To Begin The World Again for the fs_exchange community!
Author: Anonymous
Title: To Begin The World Again
Recipient: the fs_exchange community
Skaters/Pairings: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Rating: R.
Wordcount: 4500.
Warnings: AU.
Disclaimer: The events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about.
A/N: Title and quotation taken from ‘Afterwards’ and ‘Kissing’ by Dorianne Laux.
Summary: 'The wind has changed and Evan has three textbooks about botany shoved in his backpack as he cycles home from the library.'
The wind has changed and Evan has three textbooks about botany shoved in his backpack as he cycles home from the library. What types of flowers thrive in California, he types into Google when he gets home, and then, How do you maintain a pool?. EHow becomes his best friend and he shows up for work on his first day with about a hundred pages of printouts in his backpack along with the textbooks. He shows Olivia, his new boss, the owner of the pretty white house with green-edged windows, the pages he’s spent days working on, the tightly structured flowerbeds and the roses and the neatly ruled lines. He talks about the blank green turf he’s going to lay, talks about the rows of green that’ll pattern her backyard as far as she can see. Or for like, a hundred feet. Whichever.
When he stands in front of the wreckage of something that was once beautiful, sees the straggling weeds and the broken brickwork, he feels a little faint and then steels himself: this is his chance to make something pure and good.
*
The guy appears on the third day that Evan’s there, when he’s lugging bags of compost from the front to the back. He’s at the kitchen window and Evan doesn’t see much except a gleam of pale skin and dark hair. Evan raises a hand in greeting and, after a split second too long, the guy raises his in return.
*
Next day, and he’s checking the chlorine levels in the pool in the meticulous way that he’s getting used to. The water looks so inviting: clear and blue and so bright and glittering in the light, and it would be such a relief from the heavy heat of the sun on his back. He stands up almost regretfully, his knees clicking, and puts the test strips back into their little case. Then there’s a soft cough from behind him, and his stomach swoops in a strange, thrilling way before he turns.
It’s the guy from the window - and he’s different from how Evan imagined, when he was a smear of white skin and dark hair behind a pane of glass. He’s built, like, seriously built, with veins standing out on his forearms and a narrow waist paved with muscle. His black hair’s curling over his pale forehead, and his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses with diamante on the corners. His mouth is very red.
When he greets Evan his voice is cool but friendly, and then they shake hands, and Evan wishes he could see his eyes behind his glasses. The guy’s name is Johnny and apparently he’s staying there for a few weeks at his mom’s old college roommate’s house (who Evan assumes must be Olivia), to recover, he explains, in a slightly prim voice. There’s a nasty scar slithering across the side of his knee but Evan doesn’t ask him about it.
And then Evan retreats back into the yard and away from the water, bare feet prickled by the yellowing grass, and wonders what to do, how to make it tidy again.
*
A couple days later and Evan’s standing next to a huge bush thing, contemplating what exactly to do with it other than tear it down and start again, when there are footsteps and there he is again, window guy, Johnny, now, here. They smile at each other. Johnny’s standing so close that their arms are almost touching. He asks how long Evan’s been working there, and Evan tells him a week, and he asks how long Evan’s been a gardener, and Evan explains. Explains that he’s at school for engineering most of the time, except that he really needed a summer job, and his roommate’s aunt really needed someone to make things nice.
I’ve always enjoyed making things grow, Evan tells Johnny. I’m not really, you know. A creative person--
(Johnny smiles tightly.)
--but this is like making something and being creative, and it’s always an achievement when things wind up being beautiful, he goes on to say, and Johnny looks at him like he understands. Evan doesn’t get that a lot. He says, So what do you do?
Apparently Johnny’s a figure skater, and that explains the glaring scar. Johnny doesn’t mention it though, mentions winning Nationals the previous year and says something vague about being an Olympian but Evan doesn’t really go so much for winter sports. When he was a kid he played hockey for a couple years but he could never manage to find that passion and drive that he felt should be necessary. Still, he manages to sound enthusiastic, and it is pretty impressive, to think that he’s standing beside an Olympian. He feels a tiny flicker of jealousy, but - what do you do after figure skating, anyway? When you gash yourself open and scar yourself for nothing but ice? Ice melts. Evan’s going to be an engineer: he’s going to make things that stay.
*
A week later and they’ve had something like three polite conversations for maybe five minutes each time. Johnny’s clearly a nice guy. Complicated. Interesting. Hot. The perfect person to have around in these drowsy summer months, Evan reflects as he chooses a shirt to wear out that evening. He picks something white that’s bright against his tan and tight because he’s starting to gain some long-needed muscle. When he leaves his room his roommate Matt whistles appreciatively at him, and Evan feels his face heat up. He hides it with a smile.
*
A few beers into the night and Matt’s off somewhere trying to make a purple-haired guy flirt back - Evan foresees purple streaks in their shower the next morning - and their other roommate Sean’s at the bar because, he says, as the resident straight guy there really isn’t much to do except stand around and watch hot girls make out. Usually Evan would make a half hearted complaint about objectification, but honestly, he kind of gets it.
He has a fresh cold beer in his hand and he’s tingling all over, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow but he can’t quite bring himself to care because everyone else there’s just as glossy with sweat as he is. Jesus, it’s so blessedly easy. So much easier than, years previously, he’d thought it would be. It’s starting to feel natural, especially in situations like this, when there are guys who are eight million times more flamboyant than him everywhere, when his family’s almost a whole country away and he hasn’t seen them in a year, when six months ago he held some guy’s hand in public and they didn’t get any dirty looks. Sometimes he wonders why he spent his teenage years beating himself up.
