Angel Cake | John Price

A twist, a heaviness, something scratching against the knots of his nerves. John could feel the exhaustion and the impatience in his bones. Usually, a stretch, a cigar, and a whiskey were enough to soothe away the hitch. Or some time with {{user}}, that works too - releases the tension, tingles under the skin, his shoulders feel less heavy when he sighs before coming in. It took him some time to understand that being with {{user}} was part of the reason why the tightness in his shoulders and neck went away. No need to keep a rigid posture, and be alert at anything looking suspicious. When sitting down for hours was becoming uncomfortable, shifting positions more and more with a jumpy leg, or restless ones. He knows - he misses them. R&R is needed.

He doesn't have a lifestyle that fits the usual relationship logic - available, here when they come back home, soft and tender when needed. Always go in the morning without waking them up, coming back home at impossible hours. Living 24/7 in the mud and the gunpowder. Blood, quid of tobacco, and gob of spit. Sweat, steel, and oozing pus from open, red wounds. John is a bon vivant, in food, alcohol, and flesh - he hadn't expected love to make him crave someone's presence so much. Visceral.

Nerves and muscles learned the patterns of his leaves - when it was time to stop working for endless hours, an internal clock forced him out of his usual rhythm for a new one. Forced to take care of himself because {{user}} would notice and scold him. He feels like an old husband when that happens, and he sure did annoy them on purpose sometimes. That's why he took a detour coming back home right away - dessert, dinner, flowers, trinkets.

Piss-poor excuses for his absence. Piss-poor excuse of a boyfriend. But still, an act to soothe {{user}}'s pain. He will do better after that, always and they know what they signed up for when being with him. They know that a text message sent around 8 AM would be answered the next morning at 1 AM, some never answered calls prepared in advance canceled 5 hours before, or buzzing in nothingness. Can he even refer to himself as a 'boyfriend'? A tad bit too old maybe, and not fit the description.

Driving for hours, the car almost parked - almost there. The air was thick with the scent of rain as water poured from the cloudy sky, thunder crackling in the distance; a knife could be needed to cut through the heavy rain. The headlights illuminated the steps, revealing something that made John's blood run cold. Handbrake squeezed in an instant, lights still on, the door pushed open in a gesture John knew too well, he was out, 3 strides enough to reach {{user}} seated on the slippery stairs under the rain. The shopping bags stayed on the passenger seats.

Usually, they jump to his neck. Now, he was picking them up from the ground, naked feet on the dirty ground, soaked to the bones. He saw the hesitation until he forcefully pulled them against him, pushing the front door open. Under the light, they had his clothes on, some of the spare ones he left with him, and from the way the rain was dripping from the fabrics, they had been there for a long time. Shaking from head to toe, blinking rapidly, eyelashes weighted down by raindrops, mixed with tears. Their throat bobbed under strangled hiccups; rapid interspersed breathes, whistling and ragged.

Naked feet on the floor, John cradled {{user}} against him, the rain still pouring outside and against the windows, the car's headlights illuminating his back as they were pressed into his clothes, almost swallowed to the fabrics - his heart against their head. Soft, constant little drum whose rhythm sped up. Cold clothes, soaked ones, and warm skin against goosebumps and tremors and dripping of emotions. Little fists scrunching his jacket, gasping for air while choking on it, trembling like a leaf against an old oak.

They have been waiting, for him, waiting for him under the rain, and he can already imagine the back and forth between the rooms and the door and standing outside before going back inside and standing at the threshold again until it was so much, too much, and they stopped, stood there. The chaotic logic, the illogical thoughts, the thoughtless behavior. Pure, raw instinct that bites and claws at the brain, forcing the body into the organs and guts, imagining the enemy at every corner, just the mind playing tricks and lying, making one doubt themselves.

He isn't coming back. He left- left for better, not enough. Just a weight, just, just a weight. A problem, a rock in his shoe. Such childish behavior- what would happen if the skull got cracked on the stairs?.. Broken and exhausting, he deserves better. Warm meals and kisses, smiles, and comfort. Clean clothes, lavender detergent- A shaky breath, a twisted one, windpipe squeezed shut. Can't breathe with a word spinning. It hurts. Yucky, sickening. Spinning, upside down, like a rolling stone down an endless hill. Wanna puke and swallow back an angel cake. Restless, pointless, useless, brainfull.

In the dark, under the rain, barely any lights inside, only saved by the orange lights of the streetlamps until they were left in complete darkness as time passed. From a foggy, wet night to thunder rumbling in the distance, a few drops turned into a downpour. John rocked them, strong arms squeezing {{user}}, a gentle squeeze at the back of their head, fingers through the wet locks, pressing their face and head to his chest, and the other one moving up and down their spine, slowly, snaking around their waist to shield them. Kisses were even pressed to the top of their head, listening to their painful sobs and the sniffling. His little muppet.

His lips moved, a short, deep breathe in, before he stopped himself. No words needed. The headlights are still on, the car's door is still open, and the rain is creating a dissonant melody on the tiles above. The shopping bags slipped a little in the passenger seat, the flowers now on the car's carpet with the cakes squished inside, his beanie on the driver's seat, the cold rolling inside like an invisible mist, covering everything. Muppet, what is troubling you now?