Chapter Text
-Now-
Life was fine if John didn’t think too hard about anything.
His pain, his shit breathing, his inevitable doom at the hand of his alternate universe self, all of it was manageable if he just turned his brain off and coasted through his days. Problems would come on their own, whether he made himself sick trying to solve them or not, and sometimes it just wasn’t worth fighting.
Noah, little shit that he was, would appear from the shadows with ‘Dancing Through Life’ playing on his phone as John tried to turn his brain off. Being chased around a park by a teenage boy with a grudge wasn’t how he thought he’d be spending his weekend.
He’d finally managed to win himself a small bit of peace and quiet and was ready to enjoy a restful afternoon for once, but as soon as he threw his feet up on his bed, his cell phone started blaring out a tinny tune and John let out a frustrated groan.
Phone calls made turning off his brain very difficult.
“Hullo?”
Normally, he’d ignore calls from unknown numbers, but every now and again he’d feel compelled to answer. If it was important, he’d hate to miss it and have to solve a worse problem later.
“Yes, hello, is this John Constantine? Ray’s Johnny?”
John's finger was halfway to the hangup button as a soft-spoken man’s voice came over the phone, but the comment ‘Ray’s Johnny’ made him pause.
No one had called him that since a few years after Ray died. He’d pretty much dropped off the map after…what happened to the man who’d loved John as his own, given that Ray was the only reason John was so invested in the community in that area in the first place. Having been the cause of his death, it felt wrong to force his presence on the queers he’d spent so much time around.
“Who’s this?”
“My legal name is Leland Curtis, we knew each other from Ray’s drag days. I went through a few names over the years, though, ah, you might remember me better as Leticia la Dicia.”
John blinked rapidly as old memories flooded his mind of a shy, late twenties drag queen who’d never really come into her own when he’d known her.
“Tish the Dish?”
-Then-
John had barely known Ray two weeks when he'd dragged John backstage and into the dressing rooms for the drag performers and told him to make himself useful helping the 'girls' get dressed for their performances.
“Johnny, could you come here please?”
He didn’t really know how or why he’d been roped into all this backstage business for Ray’s performers. Beano, Les, and Chas were ruthless, they'd mocked him endlessly for falling for Ray after two days (for falling for a man old enough to be his da, who wore pretty dresses and wigs and jewelry and would be married if men were allowed to marry other men), but hell if he could help himself.
The True Queen of England beckoned, and John was helpless against her call. He skittered over from his place on the wall and Ray passed him a massive makeup bag.
Ray was dressed in full glamorous drag, a long and shimmering gown, a glorious red wig, and made up to the gods in stage makeup that made him look fucking glamorous. John hadn’t realized how the night would completely rewrite his perspective on sexual attraction, that was for sure. He’d known he was at a queer bar; he’d gone in because it was a queer bar, but that didn’t mean he knew what seeing gorgeous men dressed as women would do to him.
“What can I do for ya?”
“This tasty little morsel could use a more dramatic eye. You did such a good job on me, would you help her while I get her wig ready?”
John learned a lot that first week crashing on Ray’s couch, not the least of which was how to do a killer eye for the stage and also make it look feminine. He’d practiced on himself for three days straight and had actually worn a pretty good look he’d called ‘Blue Disaster’ to their last performance. They’d done decently, actually made a bit of money, and the guys had mercilessly teased him and told him the crowd liked that he looked like a woman, but sounded like a man.
He didn’t know how he felt about that, exactly, but he kept practicing his makeup skills, and now he was being put to work on one of Ray's special projects.
“Course.”
John fished out an eye pencil from the bag and went to work on taking this poor guy’s look and making something spectacular, something he wouldn’t be ashamed of when sharing the stage with Ray. He blended out the colors, added a hint of something bright in the center to pull focus, and cleaned up the edges. He lined the guy's lips, applied his oversized lashes, and helped give him sharper cheekbones.
It was nuts how a little stage makeup could make a guy look so pretty. John swallowed hard as he stepped back and away.
“Thanks.”
“Sure,” John replied, feeling suddenly awkward about having been so close to Leland's face for so long. He hoped his breath hadn't been terrible.