Still, now he’s twenty-one and older and wiser, and-
In front of him: delicate-fingered hands holding a suspiciously green cocktail, skintight black pants and shirt, bare shoulders gleaming blue and magenta in the rainbow-coloured lights. Johnny.
*
They end up not quite making it to Evan’s apartment, making out messily against a wall, teasing turned into something more vicious and needy, Johnny’s hands gripping Evan’s ass a little too hard, his teeth a little too sharp. Evan gets the feeling that Johnny’s always a little too something. He pushes his hand down to palm firmly at Johnny’s erection through his tight pants and Johnny lets out a gasp against his lips, all warm breath and warm mouth, gently pushed at by the cool summer breeze.
Come home with me, Evan murmurs as Johnny pushes his thigh against Evan’s dick, and Johnny nods, almost smacking their foreheads together, and agrees.
*
Afterwards Johnny gets out of bed, disappears into the bathroom after gingerly bending his scarred leg a couple times as if to make sure it’s okay. Evan hears the shower going and then after ten minutes Johnny’s out again, shaking out his dripping hair. He borrows a shirt, an ancient Arcade Fire shirt that’s been washed so many times it’s almost transparent in parts, and as he’s arranging his hair in front of Evan’s dusty mirror he says, Ugh, I can’t believe I’m Eva Longoria. On Evan’s look he continues, Fucking the gardener, I mean.
Evan snorts with soft laughter, and puts on some pants to walk Johnny to the front door. They have an awkward moment where they aren’t sure what to do, and so Evan leans down to kiss him, quickly and simply, and as he pulls back Johnny’s eyes take a second too long to flutter and open again. Then they narrow. He says, See you tomorrow, pool boy, and leaves.
*
Next day when he arrives Johnny’s sprawled out asleep in the sun, diamante sunglasses on his face, a copy of Doctor Zhivago abandoned on the grass beside him. He’s wearing Evan’s shirt, and indecently short shorts.
Evan goes to check on the pool filter.
*
An hour later, when he’s in the insanely cluttered poolhouse which doesn’t seem to have been opened in years judging by the dust layered on every surface, spritzing lemon scented cleaning fluids around everywhere, there’s a click and the door opens, sunlight flooding in, blocked only by Johnny’s silhouette.
He murmurs something about helping Evan out, and wanders over, all narrow hips and amazing ass, and Evan’s suddenly very warm. He mutters something inane that he instantly wants to take back, like, what about my job, and Johnny says, now your job is to fuck me, and then they both crack up and can’t stop laughing for a couple minutes because he sounded so ridiculous. Evan tries out a couple of gigolo-esque voices and Johnny’s laughing again, and then they’re kissing, smiling into each other’s mouths, kissing and then the smiles fade, and kissing still, sweet kisses turned to long kisses and hard kisses softened by nips that are almost affectionate. Evan hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a while, but he doesn’t have time to think about that for long because Johnny’s hands are pushing their way down beneath the waistband of his shorts and yes, yes, yes.
*
Evan finally manages to get the poolhouse clean, after he uses the old shower in the back to clean off the tar-like layer of dust and spunk on his stomach. Then he goes home; his roommates ask him why he’s grinning like a crazy person, and he asks them what crack they’re smoking.
*
That evening he googles Johnny. To his surprise he doesn’t actually know his surname, but ‘Johnny figure skating’ brings up enough. So he didn’t place at the Olympics; it all looks pretty good to Evan’s inexperienced eyes, having a career like that, even if it’s imperfect, and then there’s the stuff about the knee. A badly dislocated knee cap after falling in practice, and sweet mother of God, there are image results for ‘dislocated knee cap’ that Evan never wanted to see.
He reads some more and gathers that that injury was pretty bad - which he had kind of judged from the bump of the scar (running his hands over it the previous night, Johnny tensing and then relaxing when Evan’s hands didn’t linger or jump away, treated it like skin, flesh, normal skin and flesh), and which, he gathers, is potentially career-ending. Oh.
*
He has a day off the next day, but the day after that he goes back, weirdly excited. Johnny’s in the pool, and looks up at Evan, black hair slicked back off his white face, green eyes impossibly bright in the sunlight, and pouts at him.
I had a day off, Evan says, a tone of begging in his voice, and Johnny says, Like that’s anything to do with me.
Evan narrows his eyes at him, and goes into the poolhouse. He tidies up things that don’t need to be tidied up, and then after a few minutes there’s the slap slap slap of wet footsteps and Johnny sticks his head inside, bringing the sharp ringing scent of chlorine with him. He says imperiously, I need you to help me with the pool levels, and Evan grins, and follows him outside. He winds up blowing Johnny on a sunlounger next to the pool, and he hasn’t done that for a while and had kind of forgotten how much he liked it, the taste and the shape and the weight of it. Johnny lies back, Evan sprawled a little awkwardly between his legs, one of Johnny’s legs pushed around him, heel rubbing rhythmically at Evan’s lower back, hand massaging the nape of his neck. Evan starts thinking things like, He always likes to be involved and controlling everything somehow, not in, like, a mean way - he feels thoughtful, observational, which is kind of a miracle considering that his hard dick’s pressing painfully against the plastic of the sunlounger, and then Johnny makes a flustered sounding noise and comes.
*
The next day Johnny corners him at the back door and asks him, in a sultry voice, if he’d like to come in for lemonade on this hot, hot day. They manage to keep straight faces for a few minutes until Johnny breaks character and wrinkles his nose. He says something like, It is so dumb that we have to be ironic about this.
