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They're on the interstate, driving past some small American town, hours past the border, but further still from their destination, and Min-Gi can't sleep.
Ryan drives too fast. He always has, it's why it took him four tries to get his license. It's why he burns out brake pads so quickly, skidding to a halt every time he runs into traffic. It's why, no matter how tired he gets, Min can't bring himself to drift off when they're on the road.
And there's something else he envies about Ryan. Ryan can fall asleep anywhere. His parents' couch, a grassy field, the hardwood floor of a giant neon roller rink…
The bathroom at a heinous house party. Sitting in the bathtub, head resting comfortably against his shoulder, an arm draped over his chest, his breath warm on his neck, close, so close—
Min-Gi shakes his head, pushing the thought away. Now isn't the time.
He props his elbow up on the window, staring out at the trees as they blur past. He doesn't know when "the time" is, he doesn't think he'll ever know. But certainly not when Ryan is within arm's reach. Not when he's near enough that Min-Gi could just grab him right here and now and kiss him on the mouth and scream over the roar of the engine, "I love you, I love you." Not when the impulse makes his heart skip a beat and blood rush to his face. In shame, but in love, so so in love.
Min-Gi had never been in love. That's what he's believed all his life. No girls ever caught his affection in school, and he's never even had his first kiss. His mind was always set on more important things. Scheduling student council meetings, and homework, and band practice. Then, after he graduated, he moved on to researching universities, and working at Dumpty's, and planning for his future. He didn't have time for romance, nor any motivation to squeeze it into his already tight schedule.
Of course, the road is a whole different story. And nowadays, romance is something he can never seem to get off his mind. Yet to his surprise, it's not something he finds in flirty looks across the bar, nor a concertgoer offering him a glance or a dance or a wink and a smirk behind painted lips. It's something altogether different, entirely unexpected, but not new, not really.
When he looks over, Ryan has one hand on the wheel. The other covers his mouth as he lets out a yawn, and his whole face scrunches up at the action, loose strands of hair falling into his face. He breathes in and out, holding the wheel steady with his knee and stretching his back with his arms up in such a way that his shirt lifts just so, revealing a hint of his waist.
Min-Gi thought he had never been in love. Yet, every day it gets clearer. Every day, Ryan, with the simplest motions, makes his heart want to burst out of its chest, makes his throat burn with suppressed proclamations.
Damn it all, he is in love with Ryan Akagi. He is in love with every little thing about him. He is in love with the way his lips curl when he smiles. He is in love with the way his hair sticks up on end just after he wakes up. He is in love with the way his hands gesture emphatically when he's excited on a topic. He is in love with his eyes, deep brown like polished oak, or cinnamon, yet warm and bright like the sun. He is in love with his skin, light ochre, soft and smooth over his face and rough on hands and fingers, calloused from over a decade of playing guitar. He is in love with his jaw, sharp and seemingly designed to rest perfectly in the crook of his neck, to fit perfectly held in his hand. He is in love with his lips, often dry and chapped, but still so beautiful paired against a trademarked grin, or pursed in thought over a new song. He is in love with his voice — his voice.
"You got a fast car… Fast enough so we can fly away..." Ryan quietly sings along with the stereo. It's low and soft, and Min-Gi hears the slight smile in his tone before he sees it on his face. "Gotta make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way..."
Even now, even after hours of nonstop driving, even as the clock nears midnight and the two are too exhausted to speak, Ryan is singing, and smiling. It isn't anything amazing, to the average connoisseur. A bit off beat, a bit off key, mumbling through lyrics when he can't find the right words. But it's everything to Min-Gi. There's something intimate about it, Ryan so completely relaxed, his tones so unintentional yet warm as ever. There's no performance, no mask or rockstar facade he's hiding under. It's just Ryan, unapologetically Ryan. The best and rarest kind there is.
Min-Gi can't help but watch him, as he taps along on the steering wheel. The finger placement has a familiar look – it's the guitar tabs, he realizes, Ryan has the chords memorized.
