Chapter Text
It definitely had surpassed 'friendship', and some time ago at that. When exactly this had happened was a harder question to answer; but it had surely and slowly developed into something Johnny didn't have a word for and doubted such a word existed, but guessed that the next best way to describe it would be 'unconditional, all encompassing, eternal love'. Whether that was romantic love, brotherly love, or just an overwhelming sense of admiration and kinship for the man he'd spent four incredibly intimate months of his current short nineteen years of life with - he didn't really know. Whichever way you looked at it, Johnny figured it sounded pretty sickly, but it was still love , and that was all that could be said about it and really, he wasn't about to argue with that, even if he wasn't the type to say it out loud.
He figured that it had first started somewhere in its most primitive, minuscule of forms when they'd reached one of the first of few small villages; which honestly barely passed as that and were much more suited to the label of 'settlement', really. The nights were an unwelcome cold contrast to the lengthy, warm days and sleeping on the floor in already very weather worn tents was less than pleasant especially after getting back ache from riding all day. Upon hearing of the small nearby settlement, the two hurried themselves on wards to reach it before it became too dark to continue in the hopes of beds, good food and decent warmth for a much appreciated change. Gyro had been excited all afternoon.
The village itself seemed completely baron of life when they arrived. Gyro, leading both Valkyrie and Slow Dancer to the small stables behind the rickety inn they'd gotten a room in, could've sworn he'd heard the sad chirping of desert crickets splintering through the silence. Johnny on the other hand, was sat in the warmth of the shabby lobby, heating his hands around a cup of tea that the plump, graying, twinkly-eyed old woman who owned the inn had given him. Something about him really feeling the cold when he wasn't as young anymore. Johnny hadn't been listening. He sat there for what seemed like forever, watching the paint peeling off the walls and thinking about how it was probably almost as interesting as it would have been to watch it dry.
The woman, of course, took to Gyro instantly, like Johnny annoyedly assumed most women do. When he returned to the inn having settled the horses for the night, she disappeared into the room offside of the lobby, presumably the kitchen, and reappeared a moment later with another mug of tea, passing it to Gyro and quickly speaking a mess of seemingly useless words, most of which Johnny was too tired to even make out save for, "You are the first Italian man I've met, you know," and; "I thought Italians would smell better." He snickered at that.
Then came the task of getting Johnny up the stairs into the god sent gift of a room for the night, which was something that Gyro had barely spent any time thinking about. Really, riding next to him, it was easy to forget that Johnny had no feeling below the waist and was in fact incapable of walking and therefore getting up the stairs, or at least, getting up there in moderate speed and comfort as he soon found out.
"It's okay," the blonde boy huffed, lifting himself up with his strong, slowly tanning arms and seating himself down on the most appropriate step after shuffling his way over to the bottom of the stairs from his perch in the lobby; "I can get up like this." He continued to lift his arms up to the next step, pulling himself up, sitting and repeating it again, slowly shuffling his way up. By the time Johnny had reached four steps, Gyro had counted a total of thirteen left and was becoming increasingly aware of the growing weakness in his own legs. He was sure that any second now he'd end up collapsing where he stood from exhaustion and the thoughts of the bed waiting for him was far too much for him to bear.
"Right," Gyro said decidedly, slipping an arm under Johnny's legs, supporting his back with his other hand and proceeding to effectively toss the smaller man over his shoulder; "up we go!"
Johnny was not best pleased about it. "Wha' the fuck!? Put me down! Don't manhandle me! Gyro! Fuck!" He hissed, slapping his hands on the taller man's broad back in a vain attempt to be let down. "Oi! Gyro you bastard!"
"I can't stand and watch you do that, Johnny boy, I'd like to get to bed sometime tonight - believe it or not," Gyro said, walking up the stairs with his wriggling cargo. Upon realising that resistance was futile, Johnny shut up and complied with Gyro's brash, mostly unappreciated actions, stopped struggling and allowed himself to be carried – albeit rather ungracefully - up the stairs. He figured it wasn't like he felt any different. The sooner he could sleep the better and if that meant being carried to bed like a child that’d fallen asleep on the couch then so be it.
