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friday night

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The smoke sits heavy and low in his lungs, the world going soft at the edges and the only sound is Roach shaking a can of spray paint.

Stretching out on his back over the cold concrete of the empty skate park, Jonny looks up at the stars. Bright and blinking far above them, millions of light-years away, it makes him feel like he might start sinking through the ground. He never really paid a lot of attention to them before, but in light of everything, it leaves him thinking.

Jonny wonders just how many of the stars are dead.

And then there are two black voids blinking down at him while waves of starlight bleached hair reach down like tentacles.

“What are you doing?” Newman grins, the amusement in his eyes shining brighter than the moon.

It’s still weird to know who and what Newman actually is. Something about ‘actual eldritch abomination’ just doesn’t seem to make the connection in his head, can’t click into place. Which is really fucking Weird because there’s already a lot about Newman that isn’t Normal, so it really shouldn’t be this difficult. But it is, even though he’s seen the both the milky white eyes and the pitch black filled with stars, heard the alien shrieks through two pairs of hands clamped over his ears and still there had been blood.

A liminal space contorted into the shape of a person.

From what Roach has told him, that’s a fair description of what Newman really looks like.

A callused thumb brushes against his cheek and Jonny blinks.

“Lightweight,” Newman teases, all soft smiles and teeth that are sharper than they look. “You’re gonna miss out if you don’t get up.”

Missing out is the last thing he wants, but he’s far too loose limbed and his head is fizzling. And really, he’s completely fine with just laying here as long as he gets be with Newman. He really likes being with him.

“Aw, babe.” Newman’s dimples make an appearance, silent laughter in those black eyes of his. There’s a new sound and it takes Jonny a few moments to realize it’s Roach cackling at him. “I like being with you too.”

Shit, he said all of that aloud.

In a vain effort to salvage his dignity, Jonny does the only thing he can think of, which is throwing an arm over his face. Not his best plan, but he’s not firing on all cylinders right now.

“Hey,” Newman whispers softly, tapping Jonny’s arm; he moves it and the black voids are closer this time. But they’re warm and fond in a way that makes Jonny’s whole being ache. “Hey.”

Fingers cupping the nape of Newman’s neck, Jonny drags him down, eyes fixated on an equally giddy smile and—

“Are you guys going to help me, or do I have to spray paint all these dicks by myself?”

A low chuckle and then Newman is pulling up and away, but taking Jonny with him. The world spins like an out of control tilt-a-whirl, but Newman’s got a firm hold on him and he’s holding on just as tightly. Looking over the edge and down into the bowl, Jonny can see that Roach was only mostly joking about painting dicks; a good amount of it is cryptic bullshit.

Newman leads him down when his legs are less shaky, and Jonny follows without complaint. It isn’t until he’s being handed a can of paint that he remembers that he never answered Newman’s question.

“You,” Jonny finally finds his voice through the haze; at Newman’s confused smile, he clarifies with, “I was thinking about you.”

Heart rattling behind his ribs, Jonny can feel himself matching the grin on Newman’s face, who is looking at him like he’s the best thing he has ever seen.