#levitific

Instead of a straggler looking to browse, he’s met with a familiar set of bright blue eyes and blonde curls. Hair a little longer than when they met, standing a little taller than when they left. 

Naim smiles, but just as quick it disappears from his face and he steps back with a cool levelled fear creeping into his chest. It was instinct, calculated from a plethora of experiences under his belt. His hand is already reaching for the lighter he always keeps in his back pocket.

The feeling melts away just as fast as it came when a coworker passes between them, greeting Ryan on the way. It was enough to confirm he was in fact Ryan, the real flesh and blood one, with the ugly wisp of a moustache that Naim couldn’t convince him to shave and all. 

“Hey,” Naim says with a small breath of relief and braces his arms on the counter, “What’re you doing here? We were gonna meet at home.”

Plans were something they both counted on these days. Surprises could be dangerous without communication…but Naim was happy to see him, he couldn’t deny that. 

Ryan leans into the counter from the other side and his teeth flash as he levels his gaze with Naim’s, “It’s Friday night, thought we could go for a walk or something. Find a bite to eat, live a little.”

What Naim doesn’t feel the need to say is that this is when the entity likes to show up most, when it does. It likes to show Naim its same white teeth and say, “Let me walk you home, sweetheart.” It always drips sweetly off its tongue and Naim resists the pull every time, lets it lurk in the shadows until he’s back in their apartment and greets the real Ryan with the flicker of a lighter flame between them.

Naim watches Ryan’s eyes in the slanted early evening light cast through the windows, and he can see unease there that the entity would never carry. An unbridled worry that seeps through his otherwise cheerful expression, one that Naim knows how to read into in its entirety. Knows there’s more of a reason than Ryan showing up and wanting to be spontaneous, but he doesn’t push it for now. Not when they were surrounded by Naim’s coworkers. 

As if on cue, Naim’s manager Kathy approaches them both with a wide smile on her face,  “Hi, Ryan! What a gentleman coming all the way down here to walk home with your man. My husband could stand to learn a few pointers from you.”

Naim liked Kathy. She had a tendency to be overly blunt sometimes, which could be too much for some people, but she was always kind. True kindness was something Naim never took for granted since leaving their little town. It came in sparks and drabbles in passing, and sometimes it lingered and it was worth holding onto. 

Ryan shifts on the balls of his feet, a still teenage-like charm in his smile when he tells her, “Tell me when, I’d be happy to give Jack a talking to for ya’.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Kathy cackles.

Naim fits his chin in his palm and looks at Ryan through his lashes as he watches them laugh back and forth about something or other, listening as Kathy tells them both that they should both come over for dinner sometime. Everyone loved Ryan. Naim couldn’t blame them. 

There was a feeling akin to pride when he looked at him now, all sunkissed blonde and handsome and, God, so effortlessly likable, making people laugh and smile despite everything they had gone through. Naim knew he wasn’t as affable, there was a harder, angst drenched edge to him that had only seemed to worsen with time. 

“Why don’t you kids get out of here,” Kathy breaks through Naim’s wandering thoughts.

Naim pushes off the counter, not about to question her generous offer, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, you have some fun for the rest of us. I’ll clock you out when we leave,” Kathy smiles and pats him on the shoulder, bidding a quick goodbye to Ryan as well before heading off to assign closing tasks to everyone else. Naim grabs his bag and doesn’t linger long enough to get any good natured ribbing from his coworkers.

The day is still bright, and the streets are busy, warmed from the early summer heat but drifting into something comfortable in the shade of the surrounding buildings. The Brisbane streets are busy enough that Naim doesn’t need to worry about anything, full of people heading to dinners, or running home after work, some families that were definitely tourists, they were all white noise for Ryan and Naim to exist in. A safety they provided to them that the strangers would never be aware of. 

“You’re welcome,” Ryan says with his arms spread.

Naim laughs, dodging the shoulder of someone oblivious and talking on their phone, bumping into Ryan’s side in the process, “Yah, yah. Whatever, Mr. Romance over here. You know Kathy is going to be asking me all about it next week now.”

Ryan scoops Naim’s hand into his own and threads their fingers together, squeezes,  “I reckon I had better give you a good time then.”

“Mmmhm,” Naim hums sweetly as they drift into each other’s orbit, pace slowing, “Yah, you fuckin’ better.”

