Chapter Text
The sun on the horizon paints everything golden; Roman leans back and stares at Hollis for a very long, almost pregnant moment. Hollis looks at him in the mirror and gives a very short smile before giving all of his attention to the road.
They've been on the way for weeks. Low-cost motels replacing decent hotels and small rooms in people's homes, where they're allowed in for a night in exchange of a few crumpled dollars and some small favors on the backyard.
Hollis says that this lifestyle builds character. Roman feels like he's incredibly fond of testing himself, pushing to the imaginary edge where tiny pebbles fall into the void beneath his feet, and staring at it for a long time, trying to figure out whether a breath of air will send him flying down into the oblivion.
He hasn't yet.
He meditates in mornings, spreading out on the floor, his stretched-out T-shirts and shorts collecting dust in the corners of the room. Afterwards, collecting his breath and wiping off the sweat, he twists his hair into a bun and smokes out the window with concentration, that feels almost too big for such thing, or goes out, scooping up some ice and getting snacks from the vending machine on the way back. All this time, he remains silent, staring somewhere through Roman, the walls, and the sky. After these little rituals, his gaze becomes more aware, and it becomes much easier to talk to him or get closer, silently pulling him back into bed.
This yoga and meditation thing isn't something that Roman can feel like doing. He prefers to relax in someone else's arms, the headboard methodically slamming against the wall, their hair dramatically intertwining with their legs and arms.
Roman moans loudly and heartbreakingly, purely because he likes to be shitty; sometimes Hollis covers his mouth with his hand, allowing Roman to bite into his skin until it bleeds, but usually he simply smiles and says nothing, continuing to pound him into the bed. For some reason, he is always silent, and Roman has a hard time even admitting to himself that this insults him in any way.
Afterwards, Hollis combs back his disheveled hair and habitually reaches for a cigarette; Roman leans back on the rumpled bed and lazily strokes his back with his fingertips, trying to figure out at what point someone else's skin stops feeling like it.
Hollis always feels like something completely unhuman — mostly at his little meditation rituals; Roman should envy absolutely everything Hollis's genes have endowed him with, but he gets it all, so there's nothing much to complain about.
As for Hollis's fantastic bed experience — Roman has never had such a good, satisfying orgasm count with anyone in his life — any questions he may have are actively fucked out of him; at the same time, Roman wants to be the first and only, but he also wants to convey a wet, slobbery compliment to whoever was there before.
At noon, they get ready and head out because there's nothing to catch anymore. On the outskirts of town, they stop at one of the hash houses and eat whatever looks the safest — Hollis always drinks cold black coffee without sugar, Roman takes green tea with three spoons — and then get on road, into the unknown.
While driving, Hollis, without looking, places his hand on Roman's knee and leaves it there for tens of minutes that feel like hours. Roman winces, wondering what if somebody sees them?, but does nothing about it. Then he intertwines their fingers and tilts his head back, watching through half-closed eyelids as the wind ruffles Hollis’ sun-drenched blonde hair. At sunset, they turn golden.
When they spend the night somewhere in between cities and villages, Hollis hugs him and wraps them both in some old, beaten-up woolen blanket, which probably had seen better days. Roman feels prickly and a little stuffy — Hollis is always hotter than a damn stove — and the blanket smells of smoke and fire, but on nights like these, for some reason, he sleeps better than every night before.
Sometimes he wonders, what will happen when they reach the edge of everything.