He’d never done ladies makeup before he met Ray. Sure, John had watched Cheryl put her own on, but it was different doing it himself. He wasn’t sure if it was exactly what Leland wanted, but it looked nice to John and Ray nodded approvingly before he went to work helping Leland into his hair.
“That’s very nice, John, excellent work. Have you warmed your voice up, Lee?”
“Not yet, Queenie.”
Ray hummed disapprovingly and the new guy sank a little in his seat.
“John, would you be so kind as to run Lee through some scales while I pin her wig in?”
-Now-
The man on the other end chuckled as John ran through his memories. Lee had changed stage names a few times, never really finding anything that fit until the tail end of the eighties when he’d finally settled on Leticia la Dicia, thanks to ‘dish’ taking up popularity in the community.
He’d thought it was cute. It fit him pretty well.
“Yeah, Tish the Dish. It’s, um, it’s nice to hear your voice.”
John wasn’t sure that was accurate. Tish was one of the people who was freaked out by John after…after Newcastle and Ravenscar. Oh, everyone liked him fine when he was a performer, but the stigma of being a child killer made him unwelcome in a lot of his former circles, particularly queer spaces that already had a lot to worry about from outside accusations. Even Ray’s word wasn’t enough for some of the people he’d surrounded himself with, despite the amount of sway he had.
It had damaged relations between Ray and some of his girls, that was for sure.
“I doubt you tracked me down just to talk, Lee. What do you need?”
His tone was harsher than he meant it to be, but people from that era of his life never called because something good was happening, and he didn’t want to be dragged too deeply into whatever nightmare Tish the Dish had in store.
Peace was hard enough to maintain without ghosts from the past popping in for tea.
The door to John’s bedroom opened and Noah’s head popped in. How he'd known that something was happening, John had no idea. The teenage menace had an ear for whenever John was being drawn into something. He had concern written all over his face, looked half ready to hop into his shoes and start punching things, but John shooed him off.
No sense in Noah getting himself worked up over what was probably nothing.
“After Ray died, his things were all dispersed or destroyed to make sure that no one could disparage him in death. You know how things were for us back then.”
John winced and then winced again as Noah fully entered the room and sat cross legged on the bed to glare daggers into John’s phone, like he could defend John from the other end.
Yeah, John knew that house clearing was a thing. When gay men were dying in droves from AIDS, their things would either be given to other queers who’d have use of them, like leathers, or destroyed so that family members wouldn’t decide that the poor men didn’t deserve proper burials.
Ray’s funeral was full of butches in ill fitted dresses and queens in plain suits that dulled their shine, but he got to have a funeral, which was a blessing in and of itself.
“If you’re looking for something specific, I wasn’t given any of Ray’s things. By the time I realized what was happening, his place had been emptied.”
It wasn’t entirely true, there’d been a nice suit with his name pinned to it that someone had saved for him, but none of Ray’s important things. No pictures of him and Bill, none of his embroidered handkerchiefs, none of the jewels or makeup, not even his fun ties.
Not that John would have been able to take care of any of Ray’s things at the time, but it was the thought. He’d been Ray’s favorite and everyone knew it, but because of Newcastle, people exiled him from important moments and rituals.
Tish, Lee, whatever the fuck his name was, hummed on the other end of the line in that way people did when they were uncomfortable, but didn’t want to say it.
“The opposite, actually. We’d spread out most of Ray’s things decades ago, but…well quite a bit came back into my possession over the years. There are some thing that I suspect you'd want, and it didn’t feel right to toss it without at least trying to get a hold of you.”
Things of his?
“I can’t think of anything you’d have had that was mine. I hadn’t lived with him in a long time when he died.”
Lee cleared his throat and sniffled.
“You know how our Ray liked to collect things. Queenie had all sorts of treasures tucked away for safekeeping, posters from your shows, scrapbooks, letters.”
Oh god.
“Letters?”
Back when John had been a lovesick puppy, looking for anyone to treat him nicely, he’d written dozens of love letters to Ray. He’d been so embarrassed when he realized that Ray was happily cohabitating with his life partner, Bill and that Bill had read them.
