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“So what’d you want to talk about, Johnny?"
Larry turns his head to see Johnny, stood at the mouth of the alleyway.
He's been acting especially highstrung recently.
Knowing Johnny as well as he does, he tries his best to be there for him - sticking close, hearing him grumble, trying to talk him down from picking some fights on account of his bad mood, and covering for him when he does anyway.
What’s unusual though, is how Johnny was taking it recently. He'd been shrugging off Larry's hand on his arm, even pulling away roughly. When Larry asked him what was wrong, he’d furrow his brows and set his jaw. Him being quiet when he's obviously troubled is especially worrisome for Larry, used to Johnny's explosive rants.
So, a private conversation with him in this state could be just the thing to get a read on what exactly has got him so pissed to even be pushing Larry away. Not worried about public appearances and all.
He can't help but feel a little nervous. Maybe he’s just self-conscious, but Larry had gotten the impression that Johnny didn't want to talk to him in particular, and even now, he’s quietly stalking toward him.
The look on his face is hard to make out, backlit by sodium yellow streetlights, but his shoulders are drawn up high and tight.
Larry walks in reverse until he feels his back hit the wall at the end, convincing his subconscious that he was getting farther from the street for privacy. The way his subconscious silently answers, is to widen his stance and lock his knees.
Why was he bracing? This is Johnny we're talking about. His best friend.
“Peanut,” Johnny comes to a stop a handful of paces before him. “I got a couple questions for you.”
“Of course Johnny, I'm an open book.” Larry's response is maybe a little too cheerful, he’s just so happy that the other wants to talk to him.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are pal, that's part of the problem.”
…?
“Johnny? Whaddya mean?” Larry furrows his brow. Was Johnny so upset recently because of him?
He’s wracking his brain for anything he could’ve said or done to bother him this much, when Johnny continues.
“I've been seeing how you look at Lola, bold enough to do it right in front of me too. And you know, I was letting it slide, ‘cause I know you'd never make any moves on my girl. But now she's acting all shady again.” The implication of the latter remark goes unsaid.
Johnny's tone was coarse, but lacking any real venom.
He's testing Larry's reaction to see if there’s any hint of a guilty conscience.
Now, Johnny knows there's a good chance he's just being paranoid. And Larry’s a terrible liar so this'll all be sorted out soon. He wishes it was easier to discount the possibility from the beginning, but with how close Larry is to him (often quite literally), the thought of him in particular going behind his back makes him feel all unsteady.
Larry is his right-hand man, as dependable as he is dependent. He's always so eager to help Johnny, always calls out to him when he's in trouble.
So what's he acting all nervous for? And why hasn't he responded at all?
The guy really is too easy to read.
Johnny crosses the distance between the two of them in silence. Reaching forward with one hand, he presses the heel of his palm just below Larry's sternum, pinning him in place. Less than one step between them, Johnny has to crane his head down slightly to look Larry in the eye.
Normally, Larry would be a little bit taller than him, but he's sunken against the wall.
It’s an out-of-body sort of discomfort, for Larry to be cowering from him, instead of behind him.
Meekly, Larry peers up, gaze only meeting the ambient light shining in his friend’s dark eyes.
He doesn’t like not being able to make out the features of Johnny’s face, but he knows it well enough to fill in the gaps.
It feels like something is boiling under his skin, radiating out from the hand on his chest. He feels like it’s burning a mark into him. His breath is trapped in his lungs, his heart jackhammering against his ribcage. The idea that Johnny can feel it makes him feel itchy and exposed.
He remembers a story he had to read in English class a couple years ago: The Monkey’s Paw. At the time he'd lumped it together with all the other creepy little things they read that year.
But now, it sticks in his mind like a healed-over cut; painless but distracting when you feel the difference in texture.
Larry loves to watch Johnny, hang close by his side, make him crack a smile.
Getting exactly what he wanted - Johnny so close and warm and only focused on him - was scary.
To be precise, what scares him is that Johnny will find out. His special little place in the world is something delicate, hinging on Johnny's faith in his loyalty.
And the thing is, Larry can’t deny Johnny’s accusatory observation, he has been watching Lola.
At first, it was as simple as: she’s pretty and interesting to talk to. She was one of the few girls who’d hang around the greasers for any period of time, much less as long as she does.
And well, admiration is a covetous thing. Of course he’s thought about what it’d be like to date her, in no small part because she’s Johnny's girl.
But he knows by now that he’s not crazy like those two. She’s the detonator to Johnny’s bomb and Larry has learned quickly that he’d rather not blow up. As a result, he’s gotten a lot of defusing practice in.
Whenever her and Johnny break up for a bit, Larry gets to be Johnny’s number one. Deep down, he knows it isn’t true; that Johnny is always thinking about Lola - together or apart, seething or head-over-heels.
But he can’t help the terrible wish he carries in his heart.
So his gaze has gotten a bit more intent over time; he watches how she touches Johnny, how Johnny holds her, looks at her, smiles at her.
‘What does she see in Johnny?’ became ‘What does he see in her?’ which is coming disconcertingly close to ‘Could he see the same in me?’
