Okay, so...I haven't seen the show yet? Which makes me a BAD FAN, I know! But have some chatfic about them looking after each other, since I don't think I'll ever actually write this fic:
One morning Evan wakes up later than usual and Johnny's waiting for him in the kitchen, drumming his fingers on the table. When Evan goes into the kitchen to make himself some tea, Johnny's tone is sharp. "What time did you actually get to sleep last night?"
Evan sighs and sets the water on to boil. "I'm not sure." He stares at the kettle instead of looking at Johnny, but Johnny is already moving to stand next to him. Evan doesn't have to turn around to know that Johnny's hands are on his hips.
"Bullshit you're not sure," Johnny says, and he sounds pissed, but his voice cracks a little when he adds, "Don't lie."
Evan scrubs a hand over his face, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. He turns around and leans against the counter. "I think maybe it was three or so?" Johnny just looks at him, and Evan mumbles, "3:56."
"God, why won't you just sleep?" Johnny says, and shuts off the whistling kettle.
"I couldn't," Evan responds. "I had to-" He turns and pours the water into his mug.
"You had to what?" Johnny asks, and the tenderness that was beginning to show in his voice is gone. "What was so important that you had to forfeit sleep on one of the only nights you've had off in the past month?"
"I had to get that routine right," Evan says, and he's talking more to the steam rising from his mug than to Johnny, but the kitchen's too quiet.
"You-" Johnny starts, exasperated, and then he slides a hand onto Evan's neck, warm and gentle. "Evan."
"I just didn't do it well enough, on the show. The judges -"
"Screw the judges! It's fucking reality TV, everything is manufactured to be a certain way, to create drama. It's not real!" Johnny squeezes his hand lightly, but he knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say as Evan stiffens. He's clenching the mug so hard that his fingers are turning white.
"I just wanted to do it to the best of my ability," he says stiffly, and he's using his media voice, and Johnny hates it.
"You have a concussion, and a broken toe, and you're exhausted," Johnny says, and Evan breaks out of his grip and walks to the table.
"I had to get it right." Evan's sitting down now, but he still looks shaky, like he's going to slump over the table at any moment. "I couldn't sleep until I'd gotten it right. I kept thinking about it, lying in bed. All the things that I could fix."
"You should have woken me up," Johnny says, sitting down.
Evan shakes his head. "I don't think there was anything you could have done. I just needed to fix it." Johnny looks like he wants to say something else, but instead leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. "How long have you been up?" Evan asks, and Johnny holds up six fingers. "What did you have for breakfast?" There's a pause, and when Johnny opens his eyes Evan is looking at him intently. "Did you even have breakfast?"
"I wasn't hungry," Johnny replies, and Evan actually slams his hand down on the table, making Johnny jump.
"You have to fucking eat, Johnny."
"I just wasn't hungry!"
"You have to maintain your fitness, but you need energy. You know that."
"I eat," Johnny responds. "I made you dinner last night, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and most of what was on your plate ended up in the trash, even though you poked and prodded at it for forty minutes," Evan responds, and Johnny looks away. "I'm not blind, Johnny. I'm not an idiot, either."
"We're not talking about me," Johnny says. "We're talking about you."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: Sunday, 2 May 2010 16:38 (UTC)One morning Evan wakes up later than usual and Johnny's waiting for him in the kitchen, drumming his fingers on the table. When Evan goes into the kitchen to make himself some tea, Johnny's tone is sharp. "What time did you actually get to sleep last night?"
Evan sighs and sets the water on to boil. "I'm not sure." He stares at the kettle instead of looking at Johnny, but Johnny is already moving to stand next to him. Evan doesn't have to turn around to know that Johnny's hands are on his hips.
"Bullshit you're not sure," Johnny says, and he sounds pissed, but his voice cracks a little when he adds, "Don't lie."
Evan scrubs a hand over his face, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. He turns around and leans against the counter. "I think maybe it was three or so?" Johnny just looks at him, and Evan mumbles, "3:56."
"God, why won't you just sleep?" Johnny says, and shuts off the whistling kettle.
"I couldn't," Evan responds. "I had to-" He turns and pours the water into his mug.
"You had to what?" Johnny asks, and the tenderness that was beginning to show in his voice is gone. "What was so important that you had to forfeit sleep on one of the only nights you've had off in the past month?"
"I had to get that routine right," Evan says, and he's talking more to the steam rising from his mug than to Johnny, but the kitchen's too quiet.
"You-" Johnny starts, exasperated, and then he slides a hand onto Evan's neck, warm and gentle. "Evan."
"I just didn't do it well enough, on the show. The judges -"
"Screw the judges! It's fucking reality TV, everything is manufactured to be a certain way, to create drama. It's not real!" Johnny squeezes his hand lightly, but he knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say as Evan stiffens. He's clenching the mug so hard that his fingers are turning white.
"I just wanted to do it to the best of my ability," he says stiffly, and he's using his media voice, and Johnny hates it.
"You have a concussion, and a broken toe, and you're exhausted," Johnny says, and Evan breaks out of his grip and walks to the table.
"I had to get it right." Evan's sitting down now, but he still looks shaky, like he's going to slump over the table at any moment. "I couldn't sleep until I'd gotten it right. I kept thinking about it, lying in bed. All the things that I could fix."
"You should have woken me up," Johnny says, sitting down.
Evan shakes his head. "I don't think there was anything you could have done. I just needed to fix it." Johnny looks like he wants to say something else, but instead leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. "How long have you been up?" Evan asks, and Johnny holds up six fingers. "What did you have for breakfast?" There's a pause, and when Johnny opens his eyes Evan is looking at him intently. "Did you even have breakfast?"
"I wasn't hungry," Johnny replies, and Evan actually slams his hand down on the table, making Johnny jump.
"You have to fucking eat, Johnny."
"I just wasn't hungry!"
"You have to maintain your fitness, but you need energy. You know that."
"I eat," Johnny responds. "I made you dinner last night, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and most of what was on your plate ended up in the trash, even though you poked and prodded at it for forty minutes," Evan responds, and Johnny looks away. "I'm not blind, Johnny. I'm not an idiot, either."
"We're not talking about me," Johnny says. "We're talking about you."
"Not anymore."
"That discussion was not over."