Evan smoothes his hands up and down Johnny’s sides. He really, really wants to put his hands under his shirt, to feel warm smooth skin, the ribs under muscle, the ridge of his hipbones. Johnny continues. Like this is actually even my house. I’m not going to fucking roleplay a bored housewife for you every day, he bitches.
Evan blinks at him. This isn’t just a fantasy because of the situation, he points out, and Johnny sets his jaw stubbornly and doesn’t look him in the eye, muttering something bleak about how it is a fantasy, then, and nothing real, and-
It’s a fantasy in that I fantasise about making out with hot guys, Evan says mildly, and then adds, Uh. Not all the time. I’m not, like, a sex fiend.
Johnny relaxes then, half-laughs, and for someone who seems so sure of himself, he’s surprising. Evan says, We don’t need any pretences, and Johnny grins, and kisses him again.
*
After they fuck, Evan’s feeling drowsy and happy; his head’s pillowed comfortably on Johnny’s chest, and Johnny’s running his fingertips very gently through Evan’s hair. The feeling goes all through him, even down to the soles of his feet. He’s starting to wonder why this is so different to everything that’s come before it in his life.
He says, conversationally, despite the information in Johnny’s Wikipedia entry that he already knows: So, the leg, how’d you- and Johnny clears his throat in the kind of way that implies it isn’t his favourite topic of conversation. They’re quiet for a moment, and then Johnny tells the story, slowly, and Evan listens. Just like he read: a bad fall, one of the worst falls, and Johnny sounds halting and pained as he talks.
Evan says, Does it still hurt, and Johnny says instantly, Yes, and Evan exhales into the air. The room’s so hot that he feels like sweat’s dripping down the walls. He mutters something about not wanting to sweat disgustingly on Johnny, but doesn’t move.
You are sweating on me, you brat, Johnny murmurs, and continues to pet Evan’s hair affectionately. Then he brightens and surprises Evan by declaring that he actually did make lemonade, which basically makes the start of Evan’s working day even more awesome - if, after amazing sex, that is even possible.
*
Evan has to start working later to compensate for the time he spends with Johnny. He doesn’t want to get fired or anything, because the lady he’s working for seems really nice even if she has kind of disappeared for a while. Johnny explains that she’s gone to visit her daughter in Ireland, and that he gets to stay there to recover in peace, and dourly adds, Which you are wrecking, before laughing and kicking Evan affectionately. Initially they spend most of their time having sex on every available surface but then it always seems to tone itself down into something more relaxed. Evan often sleeps badly, and if he’s really exhausted he sometimes wishes they could bypass the sex into the easiness that follows.
Sometimes Johnny follows him outside, and sprawls out on the grass while Evan works - sometimes he brings a book, and sometimes his iPod, and sometimes he just watches Evan. Evan thinks that that’s probably super boring, but Johnny never complains. After a few weeks, when it’s looking much more like Evan’s plans, much tidier, more uniform, with sensible rows of similarly coloured flowers, Johnny makes a tutting noise in the back of his throat.
Evan feels his stomach sink even though he never actually asked for an opinion. He puts down his spade and squints at Johnny, who continues, There’s beauty in wildness. I often think you forget that. Then he stalks off, his ridiculous diamante sunglasses glittering in the sun, his long, messy mane of hair almost reaching the collar of Evan’s shirt, which he still wears at least once every three days despite the fact that he has listened to Arcade Fire once and then pronounced, I think they’re trying to get me to kill myself, before giving Evan’s iPod back with a slight sneer.
*
So you’re going to be an engineer, Johnny says, as Evan begins to clip deadheads off a rosebush.
Evan says something like, That’s the idea, and cuts off a rose that’s still mostly intact. He throws it at Johnny. Here, gorgeous, he grins.
For a second Johnny looks inordinately pleased. He puts the rose behind his ear and starts asking questions. The red’s so bright against his skin and hair that Evan can’t help but stop what he’s doing to listen, as if it’s something that requires more than one sense. Johnny asks about where Evan wants to be in ten years, and Evan tells him that he doesn’t care so long as he’s rich and happy, and then he asks Johnny the same question. He winces and tries to shrug it away, and finally says, simply, As long as I’m loved.
*
Uh, I sorta met someone, Evan says awkwardly during one of his weekly phonecalls with his big sister. She starts squealing at him, which is a little unpleasant, and he interrupts with a, Don’t tell Mom and Dad.
She snorts derisively and, okay, he was dumb to even mention it. She says, Is it serious, and he feels his stomach coil up with apprehension, and changes the subject.
*
So how old were you, Johnny asks him the next day. They’re sprawled together in the old poolhouse that used to be a pit of hideous dust, but is now pretty beautiful. Evan’s happy with himself. When you came out, Johnny continues.
Evan feels himself flush. Seventeen, he says, a little brisk, and Johnny nods, his soft hair tickling Evan’s jaw. Thirteen, he says, and Evan teases him about probably being the most flamboyant twelve-year-old in the world right until he can tell Johnny’s about to roll his eyes exasperatedly.
Johnny says then, How’d they take it, and Evan frowns at the ceiling. Not great, he says thoughtfully, and leaves it there. Only a couple days ago, Johnny explained to him that he hasn’t actually come out to the world, which Evan finds a little perplexing, considering his love for all things glittery. Apparently it’s chiefly because Johnny thinks that coming out is unnecessary because why the fuck should people have presumed him heterosexual, and then he admits that a big part of it is because apparently the figure skating judges would probably get pissed and score him down for it.
