A Song For You//[Thonny]

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thom had barely slept since his visit with Jonny. The image of him sitting in that cold, impersonal room haunted his every waking moment. The way Jonny had looked—fragile, brittle, like he might shatter under the weight of everything—made Thom's chest ache. He felt powerless, caught in a loop of second-guessing every decision he'd made since Jonny's addiction had spiraled out of control.

The days passed sluggishly. Thom went through the motions, but everything felt muted. Music, his one solace, sat untouched in the corner of his room. Even his brother Andy had started to notice the shift, popping his head into Thom's room more often than usual, his eyes full of concern.

"You've got to eat, you know," Andy said one evening, leaning against the doorframe. "Jonny wouldn't want you to waste away while he's in there."

Thom looked up from his place on the bed, his knees pulled to his chest. "Would he even care?" he muttered, bitterness slipping into his tone before he could stop it.

Andy sighed, stepping into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're killing yourself over this, Thom. You can't help him if you're falling apart too."

"I can't just... stop caring," Thom replied, his voice sharp. "He's—"

"I know," Andy interrupted, his voice soft but firm. "I know he's everything to you. But you're no good to him like this. He's got to fight his own fight right now. You can't do it for him."

Thom dropped his gaze, guilt twisting in his gut. He knew Andy was right, but it didn't make it any easier.

Another week passed before Thom finally received a letter from Jonny. The envelope was plain, the handwriting hurried but unmistakably Jonny's. Thom tore it open, his hands shaking slightly as he unfolded the paper.

Thom,

I don't know why I'm writing this. They told us we should reach out to people who matter, but it feels stupid. I don't even know what to say to you anymore.

I'm trying, okay? That's what everyone wants to hear, right? That I'm putting in the effort, doing the work. But it's hard, Thom. It's harder than I thought it would be. Every day feels like it's dragging me under, and sometimes I think it'd be easier to just... stop trying altogether.

But then I think about you. I think about how much I've screwed up, how much I've put you through, and I can't stand it. I don't deserve your patience, your kindness, or any of it. But I'm holding on, for whatever that's worth. I just hope it's enough.

Jonny

Thom read the letter three times, his throat tightening with every word. It wasn't much, but it was something—a fragile thread of hope in a sea of uncertainty. He folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his desk drawer, next to the other mementos he couldn't bring himself to throw away.

A few days later, Thom found himself pacing the sidewalk outside the rehab facility, the visitor pass dangling from his neck. He hadn't planned to come this week. After their last visit, he'd convinced himself it was better to give Jonny space, but the letter had changed something in him.

When the staff member led him into the visiting room, Thom spotted Jonny immediately. He was sitting at the same table as last time, his posture slouched and his hands fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

"Hey," Thom said as he approached, his voice tentative.

Jonny looked up, his eyes dull but flickering with recognition. "You came back," he said, his tone a mix of surprise and resignation.