A Song For You//[Thonny]

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next morning dawned bleak and gray, with clouds heavy enough to promise snow before the day was done. Colin's house was quiet, save for the faint sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Thom sat at the dining table with a mug of coffee, staring at the untouched piece of toast on his plate.

He glanced toward the guest room where Jonny was staying. The door was shut, the silence behind it feeling heavier than it should have. Jonny had barely said a word since dinner the night before, retreating as soon as the conversation grew too pointed.

Thom had tossed and turned all night, worrying about him. He tried to shake off the unease, telling himself it was normal for Jonny to feel apprehensive about returning to rehab. But deep down, he knew something wasn't right.

Colin walked in, still groggy from sleep. "He up yet?" he asked, nodding toward the guest room.

Thom shook his head. "Not that I've heard."

Colin sighed, grabbing his own mug of coffee. "He's cutting it close. He's supposed to be back in rehab tomorrow, and he's barely holding it together."

Thom flinched at Colin's bluntness but didn't argue. "He's been through a lot," he said quietly.

"We all have," Colin muttered, sitting across from Thom. "But it's not an excuse. He knows what he needs to do. He just doesn't want to admit it."

The words hung in the air, a bitter truth neither of them could deny.

Jonny finally emerged around mid-morning, his appearance haggard but composed. He'd showered and changed into clean clothes, but there was a hollowness in his eyes that made Thom's chest ache.

"Morning," Jonny mumbled, heading straight for the coffee pot.

"Morning," Thom replied, watching him carefully. Colin gave a curt nod but said nothing.

Jonny's hands shook slightly as he poured himself a mug, but he kept his back to them, as if he didn't want to be seen. When he finally sat at the table, he avoided looking at either of them, instead staring out the window at the gray sky.

"You feeling okay?" Thom asked, breaking the silence.

Jonny glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Fine."

But Thom wasn't convinced. Jonny's face was pale, his movements slow and deliberate as if every small action took effort. He wasn't fine—he was barely holding himself together.

Colin leaned forward, his tone firm but not unkind. "Jonny, you've got one more day here. Use it to get your head on straight. You know going back is the best thing for you."

Jonny's jaw tightened, and he finally looked at Colin, his gaze sharp. "I know," he said flatly.

The room fell silent again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Thom wanted to say something, to lighten the mood, but he couldn't find the right words. He could feel Jonny pulling further away, even as he sat right across the table.

The day dragged on in a haze of forced normalcy. Colin kept himself busy around the house, and Thom tried to coax Jonny into conversation, but Jonny was distant, his responses clipped and noncommittal.

By the time evening rolled around, the snow had started falling, blanketing the street in white. Thom found Jonny sitting on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree with a vacant expression.

"Hey," Thom said softly, sitting down beside him.

Jonny didn't look at him. "Hey."

Thom hesitated, then reached out, placing a hand on Jonny's knee. "You sure you're okay?"