Work Text:
The tour bus idles outside some nameless Midwestern truck stop, its diesel rumble blending with the cicadas in the sticky August dark. Dave sprawls across the cracked pleather seat, drumsticks tapping against his knee like a restless metronome. His eyes trace the obsidian sky through the smudged window—no stars, just the occasional flicker of a moth kamikaze-diving into the buzzing fluorescent light above the gas pumps.
Kurt's curled against him, a human comma in ripped jeans and a thermal shirt that smells like Marlboros and the thrift store where he bought it. His fingers pick absently at a loose thread on Dave's flannel.
"What's two plus two?" Dave asks, just to feel the vibration of Kurt's laughter against his ribcage.
Kurt exhales through his nose, cigarette breath warm against Dave's collarbone. "Math."
A beat. The AC unit wheezes like a dying harmonica. Dave grins, pressing his cheek into Kurt's bird 's-nest hair. "...I will accept that answer."
Kurt's shoulders shake silently—the kind of laugh that doesn't make noise, just rearranges his bones. Dave counts it as a victory.