Both men had been painfully kind about the whole thing, hadn’t kicked John out or read him the riot act or anything like that. They’d been kind and set him up on their pullout, but oh, John’s cheeks burned in embarrassment at the memory of the two men tittering and kissing in their kitchen as Ray told Bill all about John’s silly little crush and Bill endlessly flattered Ray about how he was still so handsome that the schoolboys were chasing him.
“I don’t know where you are these days, but of you want any of it, I’m happy to post it to you. I just can’t hold onto it much longer.”
John cleared his throat to chase away the feelings that had settled.
He understood why Tish was all choked up, thinking about Ray still got him fucked in the head, too, even after all this time. Best of men, that one.
Years of his life, John had lived with very little in the way of permanence. Things could be taken so quickly and easily, lost by carelessness and malice, and yet…here were things saved specifically for John because Ray had thought they were something to save, even if the people who’d kept them after his death didn’t.
If Tish had anything at all, John wanted it, even if he had to give it to someone else for safekeeping. If it was Ray’s or something Ray kept for him, he wanted it. He wanted to know it was safe.
He wanted to see what had made the cut.
“It’s good of you to reach out. I, ah, are you still in London? I could pick it up.”
“Did you finally learn to drive?”
“Nah, I got me a driver. He’s currently glaring at me because I won’t put the phone on speaker so he can listen in, but if you give me an address, I’m happy to swing by whenever.”
The indignant expression on Noah’s face was well worth any explanations he’d have to give. They weren’t exactly close, for all that Noah practically lived out of John’s pocket, he hadn’t given the lad the tragic backstory yet.
“I’d like that, Johnny.”
“Just John, he named the dog Johnny.”
He’d have to give Noah a bit of backstory, if only to make sure he behaved himself.
-Then-
“Ray, are you sure you want to keep it?”
“Well, someone’s got to keep me company now that you’re off on your own adventures.”
Johnny barked loudly and hopped into Ray’s lap before he circled twice and settled. John and Johnny stared each other down, the dog’s smug face as Ray stroked his head made John feel stupid and jealous and he hated it.
“He doesn’t like me.”
Ray chuckled and scratched under Johnny’s chin.
“He likes you just fine, don’t you Johnny?”
Johnny chuffed as Ray doted on him and wiggled his fat little corgi bottom in John’s direction to mock him. Something must have showed on John’s face because Ray leveled that disappointed expression at him and John was thoroughly cowed.
“Oh, stop being jealous of my puppy.”
“I’m not jealous,” John lied.
“Go get me my watch off the vanity, and then come sit with me. Sandy and her sweetheart came by and brought me a few new records, I thought we could listen to one.”
John smiled and kissed the top of Ray’s head, ignoring the protesting growl that came from Ray’s damned dog. Johnny was a noisy bastard, but John wasn’t afraid of him biting, the way he was with most dogs. He was just a protective little snot who knew where his meals came from.
And Ray deserved someone to be protective over him, even if that someone was a dog.
“Oright, I’ll got get your watch. Why d’ya need it, if we’re staying in to listen to music?”
Ray just hummed and shushed Johnny as John stood and made his way up the stairs and into Ray’s bedroom.
It was still decorated the way it had been when Bill shared the space, though there was a dog bed in the corner now. It wasn’t hard to track down the watch on the vanity, it was still in the little decorative box it had been given to Ray in. Beautiful, elegant, the kind of thing John knew Bill would have chosen for his husband. As close to a wedding band as either man could reasonably get away with.
John brought the whole box downstairs, fully intending to do the ritual as Bill had always done it, presenting the watch, taking it out, and putting it on Ray.
Only to realize once he hit the bottom step that the ritual was probably something romantic for the two men, and Ray probably would have unpleasant feelings about John overstepping a 'Bill Boundary'.
As he started to turn back to put the box away, Ray held his hand out and waved John over.
“Come here, sweet boy. Are you done being jealous yet?”
Well, he could still hand over the box, he didn’t have to be romantic about it.
“I’m not jealous of your dog, Ray.”
“I’m sure you aren’t, darling boy.”
-Now-
As soon as the door opened, John immediately adjusted his thoughts on Leland/Tish. Clearly, when she’d said her ‘legal name’ was Leland over the phone, it had been a declaration of defiance as much as anything.
“Wow. Still serving, eh Dishie?”