For a moment, Ryan takes his gaze off the road. For a moment, they lock eyes. Min-Gi tenses, his face heating up against his will; Ryan stammers through the next lyric. Min wonders if it's his imagination, the low light playing a trick on him, or if he sees the slightest blush in Ryan's cheeks.
He's certain now that his exhaustion has made him delirious. The thought that Ryan would grow flustered over him is almost enough to make him laugh. But he doesn't, and brushes his hair back, turning away.
"We should probably stop," Min-Gi says, voice steeped in tiredness.
Ryan seems confused. He's making that face he always does, with one eyebrow quirked and his head slightly tilted to the left. Min finds it more adorable than annoying, for now.
"Y'know, to sleep?" he elaborates. He won't slight his partner (his band partner, he has to remind himself) for needing extra explanation. Ryan gets spacey when he's tired, which is exactly the reason he shouldn't be behind the wheel of a moving vehicle right now.
"Oh, well…" Ryan's eyes are back on the road, peering up to the nearest street sign. "I didn't wanna stop till we got into Michigan."
"Ryan, you've been driving for five hours. You can barely keep your eyes open." He's trying not to sound patronizing, more concerned. But often the two get mixed in his head. He hopes he's getting it right this time. He's trying, he hopes.
If Ryan's irritated, he isn't showing it. "Yeah, but it can't be that far, right?" He shrugs a shoulder, but rubs at his eyes under his glasses.
Min-Gi looks out the window, and smiles as he spots a sign. "But, there's a rest stop at the next exit."
Ryan slows down, turns on his blinker to change lanes, but grumbles under his breath.
"C'mon, you worked so hard to set up those mats in the back, how about we finally use them?" When in doubt, appeal to his pride, "it goeth before the fall," or something or other. Except in this case, the only place he'll be falling is asleep.
And as he shifts into the exit lane, Ryan cracks a smile. "And the curtains."
Min-Gi lets out a tired chuckle. "I set up the curtains."
"I helped," and off of Min's laughter, he adds, "Y'know, I can still get back on the highway."
"Right, right." There's still a humorous lilt in his voice. "You helped, let's get some sleep."
Ryan only gives him a hum of acknowledgement, focused back on the road, following signals leading to the nearby stop. Finally, a sanctuary where Min-Gi can let himself rest.
Perhaps the rest stop isn't the sanctuary, he thinks. Rather, the motionless van, the back seats torn out to make room for a space to sleep. A bed of repurposed and refitted yoga mats and thick, warm blankets to shield them from the cold. Curtains and insulation put against the windows to keep them safe from bright lights and prying eyes. They both know well that there are people who wouldn't take kindly to the sight of two men sleeping together, no matter how platonic they claim it is.
Ryan gets more than enough of it, in whispers on the street, stray comments at a bar, or hecklers when they're onstage. He's always been unabashedly flamboyant, feminine. Ever since they were little and he'd paint his face with his mother's lipstick to look like David Bowie. Even now he keeps his hair long, occasionally wears eyeliner to some of their concerts, when he thinks he can get away with it. It's never been a source of shame, but Min-Gi can see the way he wilts at every accusation.
It's ironic that he faces the brunt of it. He's not even the gay one.
That's a fact that Ryan always seems so keen to bring up, going out with every girl who shows as much as a passing interest in him. Min-Gi knows not to take it too seriously. It's an ego trip, a part of the rockstar persona Ryan has going on. He doesn't really care about any of these women so much as he knows they'll compliment him, maybe even spare him a kiss or buy him a drink or—
Min-Gi brushes his hair back as the van slows to a stop. He's being too cruel, he knows. Ryan's not like that. He's not leading girls on to inflate his self-worth, he just wants some company that isn't Min's sorry ass for once. And Min-Gi just wants to be enough for him, everything for him. He'd give anything to play all roles — best friend, bandmate, lover. Still, he thinks he should count himself lucky. Two out of three is more than anyone else will ever get.
