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“What keeps you up at night?” Jon asked, tired eyes staring as the clock hit the four. Four in the morning, obviously, and as he held the phone closer to his cheek he knew he would regret it all the day after.
Fred had always had the healthiest sleep schedule, but lately things had been changing and Jonathan wasn't sure it was for the better. The silence on the other end of the line allowed Jon to take a deep breath, thinking that maybe Fred had finally fallen asleep as he desperately needed.
Jonathan had no idea of what Fred was going through, having spent countless nights trying to coax him out of his goddamn shell of machism and feelings-denial but to no avail. Fred had always been there for him, in his particular fashion, and Jon wanted nothing more than returning the favor. So, he kept sitting through those endless, maybe even pointless, late-night phone calls.
A sigh came from Fred's end, and Jonathan opened his eyes at the sound of it, suddenly alerted. He could picture those sapphire eyes glued to the ceiling; what secret were they hiding, what answer did they seek on the pristine wall?
Jon remained silent through the sound of a metal can clicking open, Fred's admission of his own miserable state was loud enough they didn't need to comment on it. The brunette felt like he had to say something about drinking alone, at late night -or early morning, the lines were blurred by then and he wouldn't have been able to tell a dream from reality-, but he knew he had no say in it. After all, he was barely sober himself.
Jon squinted to check how long they had been on the phone. A whole hour had passed by, he could hardly recall the topics they had discussed until then. He distractedly thought about the preposterous phone bill Fred was going to pay at the end of the month, all of it for these stupid calls that had become a habit in the previous weeks. Jonathan knew money wasn't quite Fred's concern, he was just genuinely confused about it all. Maybe there was something he had been overlooking. Whatever, he thought, things will get better.
“I think I’m drunk.” Fred spoke then, the first words after minutes of radio silence. To his dismay, Jonathan could recognize the faint remnants of a bitter smile in his voice. He cringed, discomfort pervading his mind, heart aching at the thought of his friend drinking alone at night for whatever reason but partying. He tasted the worry on his own tongue soon enough to not let the question of why are you so sad lately slip without his consent.
"Get some air, man." The brunette suggested, following his very own advice a few moments later as warm feet on cold ground carried him on the balcony. He shivered with the winter breeze hitting his face, with the lively view of the city that never closed its eyes. Los Angeles was majestic at night, fascinating and rotten in a way Jonathan found weirdly relatable.
"I'm already outside." Fred's whispering seemed intimate. Jon wasn't used to it yet, so trained to Fred's loud and often overbearing manners, he found it hard to not be surprised by all the soft-spokenness and nicer demeanor.
He suddenly recalled a conversation from a few days prior, Fred sharing some of his life story because Jonathan had taunted him about all the mystery around it.
My father would never listen, he had said, and suddenly Jon had been hit with the realization of so many things. Fred and him weren't that dissimilar in the end, both trying to unleash years of forced silence, but the stage didn't seem to be enough for Fred. The fear of being ignored or pushed around, Jon guessed, was the reason for his friend's abrasive character.
"Jon?"
Jon realized he had been silent for a while. "Sorry, I'm here."
"You dozed off? Don't wanna keep you up." The concern in his voice made Jon's heart skip a beat.
"I'm fine, just thinking." Jonathan picked at his nails, eyes focused on the skyline and the lights embellishing it. It was no news to him, to be nervous and flustered around the other man, blushing slightly when Fred's attention stayed on him for a tad longer or when their hands touched to pass the joint. Family Values had been a huge struggle for that precise reason, and he was glad to be finally home. And yet there he was, on the phone with the man he was supposedly trying to avoid.
"Yeah, tell me about it." Fred commented under his breath.
"Oh," Jon began, unable to hold the laughter at his own corny joke, "you can actually think? That's a first."
He pretended not to smile wider as he heard Fred chuckling. He pretended to not think about how nice Fred sounded when he wasn't busy trying to get all the attention.
