Chapter Text
After two weeks of sleeping only outside on bedrolls and hard ground, Gyro and Johnny nearly jump out of their respective skins with excitement at the sight of an inn on the horizon. It's no castle, certainly, and it's situated inside a pathetically small cluster of buildings dropped down in the middle of the desert that could scarcely pass for a town, but it had a roof, and it probably had beds. Real beds.
"We're sleeping there, right?" Johnny calls hopefully ahead to Gyro.
"Uh, yeah. " Gyro says. "Unless you're suddenly really into eating jerky and getting sand in your pants. In which case we can keep camping." He grins back at Johnny, gold and cocky.
Johnny rolls his eyes.
"Pass, thanks. Y'think they have food? Actual food?" Johnny leans slightly forward over Slow Dancer's neck, encouraging her to trot up alongside Gyro and Valkyrie.
"Pff. There's no real food in this country, Johnny." He says, tone condescending.
"Have you eaten anything other than fucking jerky and stale bread since you've been here, even?" Johnny jeers, shooting Gyro a dirty look. "Man, you don't even know. Barbecue, okay? Cornbread?" Johnny scoffs. "Don't be so high and mighty just because y'all invented pasta or whatever."
Gyro stops listening to him halfway through, caught up on something. He makes a face, somewhere between confusion and disgust.
"Corn...in bread?" He squints distastefully. "That sounds stupid."
Face betraying him, Johnny's lips curve up very slightly in amusement.
"It's cornmeal, not corn. It's like...ground into flour. You put butter on it after. It's good. " He says.
Gyro cocks his head to the side, eyeing Johnny suspiciously.
"I'll believe it when I taste it, cowboy." He says thoughtfully as they arrive outside the inn. Up close, it's even worse for wear than they'd initially suspected. The wood it's made of seems rickety and old, and the place is small.
Gyro slides down off Valkyrie with ease, patting her on the hip before turning to Johnny.
"I'm gonna find out if they even have food. Or beds. I'll be right back." Gyro turns around, taking off his hat to shake the desert sand out of his long hair.
Johnny watches him disappear through the saloon doors, idly running his fingers through Slow Dancer's mane.
They'd only met a few months ago, but Johnny likes Gyro more than he'd liked anyone in years. Gyro's... interesting. He's funny, he's foreign, he's got stories to tell. He's terrifying when he wants to be, Johnny thinks.
Not to mention, he makes good coffee. And--most importantly--he doesn't try to baby Johnny. From the beginning, he'd made it clear that Johnny was only welcome to follow if he pulled his own weight. After so many years of having people try to do everything for him, it was refreshing.
And almost getting killed with someone every other day really bonds you.
He's never had a best friend before, he thinks. But that's kind of what Gyro is.
Gyro returns through the doors, hat back on his head and hands on his hips as he approaches Slow Dancer and Johnny.
"So. They have one room." He says.
"Okay. Cool." Johnny says, digging his things out of Dancer's saddlebags.
"There's only one bed, though." Gyro offers. He meets Johnny's gaze with a patient, level expression. "Will that bother you?"
Johnny squints at him.
"Is this a gag?" He asks, preparing to be exasperated.
"Nyo-ho! Not this time. But maybe I shouldn't have told you and let you be surprised, eh? That might be a gag." Gyro grins up at him.
Johnny finds his stupid, charming attitude difficult to argue with.
"Okay. It doesn't bother me." He shrugs, hooking his bag over his shoulder and letting himself fall off his horse into the dirt beside Gyro. He's getting better at using the Spin to break his fall, but, well...it's still not perfect. Johnny grimaces, dusting dirt off his pants as Gyro helpfully unhooks Johnny's makeshift crutches from Slow Dancer's saddle, holding them out patiently until Johnny can situate himself.
"I don't think they are going to have your corn breads , though." Gyro says with a dramatic sigh. "They're not exactly luxury in here."
Johnny tries not to smile.
"They got whiskey?" He asks, following as Gyro takes both horses' reins to lead them towards the shabby stable attached to the inn.
"I'm gonna be honest with you, Johnny." Gyro says somberly. "That's probably the only thing they do have."
"Good enough." Johnny mutters.
--
After weeks in the desert under the constant barrage of stand attacks, blazing heat and bone-chilling nights, Johnny feels like a prince just to have walls around himself.
Gyro had been right about it not being luxury, though. The floors are splintery, the windows are practically an inch thick with dust, and the bed moans ghoulishly at the slightest press of weight onto it. There's a fireplace in the corner that burns quietly, promising warmth (even if the fire smells somewhat of dust).
But they have an adjoined bathroom with a large copper bathtub, and they do have a bar downstairs, and Gyro and Johnny agree immediately on the idea of creating their own room service--buying everything they could want for the evening and holing up in the room to play cards and revel in the pleasure of a night that doesn't leave them both hungry and shivering.
Gyro returns from the bar with his arms full of treasures--two bottles of whiskey, a loaf of somewhat-recently baked bread with butter, and meat (pork?) that was fresh enough to not be jerky. By their standards, it's already a good night.
They lay everything out on the bed atop the blanket they always use for meals, each of them taking one of the bottles and tapping them together at the neck in a small celebration.
They eat in relative, comfortable silence until Gyro speaks.
"I'm glad you're with me." He says simply, leaning on his side, propped up on an elbow as he takes a drink from his bottle.
Johnny feels his cheeks burn slightly.
"Yeah?" He asks, swallowing. "Me too." He feels hot, suddenly. Maybe it's the booze flushing his face.
Gyro doesn't seem to notice, gazing off at the fire with a relaxed expression.
It's not very often that Gyro's still, or quiet. It's surprising in a way Johnny doesn't expect, that he can actually look at his friend's face and see something other than his weird facial hair or his ridiculous golden teeth while he's so calm.
