#he'd ruin it by saying something like “you're gonna get sick and sick blood tastes bitter”

[xitsensunmoon]

Sometimes you can find comfort in someone you'd expect the least

[nagdabbit]

here, have a 960 word snippy of chappy 15 of a song that will dig into my bones wherein bryan doesn't check the weather and mox is a lucky fucker

Bryan looked like a drowned cat.

Jon tried, he really did. Pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, bit his cheek until he tasted a little blood. He tried so hard to keep it in. 

"Oh, fuck you." Bryan growled, beginning to pull his soaked things from his pockets. "My phone is ruined and I'm freezing and I'm probably going to get sick, and you're laughing at me."

Jon tried to will his laughter down to keep from getting swatted when he shuffled closer. "Babe, m'sorry, but—"

"No you're not," he grumbled, petulantly, voice made a little unsteady by his shivering. He glowered up at Jon from beneath his dripping hair, "If you were sorry there'd be no but."

"Alright, sweetheart, I'm sorry you didn’t look at the weather and got caught in the rain," he amended, biting down on his grin—as much as he was able, in any case. "M'not sorry for laughing, though. You look like some angry, feral kitten."

Bryan's glare would have killed a lesser man. "You're lucky my phone is fucked and I can't call a car."

"We'll get you a new one in the morning," he promised, choosing not to comment on the fact that his phone would've been fine if he'd just listened and stayed with Jon instead of wasting money on a hotel. Or if, at the very least, he’d got an Uber instead of walking, like a dumbass.

"I don't want a new one."

"Tough tits, babe. A bag of rice ain't gonna fix that." He smirked and opened his arms, waving Bryan forward, "C'mon, bring it in. Lemme warm you up."

They stood like that for a long moment, neither of them moving. Just a silent standoff between Bryan's bedraggled ire and Jon's open, inviting arms. 

It was Bryan's lip that twitched, the first to break their standoff. He sighed heavily, like he thought that would cover up his small smile, and shoved Jon back a little. "No, no. Lemme get a little dry first."

"Fine, put your stuff in the washer, I'll get you something warm," he promised and backed away, hands raised in surrender. He waggled his eyebrows a little, “If you ask nice, I’ll even help ya get dressed.”

Bryan cocked back an arm, threateningly, ready to launch a wet sock at Jon's face. "Don't even try to be cute with me, right now. You laughed at me."

"You decided to pick a fight with Eddie," Jon shot back, and turned away and wandered further into the apartment. "Call it payback."

There was a moment of silence. Then a quiet huff of a laugh from Bryan, followed by the wet slap of a sock between Jon's shoulder blades. 

He laughed his way into the bedroom.

They had only had a few days together, really, but a surprising number of Bryan's clothes had ended up in Jon's dresser by the time the man had to leave. Soft t-shirts and raggedy sweats, mostly. Ones so well-worn that Bryan's scent, all hardwood and spice, wouldn't even fade in the wash. Ones Jon had taken to stealing to sleep in most of the lonely nights between Bryan's visits. 

Jon had amassed plenty enough of Bryan's own clothes to keep the man dry and warm. But, just because he could now, he grabbed the largest hoodie he owned, something that was already loose and baggy on himself. The sweats would bunch up around Bryan's ankles, and the hoodie would hang halfway down to Bryan's knees, and he wouldn't hate it half as much as he'd say.

True to form, Bryan took one look at the sleeves dangling off his hands and turned his unimpressed expression on Jon. His lips were twitching toward something like a smile, though. "Are you serious?"

"I just want you to be warm," he said, giving the man as innocent a look as he could manage. It didn't work, of course it didn't, but it made Bryan laugh a little. Made his shoulders loosen just a little bit further, despite the tired chill weighing on him.

He tried to look stern, but his lips twitched upward again. Not much, just a little. Just enough. "You're lucky you're cute."

He grinned and backed Bryan toward the living room, "Yeah, m'pretty lucky."

And he really was, he was sure of it. Even if Bryan was a prickly dickhead. Even if he liked to pick fights with Eddie, liked to needle and tease. Even if he refused to laugh at Jon's jokes just because he liked to pretend he didn't have a sense of humor. Even if he tried to sneak garlic into the dinners they shared. Even when he snuck bags of vegetables into Jon's freezer. 

He moved things in the apartment, too. Mixed up piles of books, ones Jon had set aside in specific order. He dog-eared pages, misplaced bookmarks in the wrong chapters, sometimes just left books folded open on the tabletop. And that was just the living room; if Bryan was a menace anywhere, it was the goddamn kitchen. Jon didn't even know what drawer his silverware was in anymore, the asshole had put it away and refused to tell him where.

Bryan was a smug prick, a bit of an asshole, and an all around shit-stirrer. But, yeah, Jon thought he was pretty fucking lucky.

"Stop looking at me like that, I'm still mad at you," Bryan murmured, blindly letting Jon lead him backward toward the couch.

"Like what?" 

"Like you're about to undress me," he murmured, looking for all the world like he wouldn't mind one bit. "Ruin all your hard work."

"Well, I haven't worked that hard." He smirked and gave one final shove. Bryan dropped onto the couch with a pleased little noise, right where Jon wanted him. "Not yet, anyway."