Tish still looked stunning, even with graying hair and a rollator. She looked older, for sure, but the kind of old that spoke of classy afternoon teas and good conversation rather than bitterness and pain. She’d taken Ray’s sartorial instructions to heart and stayed fashionable and well put together with long hair wearing women’s cuts in a way that John suspected was not a performance for himself and Noah.
She giggled and gave them a dramatic pose before she wheeled herself back to let them into the flat.
“It’s amazing what a little makeup, a good hairstylist, and some plastic surgery can do, isn’t it? I’ve been Leticia full time for decades now.”
Noah blinked rapidly and looked between the two of them before he beamed brightly and waved.
It wasn’t every day that Noah got to meet people like him, after all. It was probably a bit of a treat to meet an elder queer that wasn’t John, especially one that was just like him.
“Hi there, love, you must be Johnny’s driver. Come in, you two, mind the boxes.”
The place was stripped down, nothing on the walls and no curtains over the windows, just boxes taped up with names of people rather than rooms written on them in sharpie in piles around the little space. Most were names John didn’t recognize, and those he did, he was sure weren’t the same people he remembered. Most of the queers and queens he’d known back in the day were older than him and he was old these days.
“Getting ready to move?”
“The elevator isn’t very good and I don’t get around well. Stairs are a problem.”
She led them into the main room, where there were several small boxes on top of a wooden chest. She patted the top box, lid untaped, and pulled an album out.
“This is all Ray’s collection that had you in it or were things that seemed like you should have them, like pictures of your band-mates and whatnot. There are some loose frames in the box as well as some odds and ends he’d wanted you to have. A few of us still have some performance posters, though they aren’t in mint condition.”
Noah excitedly took the offered album with a mischievous smile in John’s direction before he started to flip through it. John couldn’t hold back a pained noise as Noah bounced in delight, clearly he’d found something sufficiently embarrassing already.
“Damn it, Tish, I’m never gonna live this down.”
Tish leaned over Noah’s shoulder and smiled her own playful smile as she patted Noah gently.
“You looked very nice, John. Classy. Ray would never have had you dress up any other way.”
Noah tucked the album under his arm so he could sign and John did his best to hold himself tall.
<You did drag?>
“No, I helped with some of the shows, though. The band did a bit of music for a while when the club needed a hand, we were better at doing covers for the performers than our own music. Embarrassing, really.”
-Then-
John groaned as Bill got the camera set up for the group photograph. Ray had said it was taking so long because Bill liked older equipment, fiddly stuff, but John was pretty sure that it was taking forever because Bill enjoyed John being embarrassed.
“You’re so sentimental, Ray.”
Ray beamed and fluffed the bottom of the wig he’d pinned on John’s head before he straightened the neckline of the sexy little blue dress he’d dressed John up in.
“That’s ‘The True Queen of England’ to you, sweet boy. You’re so darling like this, doesn’t he just look darling?”
The small crowd of Mucous Membrane, Ray's performers, and the bar's employees and made noises of approval, though it was clear that some of them were more mocking than others.
“Oh sure,” Les snickered. “Absolutely darling.”
“Eat shit, Les.”
John’s band-mates snickered and he felt himself heat with embarrassment. He was certain he was red as a tomato, because the laughter only got louder as he tried to figure out the fastest way to extract himself from this terrible situation.
“I asked if the dress was comfortable, I didn’t ask to take a picture with everyone in the damned club.”
“You say that, and yet here you are, wearing hose and my heels and a wig. You could have said no.”
He grumbled a bit under his breath a bit at that. John wasn’t sure that he could say no to Ray with things like this when the man offered because he’d…well, he’d just wanted to know. What was it like, to dress up and dance and wear makeup and shiny jewelry?
He’d expected that Ray’d shove him into one of his gowns he had stored in the wardrobe after a show, not stop in the middle of prep for the night and ask Lee if John could borrow one of her dresses, though they were more suited to each other size wise than John was to Ray.
“You’re mean.”
“Of course I am, now come here. Let me get a good picture of you boys together. I can’t thank you all enough for stepping in and helping us get our music all sorted out.”