Which, okay, Evan’s number one problem with this whole situation is that, what the hell, gay people are unusual in figure skating? How is that even possible, considering the rhinestones and lycra and shit? And secondly, how is a sport not impartial? And Johnny said, I know, I know, and patted Evan’s arm like he’d already come to terms with how shitty the world could be towards him, which isn’t fair, not at all. If Evan got bad grades at school for being openly into guys, he’d start a fucking protest or something, and Johnny ‘I like to argue for no reason other than my natural feistiness’ Weir just held onto Evan’s arm and said, looking sad and surprisingly older, It’s not that easy.
Evan imagines a kid like himself learning figure skating - a lonely, messed up kid, without any of Johnny’s easy charm and self-confidence and without the kind family he seems to idolise, and cringes. How long would it have taken for him to get out of the closet? To make himself happy? Johnny pats his face very gently and says, Are you okay, and Evan nods, Yes.
*
He sleeps over at Johnny’s place that night, and the night after, and then he realises that it’s been something like five weeks, and Johnny’s starting to give his empty suitcases unpleasant looks.
Evan says over breakfast, trying to sound nonchalant, Are you leaving soon?
Johnny glares at him and doesn’t answer. Ten minutes later when he’s crashing plates together in the sink under the guise of cleaning them he says, You could at least sound like you care.
Evan stares at the back of Johnny’s neck and says, Am I supposed to?
Johnny shrugs a shoulder, looking almost defensive, and continues to bang innocent crockery around. Evan drains the remains of his orange juice, stands, joins Johnny, presses a kiss to the side of his jaw, puts his arms around his waist from behind. The sink faces the backyard, and it’s starting to approach something resembling beauty. The lines of flowers are less carefully regimented now, and they’re crawling together, bright colours almost but not quite clashing, thick green leaves threatening but not quite overtaking. Johnny said a couple days ago, You could get lost here.
Johnny relaxes back into him. He says to the garden, I don’t know what to do.
Evan thinks, wildly, Stay with me, but does not say it. Instead he says, Do what’ll make you happy, and Johnny nods, very minutely.
*
Three days later at the airport and Johnny shoots an intensively sullen look at Evan after he checks in his baggage. No one’s sure if he’ll be able to skate to his previous level any time soon - if ever, Johnny said quietly, red lips tight, but he and his coach have decided that training might be worth it. It’s been five and a half weeks since he arrived and Evan doesn’t know what he’s going to do for the next day, and the day after, and all the rest of his life, now Johnny’s going to be back on the opposite coast.
Suddenly Johnny says, not looking at Evan, Thanks for a nice time.
Evan says, frowning a little, Uh, no problem?
Johnny nods. There’s something intensely fragile about the soft line of his mouth. His face has turned from white porcelain into something more human, peppered with faint freckles and healthy skin flushed with sun right up to his hairline. His nose is slightly pink and possibly in danger of peeling. Evan wants to kiss its tip, wants to make Johnny laugh and swat him away. Instead he says, I’ll miss you, and Johnny nods, the fragility only increasing, and then there’s a sudden movement and his arms are around Evan, fingers digging into his back almost desperate and adoring, and he’s wearing Evan’s shirt again, and he smells like chlorine and roses, and Evan wants to hold him there forever, or at least until his flight is called.
They break away from each other fractionally and Johnny says, sounding determined, I’m going to leave now. And I’ll call you when I’m home. Evan’s arms are still loosely around his waist and they lean in as if they’re one, to kiss one last time, and it’s the sweetest and saddest kiss that Evan’s ever known.
And then Johnny’s pulling away, and walking away with a last wave over his shoulder, and it’s like as he goes, all of Evan’s guts slump inwards, like the breath’s being ripped out of him. He wonders for a second if he’s going to throw up on the airport floor. When he gets back to his car he sits there to try to get his thoughts together, and realises after a little while that he’s been there for almost forty-five minutes.
*
Two weeks later and Olivia’s back, and her garden is almost exactly how Evan wants it to be. A little wild, a little straightened up, somewhere in between. She’s happy with it, so he’s happy, and she gives him a really great tip. She says something about meeting Johnny while he stayed and how much Johnny appreciated that Evan was so kind and showed him around town, and Evan’s smile kind of hurts.
When he gets home he texts Johnny and says, Olivia’s back. I guess now there’s a person in the house my normal poolboy duties will resume and she will be my new Eva Longoria?
Johnny texts back three seconds later saying DON’T YOU DARE, and Evan grins. Five minutes later there’s another text, and it reads, Thank you for this summer, again.
Something like grief passes over Evan, because as if he needs to be thanked, as if Johnny gave him any option other than to fall fast and hard, and he texts back, Dont thank me, u made it for me. Come back for fall?
He waits for horrible minutes that seem longer than they possibly can be, and finally: I can’t promise I’d stick around for winter as well, but that’s okay, because summer’s fading and his roses will die but the garden will grow again, and one day Evan will build bridges with steel beams instead of coaxing slender buds to bloom for him. Things change. He understands that. Birdsong will be replaced by drills. Nothing will stay the same. Johnny texts again: I’m sorry. I’m difficult. You should know that. You might not want me around.
Evan grins and hits ‘dial’. Johnny picks up on the second ring, like he’s playing it cool or something. Evan says, I want you around. Come back, and sounding lost and happy, Johnny says, I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.
Yes.
*
Stripped of our want, our wildness, we sat
Naked and tired and companionable
In the sleek silence, innocent
Of what we’d said, what we’d done,
Our breath slowing, our heads tipped
And touching at the crown,
Like a couple of kids
Slumped on a dock in the sun, our legs
Dangling above the bright water,
Admiring each others’ reflections.