"Fuck you." The blonde said, the insult empty and almost affectionate. Jonathan heard the friction of a lighter and the sharp exhale of smoke just a few moments later. He acknowledged his own sudden craving for nicotine, imagining the taste of that poisonous source of relief and pleasure, too lazy to actually stand up and get himself some.
"Where are you, exactly?" Jon asked then, the question a mere attempt at forcing away the thought of sharing a cigarette with Fred.
The precise picture of the blonde blowing smoke to his face was so embarrassing he wanted to gauge his own eyes out. They were friends. Jonathan had no right to have such thoughts, messed up mental images about holding his hand or whatever thing he tried not to ponder on for too long. The emotional part of him blamed it on the late hours and the fact that Fred was the only person he had been talking to in the past days, on being horny and projecting. The rational part of him knew all of that was just wishful thinking.
"Bedroom's balcony," Fred's answer came then, his voice a little rough with the smoke, "why?"
Jonathan was quick to picture Fred's house, having been there quite a few times, enough for his observant eyes to pick up the main details. He remembered one time they had smoked a cigarette on that same terrace, trying to get some relief from the hot temperatures, but they eventually stayed to enjoy a beautiful sunset together, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the balustrade. He remembered the warm marble floor under his feet and the way the orange shades of the sun seemed to spouse Fred's features and vibes so perfectly.
"Look west," he paused, the fond memory making his heart clench in his chest, "I'm somewhere there."
Fred choked on the smoke, coughing for a few seconds in which Jon was half laughing and half worried. "You fucking sap."
Jonathan smiled, both in amusement and the tender feeling drowning him like water in his lungs. Uncontrollable and overwhelming but, unlike water, completely harmless. Maybe even pleasurable.
"I know." The brunette simply commented, a hand reaching where his heart was beating faster.
"Look east," Fred said after a beat. "I'm blowing kisses to you."
He laughed on his end of the line and Jon heard the sound of little kisses. The irony, the banter and these playful flirty manners were normal for them; Jon had been surprised to find Fred comfortable with being so open and physical around other men, but he was more than glad to play along. Yet, the amusement had slowly subsided and left space for other one-sided feelings. Jonathan couldn't help himself when he felt butterflies in his fucking stomach, and he wanted to rip himself open and kill each of them because he was not supposed to feel that way about Fred. It wasn't fair, he had never chosen this.
"Me too, kisses for your ugly face." Jon grinned despite his conflicted thoughts. It was a constant fight, but he wanted to prove himself he cared about Fred as a friend, not just because he had a crush on him.
"My ugly face? Your ugly face." Fred shot back. "You greasy bitch." He was laughing, his insult absolutely void of any real malice. Jonathan wished he could just pause the time, freeze it and run to Fred's house and press play once they would be next to each other.
"Okay Funkdoobiest, at least I'm my own brand." Fred snorted at that, and Jon's grin turned into a giggle. He liked to make Fred laugh.
"Tsk." The blonde's laugh slowly vanished and Jon already missed it. "It's kinda chilly, or is it just me?"
Jonathan was fine in his light sweater, having just retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen. It was December, but Los Angeles was never really cold. He sat down on the cold marble again and lit a cigarette, exhaling the smoke and scoffing in amusement.
"I thought the East coast was colder." He muttered under his breath. "What, are you naked or something?"
"You wish." Fred shot, Jon grimaced. "I lost my clothes on the way to Overthinking-land, but I'm decent, just in case you're stalking me."
Jonathan tried to make sense of the utterance, but it was half past four in the morning, Fred was half drunk, and Jon couldn't understand why the hell they were still on the phone. He pretended to ignore the dull ache in his heart, suddenly so aware of how badly he was hurting himself by doing all of this.
"Hope you bought a round-trip ticket, man." The brunette said then, following that stupid conversation. "I would miss you otherwise."
The brunette bit his lip, knowing the statement hid so much meaning and part of him hoped Fred would get it all.
"I did, don't worry." The emcee answered quietly. He went silent for a few seconds then, the sound of shuffling and shifting heard in the distance. "Got a hoodie."
