(Untitled)

[_johnny]

[the afternoon after this]

Johnny is a master of delegation, so good at it that people don't even realize he's passing the buck, no, they're doing him a favor - which is in a sense true, they're favoring him with the ability to get out of the office at just past noon. He tells Bill he's off to work at home and escapes with a convincingly large

Comments

[_mortensen]

Strangely nervous fingers tap against the metal of his belt buckle as he listens to the echo of the doorbell die away. The tap, tap, tap is a bit reassuring. Rhythm. Always calming. Routine. Like his life has become in the last few months. Sad and pathetic, but comfortably routine.

He sighs, shoving said hand into the pocket of old, faded jeans (uniform, as of late), his other hand clutching a bottle of wine. Some Cabernet. Viggo doesn't know wine. He just knows it's not red and that it was only $19.95. He's not doing too well on funds these days.

"Answer the door," he mutters impatiently, foot tapping, now, in lieu of fingers.

[_johnny]

Johnny does his best not to bolt for the door, not to appear as completely pathetic as he feels today. His sandals slap loudly on the floorboards flip/flop flip/flop and he hooks his thumbs into his beltloops as he goes.

Non-chalant. That's what we're going for. You used to act. You know how to do this.

Viggo's looking a little wrung out himself, but he grins, hefts a bottle of of Johnny's favourite white wine at him. Johnny takes it, then says fuck it and yanks him into a hug that smells like stale cigarettes and feels like home.

"C'mon in," Johnny says after a second, after the hug's gone on maybe just a little too long. He steps back, gestures with the wine bottle. "Mi casa es su casa, as always, man."

[_mortensen]

"So long as you don't charge me rent again..." Viggo quips, smile on his face, but the words trail off as a set of blinking and quickly widening blue eyes settle on the literal pile of joints gathered on Johnny's counter.

"Huh."

With a brief press of a brother kiss to Johnny's hair, he moves toward the kitchen, those lips curving into a smirk. "Problems at home?" he asks, a shade of amusement coloring concern in his voice as he glances back at his former roommate.

[_johnny]

Johnny rolls his eyes, yeah, good idea, this was a good idea. Viggo gets it, always has, never had to explain, either, even twenty years ago when their mutual California dreamin' led them to share the world's tiniest, skankiest apartment in a neighborhood that made some rings of hell look like vactionland.

And later, later, when Johnny came back from England with his guts as carry-on baggage, when he first leased this place and it was too fucking empty, because it was always supposed to be a house for two... Viggo got it. Viggo moved in and put him back together, Viggo's like the brother he never had, always wanted.

"It's... you know." Johnny sighs. Out with it. "It's Jack."