Hanging out

“Well, we can try... This one.”
“No!” Freddy groaned, bringing his gloved hands up to his temples and rubbing. Well, it was more a deep, slow, punchy-digging, perhaps to put himself out of his own misery. And still, Johnny persisted.
“Look, you gotta like at least one of these,” he said. Was he begging? John wheeled around until he was facing Frederick, each hand displaying big PC game cases. They looked ancient, and used to hell and back. His pouty expression turned used-car-salesman, fake smile and all, in a beat. His accent was thick as always, full-on Jersey. “I used to play these all the time when I was little. And I still play ‘em! They’re great! And, and-- and they’re funny! Funny as fuck! C’mon, don’tya wanna laugh? Huh?”

Fred seemed immune, going so far as to scoot his (guest) chair further out, four-legged, immobile thing scraping against John’s raggedy old hardwood floors. He felt no pity for the neighbors below; the night was young, and instead of letting Freddy take him out for a night on the town-- dinner and movie, maybe more-- Johnny had insisted what they could do at home was far more fun.
Johnny was wrong.

“I was willing to let you pick the movie, John, and you could’ve picked a ‘funny’ one,” Fred shrugged, a passive aggressive move. Johnny took the bait and sat up further in his cozy leather desk chair. His quickly-soured expression didn’t keep Fred from dangling the bait further. “But if you’re trying to make me laugh with a game from the eighties, you’re sorely mistaken. You can either let me take you out tonight or you can… Play with your joystick-- alone-- the rest of the night.”

John was, blissfully, laving his tongue along a soft-serve cone. Freddy was more or less steering the man along by their interwoven arms. The night air was crisp enough for the assassin to gift his coat to his ‘date’ as they strolled through the eerily quiet and empty city streets.
This time of night was reserved for night-shift workers, holed up in buildings, or for the homeless to give in and rest along the sidewalks. John didn’t ever mind, and in fact, if there wasn’t one hobo along the road, he wasn’t sure this was home. Freddy, of course, took it all in stride, more interested in John and what he chose to do, say, or seemingly think.

“So,” John started, getting one last lick in. Freddy gave him a cursory glance before stopping his steering, but realized he needed to pick it back up. The damn little bastard was still veering all over even without his ice cream distracting him. “This was a good idea. Gotta give it to ya. A lil’ better than some dumb old game.”
“Hmm,” Freddy hummed, expecting more. John looked out at the road before glancing up at Fred, and amended his thoughts.
“Ah, yeah. Yeah. I know. Okay, thanks for gettin’ me outta the house. I.. I know I do that, sometimes. I get all, I dunno-- caught up. Caught up ‘n myself.”
“You’re welcome.” Freddy looked down as John had looked back out along the never-ending blocks of road.

The silence was amicable, as if they both were trying to enjoy the private ambiance this hour brought. John had gone back to licking the ice cream.

“I don’t think you got it easy,” John started suddenly in the silence. Freddy glanced back down again.
They stopped as Johnny pulled his arm out from their lock, standing in front of the taller man. “But, I dunno-- I gotta know. Sometimes… Er, or ever. D’ya ever get sad?”
Frederick paused before answering, brow quirked. “Why?”
“Well… Why not? Can’t a guy just ask a goddamn question? So ‘yes’ or ‘no’? Just tell me, okay?”
Stepping around the mini roadblock and continuing on their journey back to John’s apartment, Frederick answered after a few more steps-- after listening to Johnny tailing behind.
“I don’t need things getting to me. But… Since knowing about your... Bouts of depression, I suppose that makes me sad, too. Short answer: yes.”
John’s silence read as stunned right away. Freddy kept quiet until the other man was ready to speak. “Oh.”

Then it was quiet again. Until that soft, smooth, damned expensive coat jacket of Freddy’s came sliding up against his sides; the sudden sensation of another would’ve evoked a ticklish jump of the body-- had Freddy been anyone but the Nightingale. Instead, he allowed the sensation, and allowed John further against him, this position strange, switched from the norm.
The warmth was nice, and he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to flutter shut and his legs to stop their trek once more. John, as always, followed suit by stopping as well. Surprisingly, the little devil knew his boundaries and kept a respectable distance with his hips. But his thin arms tried to double around Freddy’s stomach, vanilla cone precariously wiggling as John tried to gain more cuddling hold rather than taking care of his food.
“Were you being foreal,” John demanded, in a whisper.
“I don’t have a reason to lie to you, John.”

The heat of Johnny’s forehead came down along his spine-- right in the middle of everything. There was more silence, and for a moment, Frederick felt like he couldn’t stand it, which was a weird sensation. Most things he was quite fine with tolerating. Either way, maybe, Johnny was adept at getting under his skin. Instead of frowning, or rolling his eyes-- he wanted to smile.
And he did expect quite the jarring transition from their tender moment, then, too. But John spoke softly again, enough for anyone else to miss entirely.
“I love that… That you…”

Frederick brought those words to a trailing stop, arm stretching around behind to embrace Johnny by the shoulders lightly. John said no more, careful with his ice cream cone as he moved back beside Frederick, like they had started.
Damn, was this more important than a fucking computer game, the little Johnny that sometimes ran in Fred’s brain wanted to hoot out for him. Instead, he tightened his hold along John’s shoulders, who in turn tilted his head to rest along the Nightingale’s chest.

“Don’t drop your cone.”
“Hell I won’t. Paid damn near fifteen dollars for this piece of shit.”
“Mm.”