Jon found it funny that Fred felt the need to justify mere seconds of quiet, when they both knew that about half of the phone call was just them sitting without a word.
"Better?" Jonathan asked and received a hum in response. He looked up to the sky: clear and starry over him, but some dark clouds at the horizon threatened to pour down the rains that California needed so much."It's probably gonna rain tomorrow."
"Yeah. I wanted to go skating but I guess I won't." Fred mumbled as he lit another cigarette.
"You still skate?" Jon twisted a lock of his own hair. He had developed a soft spot for skaters after high school, amazed at the tenacity it took to land some tricks and fearlessness to stand up after an ugly fall.
"Sometimes, yeah. I'm no Tony Hawk, but I like it."
"I'd like to see you skating one day." The idea of taking a day of their busy lives just to hang out at the skatepark together was as pretty as absurd, but Jon could imagine himself sitting on the naked concrete, watching the other cruise around the place and dive down the ramps.
Fred remained silent. Jon panicked: had he said something weird, crossed the line? Had he spoken too softly, some of his sweet feelings bleeding through his words?
"It's really late, you should go." The blonde murmured then, before Jonathan could say anything. His heart sank.
"What about you?"
"I'm not tired yet." Fred's voice betrayed him. Jon could almost paint the picture of him sitting with his back against the wall, the beer can next to him and a spent cigarette between thumb and index, dark circles around those sapphire eyes that Jon hated to love so much.
"Bullshit." The brunette voiced and took a sip of water. "You need to sleep."
"I know." Fred said, sounding so tired and sad it was almost upsetting.
"Go to bed, c'mon." Jonathan insisted, and distractedly lit another cigarette to fight down his rising anxiety. The smoke tasted strong and bitter.
"You know I can't sleep, quit trying."
"I know but…" Jon's voice faded to nothing as he realized they were, once again, reaching the same dead end they had been for the past two weeks.
"It's you, y'know." Fred suddenly said.
Jon furrowed his brows, confused, thinking he had lost some important piece. "It's me what?"
"You keep me up at night." Fred explained with nonchalance, almost unfazed. Jon wanted to laugh, tell him that he should be the one saying that, because Fred had been keeping Jon up at night with phone calls and even when they're not calling, Fred was always stuck in his head.
He said none of that, though. Silence filled the empty space between them. The pause seemed to last hours and Jonathan felt his own heartbeat drumming in his ears as he tried to think what would happen next.
"It's hard to sleep with you always on my mind." Fred spoke again, his words fueling Jon's mind mist. Was it some kind of sick joke? Jonathan couldn't really understand, he waited for Fred to laugh and reassure him they were just playing and Jon was the only one having homosexual thoughts about his friend.
"I don't get it." Jonathan begged for an explanation, his voice was shaking. Fred was probably messing with his head, no harm meant in his innocence and playful manners. Then why wasn't he laughing, making fun of Jon for being so dense and confused?
Dread crept up Jon's spine at the thought that maybe Fred had found out about his feelings and was using that against him. That would've been cruel, way too cruel for Fred's fundamentally gentle soul. He could be vindictive, he could be an asshole, but he would have never played someone like that. If Fred really knew what love felt like -and he swore he did-, then he would have never played someone like that, and Jon wanted to believe it.
"I don't get it either, trust me." Fred sighed and paused for a moment. "It just… I don't know. It just happened with time, I guess. I don't even know why I'm telling you this." He took another sip of beer and Jonathan felt like screaming into the void of the night.
"Stop drinking." He commanded. It felt unnerving: they were having a conversation, a serious and real one in which Jon had to frantically collect the pieces and build the whole picture, and he needed to know which parts of it were true and which were just alcohol-induced rambling.
The sound of the metal can hitting the hard surface was almost reassuring. What scared him was the lack of witty comments on Fred's part.
"Fred," Jonathan called him by name, for the first time that night. Restless, confused, scared. "what the fuck is going on?"