*
-END-
Title: To Begin The World Again
Recipient: the fs_exchange community
Skaters/Pairings: Johnny Weir/Evan Lysacek
Rating: R.
Wordcount: 4500.
Warnings: AU.
Disclaimer: The events portrayed in this story are fictional and do not reflect on the actual people written about.
A/N: Title and quotation taken from ‘Afterwards’ and ‘Kissing’ by Dorianne Laux.
Summary: 'The wind has changed and Evan has three textbooks about botany shoved in his backpack as he cycles home from the library.'
The wind has changed and Evan has three textbooks about botany shoved in his backpack as he cycles home from the library. What types of flowers thrive in California, he types into Google when he gets home, and then, How do you maintain a pool?. EHow becomes his best friend and he shows up for work on his first day with about a hundred pages of printouts in his backpack along with the textbooks. He shows Olivia, his new boss, the owner of the pretty white house with green-edged windows, the pages he’s spent days working on, the tightly structured flowerbeds and the roses and the neatly ruled lines. He talks about the blank green turf he’s going to lay, talks about the rows of green that’ll pattern her backyard as far as she can see. Or for like, a hundred feet. Whichever.
When he stands in front of the wreckage of something that was once beautiful, sees the straggling weeds and the broken brickwork, he feels a little faint and then steels himself: this is his chance to make something pure and good.
*
The guy appears on the third day that Evan’s there, when he’s lugging bags of compost from the front to the back. He’s at the kitchen window and Evan doesn’t see much except a gleam of pale skin and dark hair. Evan raises a hand in greeting and, after a split second too long, the guy raises his in return.
*
Next day, and he’s checking the chlorine levels in the pool in the meticulous way that he’s getting used to. The water looks so inviting: clear and blue and so bright and glittering in the light, and it would be such a relief from the heavy heat of the sun on his back. He stands up almost regretfully, his knees clicking, and puts the test strips back into their little case. Then there’s a soft cough from behind him, and his stomach swoops in a strange, thrilling way before he turns.
It’s the guy from the window - and he’s different from how Evan imagined, when he was a smear of white skin and dark hair behind a pane of glass. He’s built, like, seriously built, with veins standing out on his forearms and a narrow waist paved with muscle. His black hair’s curling over his pale forehead, and his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses with diamante on the corners. His mouth is very red.
When he greets Evan his voice is cool but friendly, and then they shake hands, and Evan wishes he could see his eyes behind his glasses. The guy’s name is Johnny and apparently he’s staying there for a few weeks at his mom’s old college roommate’s house (who Evan assumes must be Olivia), to recover, he explains, in a slightly prim voice. There’s a nasty scar slithering across the side of his knee but Evan doesn’t ask him about it.
And then Evan retreats back into the yard and away from the water, bare feet prickled by the yellowing grass, and wonders what to do, how to make it tidy again.
*
A couple days later and Evan’s standing next to a huge bush thing, contemplating what exactly to do with it other than tear it down and start again, when there are footsteps and there he is again, window guy, Johnny, now, here. They smile at each other. Johnny’s standing so close that their arms are almost touching. He asks how long Evan’s been working there, and Evan tells him a week, and he asks how long Evan’s been a gardener, and Evan explains. Explains that he’s at school for engineering most of the time, except that he really needed a summer job, and his roommate’s aunt really needed someone to make things nice.
I’ve always enjoyed making things grow, Evan tells Johnny. I’m not really, you know. A creative person--
(Johnny smiles tightly.)
--but this is like making something and being creative, and it’s always an achievement when things wind up being beautiful, he goes on to say, and Johnny looks at him like he understands. Evan doesn’t get that a lot. He says, So what do you do?
Apparently Johnny’s a figure skater, and that explains the glaring scar. Johnny doesn’t mention it though, mentions winning Nationals the previous year and says something vague about being an Olympian but Evan doesn’t really go so much for winter sports. When he was a kid he played hockey for a couple years but he could never manage to find that passion and drive that he felt should be necessary. Still, he manages to sound enthusiastic, and it is pretty impressive, to think that he’s standing beside an Olympian. He feels a tiny flicker of jealousy, but - what do you do after figure skating, anyway? When you gash yourself open and scar yourself for nothing but ice? Ice melts. Evan’s going to be an engineer: he’s going to make things that stay.
*
A week later and they’ve had something like three polite conversations for maybe five minutes each time. Johnny’s clearly a nice guy. Complicated. Interesting. Hot. The perfect person to have around in these drowsy summer months, Evan reflects as he chooses a shirt to wear out that evening. He picks something white that’s bright against his tan and tight because he’s starting to gain some long-needed muscle. When he leaves his room his roommate Matt whistles appreciatively at him, and Evan feels his face heat up. He hides it with a smile.
*
A few beers into the night and Matt’s off somewhere trying to make a purple-haired guy flirt back - Evan foresees purple streaks in their shower the next morning - and their other roommate Sean’s at the bar because, he says, as the resident straight guy there really isn’t much to do except stand around and watch hot girls make out. Usually Evan would make a half hearted complaint about objectification, but honestly, he kind of gets it.
He has a fresh cold beer in his hand and he’s tingling all over, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow but he can’t quite bring himself to care because everyone else there’s just as glossy with sweat as he is. Jesus, it’s so blessedly easy. So much easier than, years previously, he’d thought it would be. It’s starting to feel natural, especially in situations like this, when there are guys who are eight million times more flamboyant than him everywhere, when his family’s almost a whole country away and he hasn’t seen them in a year, when six months ago he held some guy’s hand in public and they didn’t get any dirty looks. Sometimes he wonders why he spent his teenage years beating himself up.