The pianist that Ray normally had around had bailed last minute, something about being outed at their day job and the club’s backup player had gotten another gig somewhere else and wasn’t willing to come in. The whole bar had been in an uproar for hours at the news, and Ray’d been doing everything he could to keep everyone levelheaded while he problem-solved, but there weren’t a whole lot of options that short notice.
He’d sounded utterly heartbroken when he confessed to John that he’d found someone willing to come. A pianist from one of the local theatres had agreed to play for them, but he’d asked for a stupidly unreasonable amount of money to ‘take the risk’ and play at a gay club that’d already lost one performer. In order to make it happen, Ray would have to dip into his own pockets, because the club certainly couldn’t cover it.
Ray Monde, sweet, gentle Ray who let strangers sleep on his couch, who looked out for dozens of people, who always knew what to say to make people feel better, who took care of everyone.
“Yeah, John, let’s get a good picture,” Chas crowed.
It was wrong.
“We need a good picture,” Gary echoed.
And hell, Mucous Membrane wasn’t making any money on dive bar shows. As far as John was concerned, a gig was a gig. No one would know if they played for a bunch of queers and queens, and even if they did, who cared? These were good people who didn’t deserve to get this kick in the jewels.
“C’mon, John, don’t be such a baby,” Beano grinned.
And…well…it was worth it to see Ray’s smile.
The guys were happy to make some money, even if they were playing covers, and Sandy the butch bartender was happy to keep them sated with killer drinks and nibbles until Ray could find a new pianist for regular work.
“All of you, shut up and let Bill take the picture so we can finish practicing.”
“Hell yeah, Mucous Membrane’s got a new lead singer! What should we call you?”
Chas threw his arm around John’s shoulder, some of his wig caught under the arm and tugged at his scalp unpleasantly. Ray shooed him off and fussed with John’s hair again, making sure the long, blond curls fell pleasantly around him.
“Connie Conwoman?”
John snorted and ducked his head as Ray finally decided he was presentable enough to be preserved in film.
“That’s stupid. You’re all stupid. Come on, let’s take this stupid picture so I can change.”
“Oh, to have the burden of being young and beautiful,” Ray teased as he kissed John’s cheek and wrapped an arm around his waist.
God, was it weird that he was so in love with this man? Ray was old enough to be John’s father and dressed sweetly enough to be John’s mother, and yet…
John shook his head and smiled over at Bill, who had a knowing smile on his face as he motioned everyone in.
“You’re always beautiful, Ray.”
-Now-
Tish smiled as Noah carefully packed the book back into the box and folded the flaps together. She reached out and patted Noah’s hand, just as she’d done his shoulder before, and Noah practically swelled with pride at the positive attention.
“You’ve a lovely smile, young man. How do you know our Johnny?”
John made a pained noise as Noah blinked rapidly at her. He pulled his hand away, careful to be gentle, and looked to John.
“Go ahead.”
Noah smiled as he signed to Tish that he and John were roommates and John translated for him. Tish’s face was gentle and placid in a perfectly structured sort of way as John spoke. She looked directly at Noah and nodded, then looked to John.
“Roommates?”
“We’re roommates the way Bill, Ray, and I were roommates, except he’s me and I’m Ray this time.”
It wasn’t exactly true, Noah wasn’t nearly so pathetic or as much of a try-hard as John was at his age, and he could manage without John, but given the way she smiled, Tish understood what John meant.
“Well, as long as you’re actually acting like Ray and Bill, I have nothing to say in reproach. Queenie was a wonderful friend to have and Bill was a gentleman.”
Noah cocked his head.
<Who’re they?>
“Friends. Ray’s stage name was The True Queen of England, or Queenie for short.”
Tish shook her head as she shuffled something around in one of the boxes.
“You haven’t talked to him about Ray? Shameful, Johnny. Queenie and her King took in their fair share of strays over the years, but it wasn’t a secret to anyone that John was Ray’s favorite. No one else got away with so much as he did. Queenie had a lot of daughters, but she only had one child.”
That was true enough, though Ray never claimed the role of father or mother for himself, and John preferred to call the man his friend thanks to his issues with his father and the fact that said father was still alive when Ray was killed. But it was a universally acknowledged truth amongst Ray’s girls that John was Ray’s favorite, and he knew it.
No one else got to be there when Ray mourned Bill.
