“Oh yeah?” she said. “All that hot, scaly dragon sex?”

It was just a little bit ridiculous — okay, to the non-Swynlake mind it was incredibly ridiculous. But Maddy and Johnny had met once upon a dream, as they said, so it seemed trivial to reference their past dream rendezvous so candidly.

She shifted a little, so that she faced him more.

“Did that get you as horny as it got me?” she teased. She was joking. Mostly. Kinda.

It was definitely the weirdest Swynlake dream he'd had thus far, and that was saying something. He hadn't really minded being a dragon, though. There had definitely been a feeling of power in that dragon body that he didn't really have in his regular old human body. And then, of course, there'd been Maddy.

"I do think it was hotter than the Bridgerton thing." He said. "Not that getting to hold your ungloved hand wasn't extremely exciting or anything."

They had been on the road for almost two hours now, only just having passed out of London. It had been tempting to stop and see his mother and sister. He missed them, but he knew his mother would kick his ass if he stopped to see her instead of continuing on to their very important mission to the Newcastle Mines that had collapsed.

This was Kovu's real chance to prove himself. Not being J.D. in the community theater's summer programme. Or being nominated prom king. (Or winning, which he doubted he would.)

The windows were cracked in his rented Mercedes. The engine purred along pleasantly. The weather was overcast, but had enough sun that he required his prescription sunglasses for driving. The music and conversation had flowed and ebbed naturally.

"Where's your family from?" Kovu asked casually as they hit the outskirts of London. "My family is from Leeds, but I mostly grew up in London. In Camden and then South Kensington."

Johnny was absolutely not complaining about taking a road trip. Paid time away from work? Count him in. The fact that they were driving towards a mine collapse maybe wasn't ideal, but still: time away from the office, all expenses paid. He couldn't care if they were quite literally driving into the Underworld. But, he supposed, they wouldn't have to leave Swynlake for that.

It had been a while since Johnny had done any real sort of roadtrip, too. He had driven home when the castle went up for sale, and then he had driven back to Swynlake, stopping only at the prison that held his mother along the way. Not quite as nice as Gloucester services, but it hadn't been too bad, surprisingly.

Johnny had been looking out of the window, watching the farmers' fields roll past until Kovu spoke. South Kensington; fucking hell. "The Isle of Wight." Johnny answered. "So awful they made it its own little island." He snorted softly. "That's a hell of an upgrade, though. Leeds to South Kensington. Why the move?"

So the wine, which was probably just a smidge fancier than whatever brand she would normally grab for herself, was actually pretty good in her opinion. She took another long sip and then tilted her head back so it rested on the couch, turning to Johnny and batting her eyelashes.

“Soooo did you invite me here just for some free wine or do you have ulterior motives?” she teased. “I’m fine with just the wine, of course. But I’m also game for ulterior motives.” 

"I always have ulterior motives," He said with a grin, turning a little so that he was better facing her. "And, y'know," As the words were beginning to leave his mouth, he wondered if he should even mention it. If he was about to make it weird. Ah well, too late now; he was still talking. "That dream had me thinking about you."

Living with John, one had to realize he was unaccustomed to, well, the lives of regular people. He was born with money, burnt water by just looking at it, and had probably been given the pick of any place he wanted to get his law degree.

Angelo had lived a very, very different life. That didn't mean he liked the man less, or begrudged him his life tantrums every now and again. In fact, he thinks, maybe it just lets him see it from a different side, especially after having known him as long as he has.

I don't know. Just seems like I can't do anything right.

A little furrow appears on between Angelo's eyes before he quickly smoothes it away. Doesn't want John to see it, especially if it meant the man would wallpw worse than he already was.

Instead, Angelo reaches up and tweaks a piece of hair to get his attention, hand dropping to sit, just for a second, on his shoulder a moment later. "Yah can't mumble and be British, Yiannaki mou. Gotta pick," comes the teasing, hoping to at least get the man to sit up. Maybe even if he's lucky to turn and look at him, to be offended.

If he does, it works. And then Angelo can actually figure out what's wrong.

Slowly, as if it was some great feat, or caused him some great pain, Johnny lifted himself up and out of the couch cushions. He was immediately greeted by Titan's wet nose as the dog slobbered over his face, trying, Johnny assumed, to cheer him up.

Johnny ran a hand over his face, and grimaced.

"Nah, I don't give a fuck about her anymore." He said. It was true, too. Johnny had gotten used to the small jabs and jibes of his desk neighbour. Besides, more often than not nowadays he worked with his earbuds in, so long as their boss wasn't around to see him do it.

"It's just like... I don't know. They keep giving me work to do, leaving me to do it, and then saying that it's wrong. It's weird."

She swirled the wine, like fancy people in movies and TV did, then took a sip. With a loud smack of her lips, Maddy tilted her head back and forth, pretending to appraise the flavor.

“Hmm,” she said. “Tastes… like jubilance. With after notes of Johnny got too drunk at the holiday party.” 

He was glad for the distraction of Maddy swirling her wine; Johnny tilted his head, watching her with obvious amusement. At her assessment, he gave her a gentle shove, feigning outrage. "I'll have you know I only get tastefully drunk at office parties. I'm a class act."

He was laughing as he said it, though, because of course it wasn't true. After a sip of his own, he said, "I'm glad someone likes it, though. Only the best for the lady."