Still, now he’s twenty-one and older and wiser, and-
In front of him: delicate-fingered hands holding a suspiciously green cocktail, skintight black pants and shirt, bare shoulders gleaming blue and magenta in the rainbow-coloured lights. Johnny.
*
They end up not quite making it to Evan’s apartment, making out messily against a wall, teasing turned into something more vicious and needy, Johnny’s hands gripping Evan’s ass a little too hard, his teeth a little too sharp. Evan gets the feeling that Johnny’s always a little too something. He pushes his hand down to palm firmly at Johnny’s erection through his tight pants and Johnny lets out a gasp against his lips, all warm breath and warm mouth, gently pushed at by the cool summer breeze.
Come home with me, Evan murmurs as Johnny pushes his thigh against Evan’s dick, and Johnny nods, almost smacking their foreheads together, and agrees.
*
Afterwards Johnny gets out of bed, disappears into the bathroom after gingerly bending his scarred leg a couple times as if to make sure it’s okay. Evan hears the shower going and then after ten minutes Johnny’s out again, shaking out his dripping hair. He borrows a shirt, an ancient Arcade Fire shirt that’s been washed so many times it’s almost transparent in parts, and as he’s arranging his hair in front of Evan’s dusty mirror he says, Ugh, I can’t believe I’m Eva Longoria. On Evan’s look he continues, Fucking the gardener, I mean.
Evan snorts with soft laughter, and puts on some pants to walk Johnny to the front door. They have an awkward moment where they aren’t sure what to do, and so Evan leans down to kiss him, quickly and simply, and as he pulls back Johnny’s eyes take a second too long to flutter and open again. Then they narrow. He says, See you tomorrow, pool boy, and leaves.
*
Next day when he arrives Johnny’s sprawled out asleep in the sun, diamante sunglasses on his face, a copy of Doctor Zhivago abandoned on the grass beside him. He’s wearing Evan’s shirt, and indecently short shorts.
Evan goes to check on the pool filter.
*
An hour later, when he’s in the insanely cluttered poolhouse which doesn’t seem to have been opened in years judging by the dust layered on every surface, spritzing lemon scented cleaning fluids around everywhere, there’s a click and the door opens, sunlight flooding in, blocked only by Johnny’s silhouette.
He murmurs something about helping Evan out, and wanders over, all narrow hips and amazing ass, and Evan’s suddenly very warm. He mutters something inane that he instantly wants to take back, like, what about my job, and Johnny says, now your job is to fuck me, and then they both crack up and can’t stop laughing for a couple minutes because he sounded so ridiculous. Evan tries out a couple of gigolo-esque voices and Johnny’s laughing again, and then they’re kissing, smiling into each other’s mouths, kissing and then the smiles fade, and kissing still, sweet kisses turned to long kisses and hard kisses softened by nips that are almost affectionate. Evan hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a while, but he doesn’t have time to think about that for long because Johnny’s hands are pushing their way down beneath the waistband of his shorts and yes, yes, yes.
*
Evan finally manages to get the poolhouse clean, after he uses the old shower in the back to clean off the tar-like layer of dust and spunk on his stomach. Then he goes home; his roommates ask him why he’s grinning like a crazy person, and he asks them what crack they’re smoking.
*
That evening he googles Johnny. To his surprise he doesn’t actually know his surname, but ‘Johnny figure skating’ brings up enough. So he didn’t place at the Olympics; it all looks pretty good to Evan’s inexperienced eyes, having a career like that, even if it’s imperfect, and then there’s the stuff about the knee. A badly dislocated knee cap after falling in practice, and sweet mother of God, there are image results for ‘dislocated knee cap’ that Evan never wanted to see.
He reads some more and gathers that that injury was pretty bad - which he had kind of judged from the bump of the scar (running his hands over it the previous night, Johnny tensing and then relaxing when Evan’s hands didn’t linger or jump away, treated it like skin, flesh, normal skin and flesh), and which, he gathers, is potentially career-ending. Oh.
*
He has a day off the next day, but the day after that he goes back, weirdly excited. Johnny’s in the pool, and looks up at Evan, black hair slicked back off his white face, green eyes impossibly bright in the sunlight, and pouts at him.
I had a day off, Evan says, a tone of begging in his voice, and Johnny says, Like that’s anything to do with me.
Evan narrows his eyes at him, and goes into the poolhouse. He tidies up things that don’t need to be tidied up, and then after a few minutes there’s the slap slap slap of wet footsteps and Johnny sticks his head inside, bringing the sharp ringing scent of chlorine with him. He says imperiously, I need you to help me with the pool levels, and Evan grins, and follows him outside. He winds up blowing Johnny on a sunlounger next to the pool, and he hasn’t done that for a while and had kind of forgotten how much he liked it, the taste and the shape and the weight of it. Johnny lies back, Evan sprawled a little awkwardly between his legs, one of Johnny’s legs pushed around him, heel rubbing rhythmically at Evan’s lower back, hand massaging the nape of his neck. Evan starts thinking things like, He always likes to be involved and controlling everything somehow, not in, like, a mean way - he feels thoughtful, observational, which is kind of a miracle considering that his hard dick’s pressing painfully against the plastic of the sunlounger, and then Johnny makes a flustered sounding noise and comes.
*
The next day Johnny corners him at the back door and asks him, in a sultry voice, if he’d like to come in for lemonade on this hot, hot day. They manage to keep straight faces for a few minutes until Johnny breaks character and wrinkles his nose. He says something like, It is so dumb that we have to be ironic about this.