Ryan puts the van in park, pulls out the keys and drops them in the center console storage. He crawls between the seats into the back, his leg brushing against Min-Gi's arm as he does so. Min follows suit, struggling to fit his larger frame through the small space, but managing without help. Ryan shuts the curtains; Min-Gi takes off his denim jacket, tossing it into the front seat, revealing a light sweater underneath. Ryan removes his boots, stretches his legs with an audible pop.
"Agh," he rubs at his knee, "maybe I have been driving for too long."
Min-Gi chuckles, jokingly comments, "Told you so." And then, kindly but with a hint of sternness, "Don't overwork yourself."
"Funny," he grabs a folded up blanket from behind the seat and tosses it at Min, "And here I was thinking you just wanted to stop so we could cuddle."
It's said playfully, not a real accusation, but the comment makes Min-Gi's heart stop for a moment. He makes sure it doesn't show on his face, and pushes the thought down. He's just being Ryan, he reminds himself. He doesn't know. He can't possibly know. There's no way—
"—Hello? Earth to Min-Gi?"
Min flinches, suddenly aware of Ryan's hand waving in front of his face. "Sorry, I…" He nervously rubs the back of his neck. "I zoned out for a moment there. Sorry."
Ryan, his glasses now off, leans back and shrugs, unbothered. "Okay, well, you gonna unfold that or what?"
Min-Gi looks down at the blanket in his lap, looks around and sees two pillows laid behind them, looks at Ryan, staring expectantly.
"Right, yeah." He picks up the blanket. "Yeah."
And he unfurls the quilt, tossing one end over to Ryan, who quickly drapes it over himself and flops down onto his back, the whole van shaking with him. Min-Gi follows suit, laying gently on his side, looking away from Ryan to conceal the redness of his face.
It's embarrassing, he thinks. He and Ryan have slept together dozens of times. They've held each other close after nightmares, and snuggled for warmth in cold motel rooms, even in Min's parents' house. Yet the thought of even laying next to Ryan now, with the stress of his secret digging into his mind like the rotting fingernails of a long-gone monster, feels so cruel, so dirty of him.
And, oblivious to his anxieties, Ryan rolls over, puts an arm over him and pulls him close. Until his chest is pressed against his back, his breath warm against his neck.
What would he think, Min-Gi can't help but wonder, if he knew? If he knew the man laying with him, this man he's known his entire life, was gay? That he was in love with him? Would he still hold him like this, close enough that he can feel his heart beat softly against his spine?
The question threatens to choke him – would he even touch him?
Min doesn't even notice he's tensing up until Ryan's doing so as well. He starts to pull his arm back.
"Sorry," he whispers. "Sorry, you're uncomfortable. I should've asked first, sorry."
Min-Gi finds himself instinctively grabbing Ryan's hand before he can slip away, tighter than he means to. He feels Ryan flinch, and loosens his grip.
"No, um…" He finds himself at a loss for words.
"I'm not uncomfortable." That's too forced, too defensive.
"Don't let go." That's desperate.
"I like you here," is what ends up coming out of his mouth. And he knows it's his imagination, but he thinks he feels Ryan's heart beat faster, if only for a moment.
Ryan relaxes his arm, interlocks his fingers with Min-Gi's. "And I like you here," he whispers, pressing their hands against Min's chest.
Min-Gi thinks he might scream. Without even trying, this man is going to be the death of him.
He calms himself, gives Ryan's hand a light squeeze before letting his arm drop back down. His hand feels cold without him; he pulls the blanket tighter around them, allows himself the pleasure of their shared heat.
"Goodnight, Ryan," he says, trying to force himself to settle, closing his eyes.
Ryan lets out a small yawn. "'Night, Min," he replies. "I'll, uh..." He takes a breath in and out. "I'll see you in the morning."
And as Min relaxes, leans back against Ryan's body, thin and sturdy and warm, he swears for a moment that he misheard, "I'll, uh," as something else. But that's ridiculous.