Johnny's staring.
He doesn't really want to stop, though.
Gyro's…handsome. Maybe the glow of the firelight on one side and the setting sun outside the window on the other are responsible for it, but Gyro's so golden in the light. The shadows that fall across his face are rich and reddened, and when the light crosses his eyes as he turns his head, the green in them is more vibrant than ever. His hair falls gently over his shoulders, backlit to a pale golden glow by the window.
Johnny blinks a few times and sets his bottle down on the bed.
I shouldn't be looking at him like this. It's probably just the alcohol, Johnny thinks.
As if to reassure himself, he takes another glance back up at Gyro. His heart nearly jumps out of his skin as his eyes land on the other man's needle-sharp gaze.
"Something on your mind, Johnny?" Gyro asks, raising a dark eyebrow at the other man.
"No." Johnny says flatly. "Just looking at your weird face."
In reply, Gyro scrunches his nose slightly.
"Pff. I'm beautiful and you know it." He mutters, taking another drink.
Johnny tries not to let his eyes linger on the way Gyro puts the bottle to his lips, and feels a familiar, burning ache inside himself.
You're just turned on because it's been so long. Shut up, he tells himself. Don't make things weird.
"Let's play cards." Gyro announces it more than asks, and begins digging out the worn down pack of cards he carries for them before Johnny can even respond.
Johnny settles for a mute nod, and picks his drink back up after some consideration. The card game goes as most of them do; they take turns cheating and accusing each other of cheating, respectively. They start the game sitting up, and end it lying on their stomachs. They both lose about the same amount when all's said and done, and by the time they're ready to put the cards away, the sun has set and the tight strings of Johnny's nervousness have unwound a bit.
"Want coffee?" Gyro asks, already rolling clumsily off the bed and rising to his feet.
"Yeah, always." Johnny says absentmindedly. His brain tunes in just in time to catch a fond smile on Gyro's face as he turns away, and the younger man feels his heart flutter.
Stop being creepy, Johnny. He's just your friend, he reminds himself.
Despite the internal scolding, his eyes still land on Gyro, as if they have nowhere else to be. Johnny lets them flutter closed on the image of his friend crouched beside the fire, content and comfortable and safe for once.
--
When he wakes up, it's because Gyro falls into the bed beside him.
"Mmmgh." Johnny groans, one eye cracking open like a cat to glare at the offending Italian.
"Oh, good, you're up." Gyro replies, obnoxious grin plastered on his face. "You're taking up the whole bed. Move it, gattino."
Johnny narrows his one open eye slightly more.
"I don't speak pizza, but that sounded rude." He mumbles into his pillow, shutting his eye and rolling his face against the fabric.
As soon as he tries to fall asleep, Johnny's jolted by strong hands sliding beneath him as Gyro takes it upon himself to relocate him.
"Hey!" Johnny yelps, tone insulted.
"What? You said you don't like being lifted by people who are trying to help you. I'm trying to help me. " Gyro reasons, sort-of gently tossing Johnny down on the other side of the bed.
Johnny feels his face redden.
"Still not great." He mutters.
"Don't be a brat and I won't have to toss you around." Gyro offers, wiggling his way beneath the covers.
Johnny knows it's a joke, but something in Gyro's tone makes him feel nervous again.
The fire in the corner is still burning, but it's flame is small and blue. The cool chill of the desert air seems to be seeping through the window pane (as well as its thick covering of dust).
Johnny takes all of this into account and uses it to justify mirroring Gyro's actions and wrapping himself into a warm ball beneath the blankets.
He'd forgotten how nice the feeling of sheets beneath his body was. Their usual setup was thinly-padded bed rolls stretched out over hard, rocky ground, haphazardly covered in scratchy wool blankets. They couldn't afford the time it would take to set up anything nicer, not when they might have to pack it all up and run at the first sight of other racers.
Johnny rolls over onto his back and stretches his arms out wide, unwinding his tight, tired muscles and nearly hitting Gyro in the face.
"Watch it." Gyro mumbles tiredly.
"Make me." Johnny responds, almost out of habit.
He feels all the blood in his body rush to his face when Gyro flops himself on top of Johnny's outstretched arm and slings his own arm over the smaller man's chest, the weight of it practically pinning him to the bed.
"Fine." Gyro says, tone pleasant. He wiggles slightly closer to the smaller man, making it easier to keep his arm strewn over him as he turns his face tiredly against the pillow, over Johnny's arm.
He's warm-- so warm. Johnny feels almost dizzy with it. It's not like it's the first time they've touched--not even close. But they're in a bed, and Gyro's practically holding him , and it's a lot.
Narrowing his eyes, Johnny turns to look at him. He's ready to challenge him, ready to push him off (and forgo the most comfortable position he's been in for quite some time), but the look on Gyro's face is...calm.
His eyes are closed, mouth set in the faintest curve of a smile. His breathing is slow and steady. Gyro's fucking asleep. Already.
Johnny swallows around the weird lump in his throat. He can't move him now, right? Not when he looks so comfortable. Past the thumping rush of blood in his ears, he hears the faint howling of wind in the distance, dry and harsh. He lets himself soak in the serenity of Gyro's sleep, staring freely at the curve of his parted lips and the dark line of his eyelashes.
Johnny feels guilty for looking so much, more so for enjoying looking so much. Gyro's only a few inches away, he could touch him back, he could...Johnny screws his eyes shut.
He lies there for another hour, sneaking glances at Gyro every so often until sleep takes him too. He'd sooner die than risk waking his friend, so he remains still as a corpse. When he falls asleep, it's still beneath the warm weight of Gyro's arm, and his head is facing the other man's.
-