Johnny walked through the door and into the apartment. Waves of shame and embarrassment rolled through Nightwolf as Johnny looked at the ground and the bottles that lay scattered about. He couldn't see through the actor's mask what went on behind his face while he looked at the bottles, but he could imagine, and his imagination was bad enough.
Why would I ever let him in? He doesn't even know.
Johnny switched his gaze back to Nightwolf, much to his discomfort. The ever-present sunglasses were still hiding his eyes, but he could feel the actors gaze on him, taking in every detail. Nightwolf looked around at anything that looked even slightly interesting. Belatedly, he thought about the incriminating bottle in his hand, nearly moving to hide it behind his back. Too late now.
All of this tension was beginning to make Nightwolf's buzz wear off, bringing him back to the reality that there was a man in his home, waiting for him to make the next move. Brain cells began to overheat.
"I… um… I have a bed." A bed covered in whiskey. Shit.
"Oh, that's fine. I can handle the couch."
Thank the gods.
Johnny walked over to the couch, dropping his bag next to it. The sunglasses came off, being placed carefully next to the bag. As he walked, Nightwolf couldn't help the flash of envy he felt as he observed the actor. The years since the tournament had apparently had no effect on the man. His physique was still remarkable, muscles clearly evident, even through his shirt. It was obvious why all the tabloids raved over him, time doing nothing but good to his already handsome face. Nightwolf couldn't help but glancing down at his own, rather less amazing body. The years of inactivity had taken their toll. He hadn't dared to wear his old vest in quite some time. His face, he assumed, had also not aged as gracefully as his new houseguest.
Johnny turned back around, expectantly looking toward his new roommate. Nightwolf's thoughts quickly turned back to the awkward situation at hand.
"Well," Nightwolf unconsciously shuffled his feet. "I guess this is, um, goodnight then." Nightwolf cursed his thick tongue.
"Goodnight then. See you in the morning." Johnny plopped down on the couch and sprawled out, slowly shutting his eyes about halfway.
"Do you want some blankets?" Nightwolf asked.
"Yeah okay," came the breezy reply. Nightwolf went to the small closet across from his room and got a few of the woven blankets stored there. Brief pain stabbed him as he thought of his old village. Pushing the thoughts down, he walked over to the couch.
"Here," he placed the blankets on the floor near the limp figure.
Johnny reached down and grabbed one, shaking it so it unfolded across his body. "Thanks," he said as he snuggled into the thick blanket. The sight of it calmed Nightwolf for some strange reason.
"Goodnight," he told the actor once more.
"Goodnight," Johnny answered.
As Nightwolf walked to his room for the last time that night, he looked back at the figure on his couch, feeling calmer than he had felt in far too long. It was insane, he reflected, the effect one man could have on him. As he swung his legs into his bed, his thoughts remained fixed on the man in his living room until he unknowingly stopped thinking at all.