Evan smoothes his hands up and down Johnny’s sides. He really, really wants to put his hands under his shirt, to feel warm smooth skin, the ribs under muscle, the ridge of his hipbones. Johnny continues. Like this is actually even my house. I’m not going to fucking roleplay a bored housewife for you every day, he bitches.
Evan blinks at him. This isn’t just a fantasy because of the situation, he points out, and Johnny sets his jaw stubbornly and doesn’t look him in the eye, muttering something bleak about how it is a fantasy, then, and nothing real, and-
It’s a fantasy in that I fantasise about making out with hot guys, Evan says mildly, and then adds, Uh. Not all the time. I’m not, like, a sex fiend.
Johnny relaxes then, half-laughs, and for someone who seems so sure of himself, he’s surprising. Evan says, We don’t need any pretences, and Johnny grins, and kisses him again.
*
After they fuck, Evan’s feeling drowsy and happy; his head’s pillowed comfortably on Johnny’s chest, and Johnny’s running his fingertips very gently through Evan’s hair. The feeling goes all through him, even down to the soles of his feet. He’s starting to wonder why this is so different to everything that’s come before it in his life.
He says, conversationally, despite the information in Johnny’s Wikipedia entry that he already knows: So, the leg, how’d you- and Johnny clears his throat in the kind of way that implies it isn’t his favourite topic of conversation. They’re quiet for a moment, and then Johnny tells the story, slowly, and Evan listens. Just like he read: a bad fall, one of the worst falls, and Johnny sounds halting and pained as he talks.
Evan says, Does it still hurt, and Johnny says instantly, Yes, and Evan exhales into the air. The room’s so hot that he feels like sweat’s dripping down the walls. He mutters something about not wanting to sweat disgustingly on Johnny, but doesn’t move.
You are sweating on me, you brat, Johnny murmurs, and continues to pet Evan’s hair affectionately. Then he brightens and surprises Evan by declaring that he actually did make lemonade, which basically makes the start of Evan’s working day even more awesome - if, after amazing sex, that is even possible.
*
Evan has to start working later to compensate for the time he spends with Johnny. He doesn’t want to get fired or anything, because the lady he’s working for seems really nice even if she has kind of disappeared for a while. Johnny explains that she’s gone to visit her daughter in Ireland, and that he gets to stay there to recover in peace, and dourly adds, Which you are wrecking, before laughing and kicking Evan affectionately. Initially they spend most of their time having sex on every available surface but then it always seems to tone itself down into something more relaxed. Evan often sleeps badly, and if he’s really exhausted he sometimes wishes they could bypass the sex into the easiness that follows.
Sometimes Johnny follows him outside, and sprawls out on the grass while Evan works - sometimes he brings a book, and sometimes his iPod, and sometimes he just watches Evan. Evan thinks that that’s probably super boring, but Johnny never complains. After a few weeks, when it’s looking much more like Evan’s plans, much tidier, more uniform, with sensible rows of similarly coloured flowers, Johnny makes a tutting noise in the back of his throat.
Evan feels his stomach sink even though he never actually asked for an opinion. He puts down his spade and squints at Johnny, who continues, There’s beauty in wildness. I often think you forget that. Then he stalks off, his ridiculous diamante sunglasses glittering in the sun, his long, messy mane of hair almost reaching the collar of Evan’s shirt, which he still wears at least once every three days despite the fact that he has listened to Arcade Fire once and then pronounced, I think they’re trying to get me to kill myself, before giving Evan’s iPod back with a slight sneer.
*
So you’re going to be an engineer, Johnny says, as Evan begins to clip deadheads off a rosebush.
Evan says something like, That’s the idea, and cuts off a rose that’s still mostly intact. He throws it at Johnny. Here, gorgeous, he grins.
For a second Johnny looks inordinately pleased. He puts the rose behind his ear and starts asking questions. The red’s so bright against his skin and hair that Evan can’t help but stop what he’s doing to listen, as if it’s something that requires more than one sense. Johnny asks about where Evan wants to be in ten years, and Evan tells him that he doesn’t care so long as he’s rich and happy, and then he asks Johnny the same question. He winces and tries to shrug it away, and finally says, simply, As long as I’m loved.
*
Uh, I sorta met someone, Evan says awkwardly during one of his weekly phonecalls with his big sister. She starts squealing at him, which is a little unpleasant, and he interrupts with a, Don’t tell Mom and Dad.
She snorts derisively and, okay, he was dumb to even mention it. She says, Is it serious, and he feels his stomach coil up with apprehension, and changes the subject.
*
So how old were you, Johnny asks him the next day. They’re sprawled together in the old poolhouse that used to be a pit of hideous dust, but is now pretty beautiful. Evan’s happy with himself. When you came out, Johnny continues.
Evan feels himself flush. Seventeen, he says, a little brisk, and Johnny nods, his soft hair tickling Evan’s jaw. Thirteen, he says, and Evan teases him about probably being the most flamboyant twelve-year-old in the world right until he can tell Johnny’s about to roll his eyes exasperatedly.
Johnny says then, How’d they take it, and Evan frowns at the ceiling. Not great, he says thoughtfully, and leaves it there. Only a couple days ago, Johnny explained to him that he hasn’t actually come out to the world, which Evan finds a little perplexing, considering his love for all things glittery. Apparently it’s chiefly because Johnny thinks that coming out is unnecessary because why the fuck should people have presumed him heterosexual, and then he admits that a big part of it is because apparently the figure skating judges would probably get pissed and score him down for it.