After another painful minute trying to find the right room through sleep blurred eyes, they came to the door that wore the number three (or at least, Gyro came to it as Johnny was stuck with the view of the taller man's back, still uncomfortably hoisted over his shoulder). Both men quickly found that the room itself was not much better looked after than the lobby Johnny had felt like he’d spent most of the day waiting in. The paint on the ceiling was peeling and the wallpaper was faded. It was furnished with the barest of necessities – a wardrobe that Johnny vowed to never go by since it seemed as if it could fall right over at any given moment; a bedside table, upon which was a small, precariously dusty oil lamp; and a chest which rested at the foot of the double bed which sat more or less in the middle of the room with the headboard barely but just about touching the wall. Honestly, compared to the tent, it was a palace.
Johnny was placed with more care than he expected down onto his bed for the night, his back sinking pleasantly into the mattress beneath him. While it had only been a few days since the race began, it felt like the comfort of an actual bed had been missing from his life for years. And all this space, too! He guessed there’d be a good chance of this also being the best night’s sleep he’d have had in years.
So Johnny was more than surprised to see Gyro, who still hovered over him from his position on his bed, start stripping. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked sharply, looking away curtly before he found himself really staring at the man before him, "go and get undressed in your own damn room..."
Gyro, with his trousers around his ankles, was silent for a moment, but the cogs ticking away in his brain were audible if one listened hard enough.
"This is my room, you brat," he said, gesturing to the double bed, a smile tugging at his lips; "the funds I have are limited and you're penniless. It was cheaper to buy one double room than two singles -"
"We're gonna share this bed? Gyro, I'm not –"
“And plus,” he cut in from inside his over shirt as he pulled it off; “you’re not even supposed to be here with me!” He folded up his shirt and placed it on the small chest at the foot of the bed: “Next time you plan on blindly followin’ someone into a desert, take some goddam money with you.”
Johnny opened his mouth to loudly complain again, his eyebrows furrowing and his cheeks getting pink from anger because, hey – it wasn’t like he wanted to follow this creep into the race. If anything it was Gyro’s fault for pulling the Jesus stunt and making his legs move, the fucker.
“Hey, fuck you Gy –“ Johnny started, only to be cut off once again.
"Christ, you big ninno," Gyro said, clad only in a thin vest and his underwear, still smiling ever so slightly for a reason Johnny did not and did not want to know; "I don’t have the energy to argue with you, kid. We can top an' tail if you're that bothered about sharin’ a bed."
"No, I mean..." Johnny flushed and turned his head away from the other man quickly, realising he too barely had the energy to argue, "whatever! It's fine. I’d rather have your gross face near me than your gross feet."
Gyro laughed at that – a stark contrast to a few moments ago when he was spitting acid; peeled back the duvet and pulled the covers up over him, letting his head sink into the pillow. Johnny promptly began undressing himself and out of courtesy Gyro slipped his eyes shut. He felt Johnny shuffle in next to him a few minutes later after several annoyed grunts, the mattress dipped a little more and the cover was tugged away from him slightly. Even though they were sharing the same bed, Gyro couldn't help but be aware of how far away Johnny seemed. Perhaps it was an American thing.
"Bonanòtte, Johnny," he said sleepily, letting himself really relax for the first time since the race started.
"G'night, Gyro."
It was early in the morning, just as the sun was coming up and beginning to warm the ground in preparation for what would most likely be another painfully warm day that Johnny discovered why Gyro kept the small, tattered teddy bear with him. He was completely enveloped in the older man’s thick arms with his back pressing against Gyros front. Their legs were completely tangled upon further inspection of Johnny's predicament; but he found himself not really wanting to get out of it. Gyro was warm – smelly, sweaty and hairy nonetheless - and it'd been a very, very long time since he'd been held like this (although, admittedly, it had been a woman last time) and plus, Gyro's arms were wide and strong and Johnny felt truly safe between them. The part of him that didn’t appreciate being used as a teddy bear stayed silent and in fact, part of him, somewhere deep in the endless spirals of his unconscious, admitted that he rather liked it.