“Only child aside from that damned dog. Though, unlike me and Ray, Noah here can cook.”
Tish smiled gently and pulled out a framed photograph of Bill in his uniform and showed it to Noah.
A handsome photograph that John knew had a framed partner of Ray standing in a nice suit. The two of them didn’t have many display photos together for propriety’s sake, but they got around it by taking pictures of each other and placing them next to each other on the walls.
“Breaking generational curses, this one, I like it. There’s a box over there for Marcia, but I cannot get a hold of her, so you two take that one as well, alright?”
<Maybe we could stop by for tea sometime? I’d be happy to make you something and help you unpack wherever you’re moving to.>
Tish smiled gently as John translated and reached over to pat Noah again.
“You’re very sweet, but most of this isn’t coming with me, I've moved most of my things already. Anything that isn’t picked up in a few days will be donated as I’ll be convalescing in a single room from now on.”
John felt something twist in his chest at that.
“You doin’ alright?”
He hadn’t wanted to think about why someone as put together as Tish was might be giving things away, but it was obvious what was happening.
“As much as one can be in my condition.”
Tish was getting ready to die.
“Condition?”
“I outlasted many of the others, but AIDS doesn’t give up, sadly.”
John winced and felt a lump form in his throat, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost a friend to that horrible fucking monster, but it wasn’t gone. Noah looked shattered at the news and turned a bit so Tish couldn’t see his face.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“As am I, but my doctor has a bit of a crush, you see, so I get the good drugs.”
Tish tittered a bit and John grinned back at her. It must’ve not been a good enough face, though, because she shook her head at him.
“I’ve made my peace, Johnny. There’s a little sadness, but I’ve had a good run of things. You’re not allowed to mourn me, I’m not dead yet.”
She motioned toward some furniture off to the side.
“John’s things are marked, darling, just take all the boxes out, but you’re welcome to anything that doesn’t have a name on it as well. I won’t leave a single thing of value for my terrible landlord to make a profit from.”
Noah ran his hand along a familiar looking vanity and John wondered what he thought of the thing.
He wasn’t into anything feminine, Noah did his best to be seen as a man’s man, compensation for all the years that other people hadn’t seen him for himself. At the same time, Noah was a bit of a pack-rat. If the things weren’t claimed, he’d probably want them for himself, even if he would never use a vanity that was so delicate and feminine.
John did his best to smile as Noah inspected the drawers and chair, but the knowledge that the only one of Ray’s girls who’d ever reached out was dying was a real mood killer. Tish had Noah take the first box, but stopped John from helping.
“None of that,” She chided as Noah left the apartment. “No sad faces.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve had a very good life, all things considered. I took after our Queenie and got some girls of my own, and I’ve done quite a bit for a scrappy London brat. I’m well cared for, Johnny, you don’t have to fuss.”
“You’re not seeking further treatment? They’ve got all sorts of things these days, don’t they?”
Tish shook her head and spun her rollator to sit down. She looked beautiful, even as John imagined he could see the sickness eating her.
“I’m not laying down to die, John, this is the result of modern medicine. I’ve lived a very long time, longer than I’d ever even dreamed, but we aren't meant to last forever, are we? I’m quite content, I’ll stay with a lovely lesbian couple and their third for a while, they’ve agreed to care for me until it’s time that I move on to be with my brothers and sisters in heaven.”
“Okay.”
Something about faith always made John itch a little, but there was something funny about a queer person claiming heaven for themselves. He didn’t hate it, and hopefully it brought Tish some comfort.
He wondered if he should ask about funeral arrangements.
Tish smiled and patted John’s arm.
“You’re healthy?”
“Had a cancer thing a while back, but I’m doing well.”
“Good. Your boy is too young to be left alone.”
John snorted.
“My boy?”
“If you’re his Ray, he’s your boy. Take him to the clubs, Johnny, he deserves to learn about our people from us. Have you even taken him to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern?”
“Dunno what you mean.”
Tish fluttered her lashes in that way she’d never rightly managed when she was younger, that full, confident flutter that came from confidence.
“You know exactly what I mean. Stop being a scaredy-cat, John Constantine, and get yourself out of the closet again.”
-Then-
John scrubbed at his face in the bathroom mirror with fierce determination.
