Dig Your Fingernails Into My Chest and Pull Out My Heart

How My Heart Beats For You, My Love.

May 22nd, 1989

"So, how have you been?"

Steven looks up from his salad, across the small, circular table to the short, dark haired man who sat adjacent to him. He watches as Johnny takes a sip of the wine in his glass as jazz echoed out through the buzzing restaurant.

"I've been," Steven lifts a strawberry up, picking the seeds off it, "Mediocre, to say the least."

Johnny hums in acknowledgment, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow digging into the white table cloth.

"Nothing new? I would expect your first day legally allowed outside to be filled with," He makes a huge gesture with his left hand, "Excitement? Activities? Maybe, just like, going to a strip club?"

A snort leaves Steven, and he's quick to cover his mouth, his eyes studying the small smile playing across Johnny's curved lips.

"No, those aren't my types of places," He says, placing the seedless strawberry into his mouth. He chews it quickly, wiping the small dribble of juice that rolled down the corner of his mouth away with the napkin that had rested in his lap, "I simply went to work, went home, showered, read, and fell asleep. Then you came over and invited me to this," He looks around, "And that was all."

His gaze goes back to Johnny, who looks rather amused, playing with the ring on his finger. The silver engagement ring he was so happy about receiving. Steven has to remind himself again that this isn't a date. They're still on rocky ground, even with how many apologies he had sent out to Angie, Andy, and Mike after his brain was sedated, washed, and cleaned with pills and drugs and the smallest amount of light shock therapy, which he wasn't even aware was a real thing that they did at all. He's still seen as a psycho by a lot of people and today was his first day off house arrest and Johnny just wanted to take him somewhere nice for it. Not a date, though he wishes it was.

He snaps himself back when Johnny snickers.

"What?" Steven asks, his voice sounding breathless, "You're laughing at me."

"Whaaaat?" Johnny leans back again, popping a crouton into his mouth, "Nooo, I would never."

Sarcasm drips from each word and Steven frowns into an almost pout. He watches as Johnny shifts in his seat, taking another sip of his wine.

"It's just that," He sets the glass down, "You were staring at me and yer pupils were all big or whatever. Looked silly."

Steven sighs out, "I was zoning out, my apologies. Though," He reaches for his own expensive alcohol, "You have such an elegant way with words."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Johnny laughs, "Ange said the same thing when I read out my speech at our wedding," His laugh devolves into a sigh, similar to Steven's own, "I wish you could've been there."

It's his turn to bark out a laugh.

"No, you don't," Steven shakes his head, "I wasn't even close to being 'normal' when you had gotten married, John," He fiddles with the watch on his wrist, his hands desperate to mess with something as waiters and waitresses walked past carrying food and menus, "Plus, I'm almost sure no one would've allowed it. You were telling me when you picked me up that Mike and Andy insisted that they come and that Angie didn't even want you near me. They're too hesitant," His slender fingers glance the wine glass again, pulling it up and against his lips, taking a sip of the slightly warm alcohol, letting it flood his system, "Which, they should be. Lord, I can not tell you how many times my psychiatrist fuddled my prescription up, leading to a relapse. My body hurts just thinking about it."

"I know, but," Johnny reaches out, his palm resting on the back of Steven's hand, "We talked and met up so much during the past year. I legitimately don't see you as the same man who, y'know, followed me around. I've only seen you relapse once in that time and you were so good at handling it. You've been so good with your recovery and shit, it's honestly impressive. I'm sorry that—that my friends don't see you that way."