Ryan kisses him, quick and quiet. No one around them bats an eye. 

They get takeout that Ryan buys for them with some rainy day cash he had tucked away in his wallet, and they eat at a picnic table in a park; cheap and within their means. No less fun then anything else Naim could imagine. The evening is warm and their ankles are hooked together beneath the table, and it feels more like home than anywhere. It feels good.  

It took them a while to find a place to settle. At first, it never seemed like they would get far enough. Melbourne was good for a time. They had stayed with Ryan’s older cousin who had long since cut ties with the rest of his family. Someone else was always in the house, and the entity quieted somewhat, leaving them alone more often. That lasted eight blissful months or so while they scrapped together money from odd jobs before Ryan’s parents started clueing in and they made the hasty decision to leave again. 

They headed to the next big city that would be easy to blend into, and that was Sydney. They somehow found a cheap little apartment after a week sleeping on tucked away park benches, and found better jobs willing to hire inexperienced eighteen year olds where they could start saving a little bit. That bought them around a year before Naim encountered his mother. Arlene found his place of work and wouldn’t leave him be. She would wait until he was off shift and plead and beg him to come home with tears in her eyes and it was almost enough to make Naim feel as if he had made a mistake. That he should go back. It followed him home and leached over to Ryan, and things had felt hopeless. 

The entity had reared its head then as if it could sense the heightened shame and guilt, and became stronger and more persistent. Almost as bad as it had been at the beginning if not worse, the fear and known proximity of his mother fanning its flames. 

Neither of them wanted to leave, they had a good thing with the smallest tendrils of roots growing beneath them, but there were only so many blood stains and bruises they could explain to their coworkers. Only so much pain that they could endure before it would catch one of their anxiety riddled brains off guard and then it would leave them no better off than Hunter had been. Enduring that thing and being miserable was pointless. So, one more time, they left. 

It had been about a year and a half in Brisbane now, and it felt more solid than the others. There was finally a distance between their families that felt like it would be enough for now. Nobody had found their new numbers, and they kept to themselves. Lived quietly. They had a circle of friends from work, and that was good enough. Their shoebox apartment was even starting to become their own, sparse with belongings as it may be. 

It was nice. It wasn’t a life Naim had envisioned for himself, but then, who would’ve? When his mom told him as a teenager that someday he’d believe in things he wouldn’t be able to unsee, he didn’t think it would be her doing and didn’t think it would be something so intent on ruining the normal life he once had a taste of. 

Naim digs out a pack of cigarettes from his bag, stomach full and a content pliancy stretching through the muscles of his body. The lazy summer breeze winding through the space between them. He offers the box to Ryan, and when Ryan reaches for them that’s when Naim sees it. The cuff of his work shirt slips and Naim can see the tell of dark mottled skin on his forearm. 

A dark, gaping pit opens up inside him. Naim feels the ground giving out from under him, that icy unease from earlier beneath his skin making the warm night feel wholly unwelcome. The familiar tendrils wind their way around him, kept at bay by the guys playing frisbee in the open space beyond them and another group at another nearby picnic table. 

“Ryan,” Naim starts quietly, dropping the cigarette box to the table and holding his palms open, a wordless invitation if Ryan wanted his touch. 

Ryan sighs and lights his cigarette before letting his arm fall into Naim’s open waiting hands to inspect the damage.

Naim’s fingers are gentle over Ryan’s skin, lips tight as he fights the guilt welling inside him. It had been awhile since anything had happened, they were so careful, always so careful. “When was this?” Naim asks him. 

“This afternoon in the alley outside work,” Ryan says, distant, “Y-It said you got off work early and I just…my guard slipped, I guess. It wasn't long before someone showed up though, didn’t have time to do much more than this.”

“Did you go home after?” 

“Nah. Didn’t really want to be alone, after. You know how it is.”

Naim did know. Being alone in the aftermath was hell. All he ever wanted was assurance of Ryan’s existence, wanted to fold into his arms and become one and never leave again. He imagines Ryan waiting for hours to come see him until it was close enough to the end of Naim’s shift, can envision him pacing the streets like a coiled spring with no release, the entity feeding off the unease the whole time. 

The entity had nurtured some level of codependency between them that for anyone else would be worrisome, but anyone else had nothing on their fucked up situation.

