A Song For You//[Thonny]

Chapter Seventeen

Thom stood outside Jonny's house now, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the familiar door. Once more, Thom had backed out of talking with Jonny and waited a few days longer. He hadn't seen Jonny in days, not since the blowup with Colin, and something gnawed at him deep inside. He had tried calling Jonny and he had tried a lot, but it was to no avail, all of his calls being ignored or declined immediately.

He exhaled shakily, his breath fogging in the cool morning air, and finally raised his fist to knock. The wood felt heavy under his knuckles, each rap echoing through the quiet street. He waited. Silence. He knocked again, more urgently this time, leaning in to listen for any sign of life inside.

Nothing.

"Jonny?" Thom called, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "Come on, man. I just want to talk."

For a moment, it was like the house was abandoned—no sounds, no movement. Thom's stomach tightened with dread. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard it. The faint shuffle of footsteps. The door creaked open a few inches, and Thom's heart skipped a beat.

Jonny's face appeared through the crack, but it was a shadow of the man Thom knew, or sort of knew. His eyes were bloodshot and wild, his skin pale and sweaty. His usually immaculate hair stuck to his forehead, and there was a twitch in his movements that set Thom on edge.

Thom's chest tightened. "Jonny..." he breathed, staring at him in disbelief.

Jonny blinked, his pupils blown wide, and for a moment, it was like he didn't even recognize Thom standing there. Then his gaze focused, and his lips curled into a lopsided, manic grin. "Thom," he slurred, his voice raspy and jittery. "Thom, mate. What the fuck are you doing here?"

Thom stepped forward, pushing the door open a little more as the stale, bitter scent of sweat and something else—something sharp and chemical—hit him. His stomach turned. "I was worried about you. I've been trying to call..."

Jonny laughed, a sound that was far too loud for the quiet space between them. He stumbled backward, letting the door swing wide open. "Worried? What for? I'm fine. Just... just been busy. Yeah, busy."

Thom stepped inside cautiously, his eyes scanning the room. It was a mess. Empty beer bottles and cigarette butts littered the coffee table, and there were white powdery traces on the glass surface. His heart sank. This was bad. Much worse than he had initial suspected. Jonny wasn't even a drinker and sheer amount of bottles scattered around the room made Thom feel ill.

"Jonny... what's going on?" Thom asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

Jonny swayed slightly, his movements erratic, and his hands kept fidgeting at his sides. "What's going on? Nothing's going on. Everything's fucking great!" He grinned again, but it was more of a grimace, his jaw grinding as he spoke.

Thom felt a wave of nausea hit him. "You're high again, Jonny. On coke. Aren't you?"

Jonny's smile faltered for a second, and he looked away, his eyes darting to the floor. "What if I am, huh? So what?" He shrugged, his voice defensive now. "I'm fine. I can handle it."

Thom's heart broke at the sight of him—this mess of a man who used to be his best friend, his lover, the one person who knew him better than anyone. Now, Jonny looked like a stranger. A wrecked, hollow version of himself.

"Jonny, you're not fine," Thom said, his voice shaking with frustration and fear. "Look at yourself. This isn't—this isn't who you are."

Jonny's eyes snapped back to Thom, narrowing in anger. "You don't know shit about who I am, Thom!" he spat, his voice rising, unsteady. "You left. You fucking disappeared! You think you can just waltz back in here and act like you care?" He snaps at him. It felt like Déjà vu, like this conversation was just bound to happen every time they spoke.