He doesn’t know how to be a good friend when he's got a head full of these thoughts on his shoulders.
(Sometimes he feels like he’s taking advantage of Johnny’s goodwill, letting Larry be so close to him. He feels like a pervert. He feels like he has to do everything he can for Johnny, to make up for it.)
Johnny gets a sad glimmer in his eyes at Larry's shiftiness, how his gaze skitters down the alleyway, reluctant to meet Johnny’s once the situation sets in. He looks like he's thinking hard about something.
He can only wait so long for a response. So he presses harder.
"Not you, Larry, right? My second-in-command?" Saying it out loud makes it worse. He clenches his jaw. He’s starting to get honestly annoyed, all the tension of the last who-knows-how-long tugging his nerves in every direction. "You a little Judas, huh? Think you'll move up in the pack and take my girl?”
Larry's heart aches at the accusation, as much as his cheeks heat up remembering how exactly that classic little betrayal went. (Not to say that he wasn't already thinking about kissing a little bit, considering their proximity.)
“I wouldn't do that… you know that.” His voice comes out reedy, more than usual, with the hard pressure just under his diaphragm, both physical, and psychosomatic. It comes out unsure, like what he was denying was the kiss rather than the betrayal.
This is bad. He feels gross for feeling this way. He doesn't want Johnny to think this about him, but the alternative, knowing it about him, is so much worse.
“Look at me.”
Larry wants to.
“Larry, the fuck are you looking at over there. I’m talking to you.”
He knows that if he faces him now, he won't be able to hide how much he wants to.
With the hand not already on Larry, Johnny grabs his chin and jerks it forward. Larry only gasps, wide-eyed, thinking Johnny's really lost it and was resorting to choking him.
Johnny tilts his head to meet his eyes, light from the street casting across the planes of his face. He always has that brooding, pouty look that Larry revels in softening.
It does so now, as Johnny spoke.
“Are you …crying?”
He is, isn't he.
Larry tries to deny it reflexively, but only an airy croak escapes his throat. It's like his ‘check engine’ light just came on, he can feel everything wrong with himself so acutely; the burn of his eyes watering, the strain to breathe, his sore legs, a headache brewing, and Johnny's faith in him waning. That last one is a physical sensation as much as the others.
He doesn't know what to say to make this go away.
Despite the onward march of time, he hasn't felt this young in ages. He feels this small all the time. And it's always the same name he calls out to for help. "Johnny, I'm scared."
Johnny’s eyes widen.
From his terribly uncomfortable stance, and no other reason, Larry's knees give out, and he sinks to the ground.
Johnny stares down at him for a stretch of time as Larry catches his breath, eventually coming down to a kneel before him. His gaze is still firm, but laced with cracks of confusion.
This isn't the Larry he knows.
He’s been around through plenty of Lola's affairs; more than one where she got another greaser to go on a little date with her. He knows that she did it just to make him jealous, hell, Larry convinced him as much. So he of all people should know that he could expect a beating, the cold shoulder, maybe a violent prank when he didn't expect it - nothing that Larry can't handle.
There is something that Larry won't tell him despite having an easy out. He can't imagine what could be so bad.
(This is a lie, of course. He could imagine it very easily if he wanted to. But, that demand is one that won't be met.)
He didn't think that Larry was so scared of him, so willing to seek him despite that. He’d called out to him, after all that.
Johnny raises his hand to reach toward him, with no idea where to settle it.
It’s caught in the air between Larry's own, clasping and clammy.
Desperately, Larry's voice cracks over syllables as they tumble from his mouth,
"Johnny I promise, I got nothing to do with Lola. I'm on your side no matter what. Please. Please believe. Please don’t- Pl- Don’t think of me that way…"
He winces at his own words, trailing off. He's sure Johnny would say the same if he knew how Larry thinks of him. His hands squeeze tighter.
Johnny can see a couple tears fall where the other hangs his head, but he doesn't comment on it again. Larry’s hair is falling out of its style, sweat and gravity taking their toll after a long day and a longer-seeming evening.
It’s like a spotlight clicks on in Johnny's head, he knows exactly what he's supposed to do right now.
Gently, eerily so, he tugs his hand away.
He can see the crestfallen look that Larry's face crumbles into, just as clearly as he sees it smooth out into something hopeful as Johnny's arms fold around him.
A smug thrill zips through Johnny, at how affected the other is by him.
When Larry shivers with delight and Johnny pulls him closer still, thinking he might be cold, there is no room left between them. This is what Larry was looking for.
They will walk back to the tenements after this, and nothing will be different between them.
Larry cannot think his own devotion pitiable, the way he opportunistically seeks his moment to be needed. This is something he chooses again and again.
He can't bring himself to be earnestly mad at Lola whenever she breaks Johnny's heart, because it gives him a chance to touch him. He can’t admire Johnny in the way of wanting to be him, because then he’d be alone.
He’s afraid that being as perfect as Johnny wouldn't be enough to fill that void.
In fact - he knows it, because Johnny keeps him around despite himself.
Even with the unsurety of his whole life ahead of him, in these moments Larry feels like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
He’s scared that he will feel this way forever.
He wouldn’t trade it for the world.