A Song For You//[Thonny]

Chapter Nineteen

As the weeks rolled on, Thom and Jonny's relationship grew steadily stronger, almost as if the years of estrangement had been a distant bad dream. They spent most nights together, weaving back into each other's lives with an ease that surprised Thom. There were more quiet mornings, late nights, shared smirks over coffee, and familiar music filling the silences as they fell back into a rhythm that felt both comforting and new. Thom's things started accumulating at Jonny's house—a few records, spare clothes, and even a toothbrush in the bathroom. It felt right, almost inevitable, but there was always something in the background he couldn't quite ignore.

Thom tried not to dwell on the telltale signs. He'd see Jonny's hands trembling sometimes as they shared a cigarette in the early morning, or he'd catch sight of the shadows under his eyes, evidence of a sleepless night. But he told himself that Jonny was doing his best, that the late nights and the way his jaw clenched were just part of the struggle he was dealing with. And maybe, in his own way, Jonny was really trying. But when Thom found another baggie of cocaine carelessly tucked into a corner of Jonny's coat pocket one day, he felt the cold pang of reality settle in.

Jonny had promised to cut back, yet here they were.

One evening, Thom was lounging on the couch, a book in hand, while Jonny rummaged around in the kitchen, the clatter of drawers and cabinets filling the air. Thom could hear the urgency in his movements—frantic, almost desperate.

"Jonny?" he called out, looking up from his book. There was no response, just the sound of more drawers slamming shut. After a moment, Thom stood up, making his way into the kitchen.

Jonny was hunched over the counter, his face pale and anxious, fingers fumbling with a crumpled dollar bill and a small plastic bag beside it. Thom's heart sank. He could see the sweat on Jonny's brow, the way his eyes darted around as if searching for an escape.

"Jonny..." Thom's voice was steady but edged with disappointment.

Jonny looked up sharply, his expression hardening as he caught sight of Thom in the doorway. He quickly moved to hide the bag, but it was too late—Thom had already seen it.

"I was just... I mean, it's not what you think," Jonny stammered, his voice tense. He tried to brush it off, but the defensive tone only made it more obvious.

"Really?" Thom's gaze was level, unflinching. "You promised me you were trying to stop."

Jonny's eyes flashed with irritation, a defiance creeping into his voice. "I am trying," he snapped, his grip on the counter tightening. "But it's not that easy, alright? It's not like I can just... quit overnight."

"I know it's hard," Thom replied, trying to keep his tone steady, though frustration simmered just beneath the surface. "But if you're not making an effort to cut back, then what's the point?"

Jonny clenched his jaw, his hands trembling as he picked up the dollar bill, rolling it between his fingers. "You don't get it," he muttered, avoiding Thom's gaze. "You have no idea what it's like."

Thom folded his arms, a knot of frustration building in his chest. "Then tell me," he urged, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "Help me understand, Jonny. If you're struggling, let me in. Let me do something."

Jonny let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "What do you think you can do, Thom? Hold my hand every time I feel like I'm losing control?" He sounded bitter, almost resentful. "I'm not your problem to fix."

Thom felt his chest tighten, the reality of Jonny's words hitting him harder than he'd expected. "I'm not trying to fix you," he replied, his voice strained. "I just... I thought we were doing this together. I thought you wanted to get better."