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Jonathan's never been the kind to fall asleep easily during long road trips or flights, but he thinks it would be a blessing if he were. Then, he wouldn't be held hostage by the barrage of his own thoughts. Without the welcome lull of sleep, there really was nothing to do but stare blankly out the window, and nothing to distract him besides the same stretches of road he's seen a million times before. Nothing ever changes, nothing is ever new.
It's all the same. Businesses and houses, buildings and parks, all connected by familiar asphalt and gravel, marked in dull colors that have been worn by the years. White painted arrows, solid lines, and broken yellow dashes.
Jonathan has spent so many years hypnotized by them, staring at them through a slightly dirty bus window, he begins to wonder if he'll ever see anything else. Even when he closes his eyes, all that's displayed is a solid white line, and a haze of roadside scenery as it flashes past.
It's easy to tire of it all; seemingly endless hours of gut wrenching training, just to be stuck on another bus, heading for another small arena, to play in front of another small crowd.
Sometimes he thinks maybe he wasn't made for this, made for this life, and then other times, he wonders if it wasn't exactly what he was made for. He has to admit, the promise of trading buses for chartered planes, and local recognition for national, is one of the things that keep him going.
He doesn't think he would be able to stomach sitting here now, on yet another bus, if there wasn't even the slightest chance of something more.
Jonathan suddenly realises he's not entirely sure where they currently are, and it's hard to remember all the moments of the night that had led up to this one. Maybe they had played in Albany, and maybe they had won, but he's having a hard time caring at the moment. He lets his eyes slide closed, and silently prays tonight will finally be the night he's able to ignore his whirling thoughts long enough to let sleep bring him some peace.
It almost works too, until he feels the presence of someone hovering over him.
He doesn't look up to see who it could be, he doesn't have to. Jonathan's actually surprised it took Ceddy this long to make his way back to where he was seated. He doesn't even move, but hears the faint sounds of Ceddy sliding into the seat next to him.
“S’thing wrong?” Ceddy says with a slight drawl, and bumps Jonathan's shoulder with his own.
“Non.” Jonathan keeps his gaze trained out the window.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Definitely not,” Jonathan says, a terse laugh escaping him at the end.
“Wanna...not talk?”
Jonathan finally shifts in his seat, turning just enough to see Ceddy out of his periphery. The uneasiness slowly starts to bleed from his body, and he allows himself a slight chuckle. “Mm, such a charmer.”
For his part, Ceddy just shrugs, and displays a sideways smirk that's borderline cocky. It's a sight that sends a warm, twisting sensation through Jonathan, every time. He suspects Ceddy knows exactly what he's doing, and even more so, he's doing it on purpose. Of course he is. He has to be.
Even though Jonathan hasn't been in Syracuse long, he's been causally enchanted by Ceddy since the second he first laid eyes on him. It wasn't enough to make him put a clear voice to his feelings, but it was enough to make him throw veiled flirtations in Ceddy’s direction until the very second they ended up tumbling into bed together, which took a lot less time than was normal for Jonathan, if he were being honest with himself. After that, the flirtations became much more frequent, and a lot more obvious, especially when they didn't think anyone could hear. Every passing day, Jonathan grows more and more captivated with everything Ceddy is, and represents. Just being around Ceddy reminded him of home, and made him feel safe in a way he hadn't in years. He simply couldn't get enough of it, not that he'd want to.
He knows that 'safe’ and 'steady’ aren't exactly the first words that come to people's minds when they think of Ceddy, but he is. He's the new constant in Jonathan's life.
After every game, no matter where they were, once everyone had either gone home or settled into their hotel room, there would be a late night knock on Jonathan's door. Sometimes it was pounding and full of energy, sometimes it was light, weak, and tired, but it always came.
Whatever happened after was always different from one night to the next, and that was just fine with Jonathan. He craved the ups and well as the downs, the heat as well as the cool comfort. He loved that it wasn't always an obscene tangle of limbs, lips mapping their course over heated skin, and muffled moans in the dark. There were nights when it was nothing more than fingers tightly intertwined, and whispered promises, nearly left unsaid. There were even times when it was the perfect mixture of both, and Ceddy always seemed to know exactly what Jonathan needed on any given night.
Tonight, it would be a not so subtle distraction from the thoughts swirling through him at a feverish pace, and Ceddy seems to sense this, just as Jonathan thought he would.
Catching sight of Ceddy’s movements out of the corner of his eye makes Jonathan jump slightly, and he's not exactly sure why. It's not like it was unexpected, in fact, it was pretty much what Jonathan expected him to do. It's a thought that's forgotten the second Ceddy reaches up, and trails his fingers along Jonathan's jawline, gently pulling to guide Jonathan's gaze towards him at the same time. Without ever breaking his touch, he skims his lips over the corner of Jonathan's mouth, making just enough contact to give Jonathan a taste that he wants something more.
“So, this is better than talking, qui?” Ceddy doesn't even wait for an answer, and wastes no time in finding just the right spot behind Jonathan's ear, and exploring it with his tongue.
“In this case,” Jonathan breathes, hard and ragged, trying to get his heart to slow from its galloping pace. “I think yes.”
Ceddy’s lips trail further down, skimming over the column of Jonathan's neck, and his hand falls away to rest low on Jonathan's abdomen, banishing the last sliver of coherent thought he had left. He's so dazed over the contact, he almost doesn't realise when Ceddy pulls away.
“We're here,” Ceddy says, snapping through the haze clouding Jonathan's brain.
Jonathan shifts his gaze outside the window, only to see the familiar exterior of the arena. “So we are.”
“Envoye.” Ceddy doesn't put the same emphasis on that word that it would usually carry, instead, he says it in a relaxed manner, like just maybe they have all the time in the world. Then, without anything further, he slowly slides from his seat, and saunters up the aisle.
Jonathan already starts to feel the slight pangs of loneliness as Ceddy departs, even though he knows he will be right there waiting for him as soon as he steps off the bus. He's as certain of that as he is of the fact that he doesn't know where he'll be in five years, or even five months. He also finds it doesn't matter, as long as Ceddy is right by his side.