Which, okay, Evan’s number one problem with this whole situation is that, what the hell, gay people are unusual in figure skating? How is that even possible, considering the rhinestones and lycra and shit? And secondly, how is a sport not impartial? And Johnny said, I know, I know, and patted Evan’s arm like he’d already come to terms with how shitty the world could be towards him, which isn’t fair, not at all. If Evan got bad grades at school for being openly into guys, he’d start a fucking protest or something, and Johnny ‘I like to argue for no reason other than my natural feistiness’ Weir just held onto Evan’s arm and said, looking sad and surprisingly older, It’s not that easy.
Evan imagines a kid like himself learning figure skating - a lonely, messed up kid, without any of Johnny’s easy charm and self-confidence and without the kind family he seems to idolise, and cringes. How long would it have taken for him to get out of the closet? To make himself happy? Johnny pats his face very gently and says, Are you okay, and Evan nods, Yes.
*
He sleeps over at Johnny’s place that night, and the night after, and then he realises that it’s been something like five weeks, and Johnny’s starting to give his empty suitcases unpleasant looks.
Evan says over breakfast, trying to sound nonchalant, Are you leaving soon?
Johnny glares at him and doesn’t answer. Ten minutes later when he’s crashing plates together in the sink under the guise of cleaning them he says, You could at least sound like you care.
Evan stares at the back of Johnny’s neck and says, Am I supposed to?
Johnny shrugs a shoulder, looking almost defensive, and continues to bang innocent crockery around. Evan drains the remains of his orange juice, stands, joins Johnny, presses a kiss to the side of his jaw, puts his arms around his waist from behind. The sink faces the backyard, and it’s starting to approach something resembling beauty. The lines of flowers are less carefully regimented now, and they’re crawling together, bright colours almost but not quite clashing, thick green leaves threatening but not quite overtaking. Johnny said a couple days ago, You could get lost here.
Johnny relaxes back into him. He says to the garden, I don’t know what to do.
Evan thinks, wildly, Stay with me, but does not say it. Instead he says, Do what’ll make you happy, and Johnny nods, very minutely.
*
Three days later at the airport and Johnny shoots an intensively sullen look at Evan after he checks in his baggage. No one’s sure if he’ll be able to skate to his previous level any time soon - if ever, Johnny said quietly, red lips tight, but he and his coach have decided that training might be worth it. It’s been five and a half weeks since he arrived and Evan doesn’t know what he’s going to do for the next day, and the day after, and all the rest of his life, now Johnny’s going to be back on the opposite coast.
Suddenly Johnny says, not looking at Evan, Thanks for a nice time.
Evan says, frowning a little, Uh, no problem?
Johnny nods. There’s something intensely fragile about the soft line of his mouth. His face has turned from white porcelain into something more human, peppered with faint freckles and healthy skin flushed with sun right up to his hairline. His nose is slightly pink and possibly in danger of peeling. Evan wants to kiss its tip, wants to make Johnny laugh and swat him away. Instead he says, I’ll miss you, and Johnny nods, the fragility only increasing, and then there’s a sudden movement and his arms are around Evan, fingers digging into his back almost desperate and adoring, and he’s wearing Evan’s shirt again, and he smells like chlorine and roses, and Evan wants to hold him there forever, or at least until his flight is called.
They break away from each other fractionally and Johnny says, sounding determined, I’m going to leave now. And I’ll call you when I’m home. Evan’s arms are still loosely around his waist and they lean in as if they’re one, to kiss one last time, and it’s the sweetest and saddest kiss that Evan’s ever known.
And then Johnny’s pulling away, and walking away with a last wave over his shoulder, and it’s like as he goes, all of Evan’s guts slump inwards, like the breath’s being ripped out of him. He wonders for a second if he’s going to throw up on the airport floor. When he gets back to his car he sits there to try to get his thoughts together, and realises after a little while that he’s been there for almost forty-five minutes.
*
Two weeks later and Olivia’s back, and her garden is almost exactly how Evan wants it to be. A little wild, a little straightened up, somewhere in between. She’s happy with it, so he’s happy, and she gives him a really great tip. She says something about meeting Johnny while he stayed and how much Johnny appreciated that Evan was so kind and showed him around town, and Evan’s smile kind of hurts.
When he gets home he texts Johnny and says, Olivia’s back. I guess now there’s a person in the house my normal poolboy duties will resume and she will be my new Eva Longoria?
Johnny texts back three seconds later saying DON’T YOU DARE, and Evan grins. Five minutes later there’s another text, and it reads, Thank you for this summer, again.
Something like grief passes over Evan, because as if he needs to be thanked, as if Johnny gave him any option other than to fall fast and hard, and he texts back, Dont thank me, u made it for me. Come back for fall?
He waits for horrible minutes that seem longer than they possibly can be, and finally: I can’t promise I’d stick around for winter as well, but that’s okay, because summer’s fading and his roses will die but the garden will grow again, and one day Evan will build bridges with steel beams instead of coaxing slender buds to bloom for him. Things change. He understands that. Birdsong will be replaced by drills. Nothing will stay the same. Johnny texts again: I’m sorry. I’m difficult. You should know that. You might not want me around.
Evan grins and hits ‘dial’. Johnny picks up on the second ring, like he’s playing it cool or something. Evan says, I want you around. Come back, and sounding lost and happy, Johnny says, I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.
Yes.
*
Stripped of our want, our wildness, we sat
Naked and tired and companionable
In the sleek silence, innocent
Of what we’d said, what we’d done,
Our breath slowing, our heads tipped
And touching at the crown,
Like a couple of kids
Slumped on a dock in the sun, our legs
Dangling above the bright water,
Admiring each others’ reflections.
*
-END-