The two and a half foot expanse between them was suddenly too far, and Naim flicks away his cigarette before he hauls himself up onto the top of the picnic table, slides across the worn wood so he can sit with his legs on either side of Ryan. 

Ryan fits his free hand into one of Naim’s, plucking his own cigarette from his mouth with the other. 

Naim’s eyes track the smoke that curls from Ryan’s breath, “Ryan, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, don’t apologize,” Ryan murmurs and snuffs the half burnt cigarette out in one of the empty food containers before leaning his cheek against Naim’s thigh, closing his eyes, “It’s not you. It’s never you, I know that. We know that.”

Naim watches him, asks himself how Ryan can find any comfort in him when the thing wearing his face has done things like this to him all these years. He knows the answer, of course, knows it’s the same reason that Naim never looks at Ryan any differently. Naim loves Ryan desperately, and the thing knows it, its sick claws will never let him be free of it.

There’s always guilt about it, though. An indirect cause as it may be, the love they shared caused them pain and suffering behind the veil of the one person they trust more than anyone.

“But it still fucking looks like me,” Naim says weakly, running his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

Ryan looks up at him, and there’s a distinct shine from the wet pooling in the wells of his eyes. Suddenly that barely-there facial hair wasn’t so bad, because whatever he looked like didn’t matter; he was alive and well in Naim’s arms, saying,  “And I still wouldn’t want it to be anyone else, Naim.” 

Naim cups a hand against Ryan’s cheek, smooths a thumb over a stray tear track, “You still think this is all worth it?”

“What? Don’t you?”

Naim feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes, “‘Course I do. I fucking love you.”

They kiss in the waning light of the day. It's so gentle in touch, the soft slip of their lips nuzzled into one another. 

Its strong enough to stitch the gaping wound tearing Naim open from within. 

-

Between flickering candle lights on their bedside table, Ryan holds the line of their bodies flush. The window is propped open, bringing in the cool night air and the sound of traffic on the street below. The hum of the city drones on.

The ajar bathroom door casts an uneven fluorescent yellow light over them. It's enough to catch the glint of the gold piercing in Naim’s ear that Ryan had talked him into one particularly stoned night back when they lived with his cousin in Melbourne. Ryan can also see the uneven edges of purple bruises on his own skin next to the familiar set of freckles that dotted Naim’s shoulders. 

Warm skin, damaged and changed, but real flesh and blood. Real. Real. Real. 

There’s nothing lurking in the shadows, Naim is right here.

The puffs of Naim’s sleeping breath came warm and even against his skin, his head tucked into Ryan’s shoulder, as he often did. Ryan would probably wake with a bit of drool on his shoulder, too, but he didn’t care.

Ryan felt as though from the moment he was born, there had always been a curve in his body for Naim to lay his head. Meant to keep him safe, meant to keep him grounded. Just like Naim did for Ryan, with his leg slotted between his thighs. 

Ryan would disappear inside him if he could. Maybe if they were one, it would all stop. 

If they were always locked into this for life and never able to have reprieve, it was a storm worth weathering together. 

The tender skin on Ryan’s forearm aches. 

ryan gives naim a couple ice cubes to hold against his ear lobe for numbing purposes, watches the way the melting ice drips down his wrists as his mouth dries.

"alright hold still" ryan holds his ice chilled ear lobe between his fingers, and then suddenly naim's eyes look like that same kid scared of snakes and heights back in bandee. and ryan doesn't even have it in him to tease him like he used to, just falters and says "we don't even have to do this, naim."

naim squares his shoulders and tells him firmly, "no, just fucking do it. please."

so he pushes the needle through his skin, not an easy task mind you, there's some drag from the dull needle and more blood than ryan remembers. it's not much, really, but it's naim's blood and ryan's doing his hands are suddenly cursed with a tremor, his finger tips dotted with pin pricks of scarlet.

"hey," naim's voice is gentle to bring him back, sensing something off by the way ryan's face had paled. naim holds his hands between his and kisses his fingers, "ryan. its just some blood. it didn't even hurt that much."

ryan was never squeamish about blood and bodily fluids before, but he'd seen naim bruised and bloody too many times. hurt by something with his face. he cleans the drops of blood from naim's skin with a warm cloth until there's no trace of it left.