Bonnie told them with tears in her eyes. 

She sold it to them for far less than it was worth, and they both were well aware of just how much that was. Ryan and Naim helped her move into her new place, told her that she’d be sick of them coming round to visit so much. Naim was already planning a painting for her to decorate her new apartment. 

The whole thing felt surreal to Naim, at first. In truth, it did right up until the keys clicked into place and unlocked the chipped yellow front door. 

It all had just seemed too fucking perfect and that there would be another shoe waiting to drop around the corner, something to crush the new kindling of a dream planted in their brains. That’s how a lot of their life had felt–that it would all come crashing down eventually, so naturally this hadn’t felt any different. 

Naim thought maybe the issues would come with the bank; they would deny them any sort of loan, and they’d be resigned to renting forever. Their wages forever going into something they would never really own, as they had been prepared to do for the rest of their lives. 

But, as it turned out, with Ryan’s full time job, and Naim’s almost-dependable income from his art, they were actually doing well and the process was simple and fast as it could be. Buying the house was doable, and then some. 

They got the keys, signed the papers, and now Naim was following Ryan around the halls that belonged to them, watching him flick on all the lights as he went. 

We deserve nice things, we deserve this, Naim reminds himself and chases off any lingering guilt or suspicion that he was harbouring in his chest.

Instead, he imagines a whole future trailing after Ryan and turning the lights back off again, nagging him about the electricity bills. It only makes him smile more. 

“What are we even gonna do with all this space,” Ryan says, poking his head out of one of the bedrooms.

Naim shakes his head and meets him in the doorway, hands resting on his hips as he leans into a gentle kiss, murmuring, “Guess we’ll have to get creative.”

“Your specialty,” Ryan hums, the sharp bite of scruff on his upper lip scratching against Naim’s. 

Too many rooms at their disposal would have been scary, once, but the entity kept its distance these days. It wasn’t completely absent, Naim would see it in passing in dark alleys, across parking lots, but it always looked…different. It was like an old version of Ryan, the same one he had been when they left. Younger, with more on his shoulders. Laden with guilt, shame, that he had since shed. So, it was easier to pick it out and steer clear, and easy to stifle the sense of longing when he knew his Ryan was right beside him.

His Ryan; who was bright, happy, full of excitement for the big fucking yard he now had at his fingertips. 

-

“Reckon I could dig out a fish pond back there?” Ryan muses with a nod to the far corner of the yard when they find themselves sitting on the back deck.

Naim knocks their knees together, follows his line of vision and laughs, “A fish pond? We just got here.”

Ryan’s nose scrunches with a boyish smile, “Well, someday.”

Someday. Naim smiles. 

-

“We could get a dog,” Ryan says into the dark of their bedroom, sparse white walls making it feel brighter than it was.

“We could,” Naim muses, fingers tracing through clusters of freckles on Ryan’s back, circling around the feathery edges of pink scars that linger in between. Scars that would always match the spread of Naim’s fingers. The current lick of red on his lower back left by Naim’s dull nails would fade within the hour.

Ryan’s eyes flick up to the wall at their heads, says quietly, “Hey. Didn’t you say you used to draw on your walls?”

Naim snorts where his cheek is pillowed against one of Ryan’s shoulder blades, “Yah. When I was a kid.”

Ryan twists beneath Naim so they can face each other, hand gentle on Naim’s cheek, “You should paint something for us in here.”

“Like what?” 

“Dunno. Birds, maybe?”

-

Naim had a lot of paint at his disposal, but nothing meant for walls in the capacity that Ryan was envisioning. 

Their stuff gets delivered, and instead of unpacking boxes, Ryan drives them to the hardware store and stocks up on too many paint colours, brushes and tape. Their cart looks ridiculous when they get to the checkout lane.

Naim holds up two rolls of the painters tape and laughs, “Don’t you think this might be a bit much?” 

Ryan shrugs, and buys it all anyway. 

-

Naim maps it out first during the first week in the house until it's exactly the way he wants it. When it’s ready and he opens up the first tins of paint, he puts Ryan to work filling in certain spots.

“I’m gonna mess it all up,” Ryan warns.

“You’re not,” Naim laughs, “Just follow the lines and you’ll be fine. I’ll fix it if it’s really bad”

Ryan doesn’t stay in the lines perfectly, goes a little wonky here and there. Naim assures him it still looks great, secretly likes the way the paint bows out, the imperfections left in Ryan’s wake.

The spots where Ryan’s hands wander, Naim never fixes. 

-

Ryan watches Naim one afternoon while he finishes all the important lines of the mural, the last bold bits and the detailed black and white feathers of the birds, the circles of their eyes dotted with white that brings them to life as they soar against soft pinks and oranges. 

“I like it a lot,” Ryan says with his legs crossed, staring up at the birds.

“Yah?” Naim asks as he steps back, head tilted to get another view of his work, seeing what bits needed to be changed and tweaked. 

There’s paint in the frills of his straight edged hair, patches of it on his arms and definitely a surplus of it on his clothes. There’d be some spots on their sheets too once they took the drop cloth away, and Naim would inevitably be pissed about it but Ryan would shrug it off. 

It’s just paint.