"Fuck." Came Fred's answer, just as tired and filled with overwhelming emotions. "It's just that… I fucking like you, Jon. I like you all the ways I shouldn't. I like you and I'm so fucking scared." Fred confessed, trying to sound as stern as he could, but Jonathan heard the way his voice trembled with feelings.
The realization of those words hit only a moment later, bouncing back and forth in Jon's skull, threatening to break his fragile balance. He stood silent, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat as he frantically tried to understand why the hell his heart was filled with sorrow and he couldn't tell Fred that he felt the same exact way.
Fred rightfully mistook the silence for rejection, the most obvious train of thought one would have when showing feelings raw and naked only to receive nothing for an answer. Jonathan registered the sound of sniffling.
"I'm sorry, fuck, this-- I shouldn't have- fuck." The blonde seemed on the verge of a breakdown and Jon couldn't figure out all the emotions in his voice. He just wished he could hold Fred, right then, if only he could have found the courage to speak. "I'm so fucking dumb, sorry. You were never meant to know."
The last sentence slapped Jon back to planet earth. That was his only chance.
"Fred," he finally spoke, throat feeling harsh as he took a drag of the half finished cigarette. This time, however, his tone was delicate, soothing. The blonde halted his rambling. "you're not dumb. It's okay. It's okay, I promise."
"Sure, peachy. It's not like I have a crush on you or something." Fred sarcastically spat, and Jon could almost see the eyeroll that came with it. Typical Fred.
"I mean, can't blame you, I'm great." Jonathan's voice cracked at the end, wondering what Fred liked about him. He had never thought himself as likable, the idea of being worthless and unlovable so ingrained in his head that he found it hard to believe someone could have genuine feelings for him.
"I think I just changed my mind." Fred joked, his small chuckle made Jon's heart jump and he finally found the guts to finally spill those words he had been denying and keeping secret.
"I… I kinda feel the same, though. I have for a while but I didn't think you could ever… you know." He quietly confessed, his voice fading to nothing towards the end, words threatening to choke him with self-doubt and the constant thought of not deserving any happiness.
"For real?" Fred sounded surprised and Jonathan couldn't really blame him.
"Yeah. It's hard to tell when it started, but it's still here."
Fred remained silent for a moment, and Jonathan took one more drag and blew the smoke in the air that was getting colder by the minute. He distractedly thought about walking back in his room, but they were facing each other's direction and it was so sweet, albeit incredibly stupid. The empty space next to him seemed made to welcome Fred's body, he wanted nothing more than to have him there, hold him, finally kiss him like he had been dreaming for so long.
"What do we do now?" The blonde asked then, partially to Jon and to none in particular, as if he were looking for an answer from above.
Jonathan didn't want to think about it. He had no energy to analyze the consequences of it all, to be realistic and deal with a hypothetical coming out to the world or a secret relationship. He just wanted to enjoy the happiness, that sweet feeling gushing from his heart to the rest of his body, warm and liquid like the blood of a stab wound, just so much more sugary and delightful.
"I don't know." He sighed. "I don't need labels. Do you?"
"Do I look like I need labels? I think I need therapy."
"I think I need you." Jonathan's words were nothing more than a quiet utterance, to which Fred didn't verbally respond. He heard him skipping a breath, though. "Will I still keep you up at night?"
"I mean," there was the sound of a smile in Fred's voice, soft but mischievous nonetheless. "no, unless you come here and do it personally. I can't drive to your place."
The brunette skipped a breath, two, maybe even three. His head was suddenly filled with so many thoughts he had been denying for months, finally free, hypothetically real. The cigarette was crushed on the marble ashtray, and Jonathan stood up quickly enough to feel dizzy.
"Let me put on some clothes and I'll be there in forty."
"No need for clothes." Fred's smug grin was clearly audible.
"Sober up, see you later." Jonathan quickly got back into his living room, lightheaded and trying not to sound too excited. He knew he was failing badly at it, though.
"Later, sugar."