The makeup didn’t want to come off.
He scrubbed harder at the red on his lips and tried to avoid staring at himself.
With his hair done nicely and some careful application of blush and eyeliner…
He looked kind of like Cheryl.
Did he like that he looked like Cheryl?
Tears welled in his eyes as he scrubbed harder.
Did he like that he sort of looked like his mum?
“John?”
He sniffed and tucked his chin as Ray stepped into the little room and hugged him from behind.
“Oh, my poor little lamb.”
The tears he’d been fighting back so hard tumbled free as he turned his head into Ray’s shoulder and let himself be held.
“Ray,” John hickuped. “I can’t, I can’t-”
“Hush, my darling, you’re alright. I understand.”
Ray did understand.
Ray always understood.
“I can’t,” John sobbed.
They stayed in that little space with the slight buzz and flicker of warm, yellow lights as John poured out his fear and anguish. He hated the vulnerability of it all, but maybe he needed it a bit as well.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Is this because of the bracelet?”
John shook his head.
It wasn’t about the bracelet that looked so delicate on his wrist or about the way his hair curled now that he’d let it get long, or even about how the way the clothes hung and made John feel properly pretty.
“Alright, when you’re ready, I’ll teach you my secret to getting your skin all clean and feeling soft. I’d like to sit down and put some music on by the fire.”
John’s eyes hurt and his face felt puffy and John wanted to curl up in a big blanket and sleep.
“Please?”
“Of course, my darling.”
-Now-
Once the boxes and furniture were unloaded John popped a lid and grabbed one of the albums.
He hadn’t realized that there were so many pictures. Why hadn’t Ray shown him any of this? He’d shown off plenty of pictures and clippings over the years, and he’d had a lovely little gallery in his flat back in the day.
Well, given that most of the pictures in the current book were pre-Ravenscar, that might've been a good reason not to make him look at them.
John had been…sensitive after they finally let him out. He hadn't been the same after he came out of that place. The drugs and beatings had done their work, he hadn't wanted to dress up or wear makeup or even hang out in Ray's spaces after that.
Too dangerous for them, being around John.
Too dangerous for John, being around people who thought he was a kiddie killer.
Too dangerous for Ray, being forced to defend John from his friends and loved ones.
It’d hurt, John hadn’t exactly been new to losing people, but he wasn’t as common back then. He’d been younger, softer, more fragile.
Fuck, he hadn’t even gotten his da’ killed yet.
Noah snapped his fingers at John.
He’d gotten the last of the furniture into the flat and shut the door behind himself. Poor guy did all the heavy lifting, but he didn’t complain all that much and John wasn’t about to give him a reason to start.
<So, what was that about you and R-A-Y and B-I-L-L? Who are R-A-Y and B-I-L-L?>
“I told you about them on the way there.”
<No, the part where you are R-A-Y.>
“Oh, that was just me making sure Tish understood the dynamics. Ray took me in when I was in my twenties, he and Bill would have been married if the law had let them. They took care of me and I took care of them.”
Noah looked at John contemplatively.
<Were they nice?>
“Bill was a bit of a hard ass, the way that military men can be, but Ray was an absolute ray of sunshine. I'm quite sad that there was never any chance of you meeting either of them, Bill would have liked you for sure, and Ray would have loved you to absolute pieces.”
Noah scowled.
<You don't know that.>
“The hell I don't. Ray’d be ecstatic that I’m following the family tradition and taking in my own stray.”
Noah stomped over and smacked John’s arm.
“Elder abuse!”
<You’re an arse.>
“Your mum’s an arse.”
Noah raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, right. Your da’s an arse.”
<Better.>
“Seriously, though. Ray’d love you. You’re basically perfect. You’re smart, clever, attentive, certainly better at chores than I ever was, you’re queer, and you’re kind.”
Noah looked over at the solid wood vanity he’d dragged up the stairs all by himself and then back at John.
<You really think he’d like me?>
John tossed an arm around Noah’s shoulder and dragged him back toward the door.
“C’mon, let’s go get supper and after, I’ll show you the books. You’ll understand when you see him. Matter of fact, we’ll set up the record player and go through all of this. If we’re gonna do the whole ‘Ray Monde’ experience, we’re doing it right.”