At least John wasn't suffocating himself in the couch cushions anymore. Brat. Angelo didn't really want to learn if he remembered CPR because his roommate was a dramatic asshole.

Speaking of which -

"Sorry, sorry," he says, when he notices the man jump, tone quieting, almost-but-not-qute softening around the edges from his usual no-nonsense affectation. Then, John shakes his head and grunts, making Ange laugh, a quiet huff of air.

But then Johnny had to get a real job, one that paid the bills. And though the pay was generous, Johnny had a lot of bills. He didn't so much have the money, time or energy to go travel or have fun beyond Swynlake's boundaries.

But lately... Johnny just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something was off. He hated to say it, but he almost thought he cared, because he could tell something as wrong, and he almost - almost - wanted to fix it. At least so it would stop impacting him, specifically.

"I don't know." He muttered. "'s weird. Just seems like I can't do anything right."

She plopped right down on the couch, which she’d done dozens of times before, and curled her legs up on it. 

“Next time you’re at mine, I have a very special bottle of peach schnapps that I got on sale,” she said, taking the glass from Johnny. “Delicious and cheap, two of my favorite things.”

In all fairness to InterPride, the wine was probably still better than anything Johnny would ever buy for himself. He poured them a glass each and followed Maddy through to the other room, carefully handing her glass over before he sat down.

"Hence why you're here?" He teased, a self-depricating smile still curving his lips even as he took a sip from his glass. He was right; not too bad. "Sounds very tempting, though. I can't actually remember the last time I had peach schnapps. When I was still stealing from my dad's liquor cabinet, maybe."

For once, Angelo wasn't out of the flat.

He had the night off from working at Gusteau's, no classes until the following day – afternoon, really – so he was here. He'd been finishing up some course readings from earlier in the week when he hears John come home. Hears Titan, who'd vacilated between living room and Angelo's room (on the bed, which John didn't need to know), trot to see his owner.

When Angelo doesn't immediately hear the other man start making the damn baby voice at the dog, he knows something hadn't gone well.

Sliding off his bed, books and notebook tossed onto the foot, Angelo pads barefoot down the hall and into the living room. "Yah home early. What's –"

Angelo stops when he sees how the man's face planted into the couch. A bad day, then. Without another word, Angelo clicks his tongue, calling Titan to his bed, before moving to the kitchen.

He's there for five minutes, or so, before he returns, setting a mug on the side table. Then, Angelo crouches down beside the couch, gently nudging an arm as he looks him over, reading glasses still perched on his nose.

He could hear the vague sounds of movement in the kitchen, but he didn't know what Angelo had gone in there to do. Johnny hoped he had just decided to leave him to it, let him melt into the sofa cushions until he was a part of the sofa itself. Preferable, really, to going back to work tomorrow.

Johnny assumed the nudging at his arm was Titan, until he heard Angelo's voice much closer than he had expected it to be. He jumped a little, and then shook his head, grunting into the sofa cushion. Y'know, it was actually quite nice here. Warm. Cosy. Maybe he'd stay indefinitely.

"I don't care." Johnny said, and he meant it. "I'm not going in tomorrow, so. Doesn't matter."

She liked Johnny. He was fun. He was always up for a good time. Their first Swynlake dream together had been a whirlwind — all silk dresses and luxurious ballrooms and whispered secrets. It had been very fun and it had been even more fun to take that connection into real life, where she could have actual sex.

Of course it made sense that when they were dragons, they’d be drawn to each other. Never mind the whole we’re going to have a whole clutch of eggs together and mate for life thing that had transpired! That was just… Swynlake being Swynlake! 

Now, Maddy wasn’t in a position to have a whole clutch of eggs with anyone. Or mate for life. And she didn’t want to ruin the easy breezy lemon squeezy thing that she and Johnny had going on. 

But she wondered —

She pushed that half-formed thought away and it floated up, up, and away.

By the time she reached Johnny’s place, she could barely see it in the blue sky of her mind. 

She greeted him with a smile.

“I’d love a drink,” she said, sliding easily into his apartment. She paused briefly in front of him and looked up, her lips twisting. “Got anything special for me?” 

When she came to stop in front of him he tilted his head down just a little, enough to meet her gaze. “Special? For you?” He paused, making a show of humming and looking away, pretending to be lost in thought. When he did look back down at her there was a smile curving his lips, tugging at the very edges. He leaned forward just a little, like he might kiss her, like that might be the special something. “I’m sure I can find you something.”

Turning away instead, Johnny went to the fridge, rattling around in the wine bottles and various cans of who-knew-what. “How about a glass of miscellaneous white wine courtesy of Interpride’s Christmas party?”

Johnny trudged up the stairs of their apartment building, jangled the key in the lock, and let himself into the apartment. He threw his bag somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, not intentionally, that was just where it went. He didn’t care. For all he really cared, it could fly out the window, never to be seen again.

He slumped to the living room, where he threw himself on the sofa, suit and dress shoes still on. He landed face down, nose pressed right into the sofa cushions, and squeezed his eyes shut. Johnny was vaguely aware of Titan by his side, nudging at him, but he didn’t budge.

He’d had a shit day, a shit day that was snowballing into a shit week, and probably a shit month— he was catastrophising. Maybe. Maybe, though, it really was that bad…