Work Text:
When Andre started the engine, the needle just flicked to two o'clock.
The afternoon sun was beautiful, pouring in through the windshield, spreading across Cal's stonewashed jeans. Things outside the window flowed into a river behind them. Cal leaned against the window, feeling the subtle numbness from the engine's vibration.
"Where are we going?" Cal asked vaguely.
"Far away." Andre glanced at him, one hand on the wheel, the other elbow propped on the window frame. "Or nowhere. I don't know." The corner of his mouth seemed to twitch upward slightly, or maybe it was just an illusion caused by the sunlight.
A brief silence filled the car, broken only by some unknown band playing on the stereo. The lead singer's voice was raspy, as if it had swallowed too much highway dust.
"This sucks, listen to this, man." Cal changed the track.
"Don't touch it. It's my car." Andre frowned and reached to switch it back.
"Don't be so boring."
Andre snorted, his hand already impatiently pressing on the skip button. He looked at the road ahead, his fingers tapping lightly on the button twice before finally withdrawing.
"Okay, I'm hungry." Cal changed the subject and started rummaging through the glove compartment. Half a bag of stale chips, a few expired gas station coupons, a dog-eared paperback novel. He pulled out the novel; the cover featured a cowboy holding a gun, the pages creased at the edges.
He found a stub of a pencil and clumsily began to draw lines in the blank spaces of the pages. First, the telephone poles outside the window—they swept past the highway like giant metronomes. Then Andre's profile: his slightly long eyelashes, his straight nose, the mole near his mouth. The drawing was ugly, but he didn't care.
The pencil scratched against the paper, mingling with the hiss of tires on the asphalt.
"What are you doing?" Andre asked.
"Documenting." Cal didn't look up. "Someone has to remember where we've been."
He turned the page and began to sketch Andre's hand clumsily—the slightly raised calluses on his fingers, the relaxed yet precise way he held the steering wheel.
"Sometimes," Cal suddenly said, his fingertip rubbing against the rough paper, "I feel like we're not traveling through space, but through time. The faster we drive, the younger we get, or maybe older. I can't tell."
"Maybe we're not going anywhere. Maybe we're just sitting in a parked car, and the world is moving outside our window," Andre said.
Cal looked up and found Andre staring at him, not just a quick glance.
"Are you done vandalizing that book?" Andre looked at the book.
"Why did you draw my hand?"
Cal stared at his own drawing for a long time. It was terribly ugly, but it was Andre's hand.
"It's the most honest part of you," Cal said. "They never lie. The way you hold the wheel... the pressure when you hold my hand, the way you hold a cigarette. Hands tell you what the brain wants to hide."
The air in the car grew thick. Andre didn't deny it, but he reached out and grabbed Cal's hand—a brief, firm squeeze—then placed it back on the wheel. It was an unpracticed, almost clumsy gesture. But its meaning rang loud and clear between them, like a bell.
The car hit a rough patch of road, vibrating, the loose change on the dashboard jingling. The dashboard clock showed 4:27. Youth might be like this: you think you have an infinitely long afternoon, and in a blink, the sun is already slanting westward.
The car stopped at an abandoned lookout point along the coastal road. After the engine died, the world fell silent, leaving only the ceaseless sound of waves, crashing layer upon layer against the cliffs below.
The passenger door was suddenly pushed open. Cal almost jumped out. The sea breeze billowed into his ARMY-print t-shirt, outlining his lean frame. The sun was sinking at a visible pace, setting the sea ablaze into a流动 river of molten gold. Cal's blonde hair almost seemed to merge with the sunlight. Andre felt dizzy, squinting slightly. At that moment, Cal looked to him like a pale ghost.
"Beautiful," Cal said, turning to look at him, his face indistinguishable in the light.
"Yeah," Andre said. He wasn't talking about the scenery.
The sea breeze grew stronger, carrying the evening chill.
Cal bent down, picked up a flat stone from near his feet, weighed it in his hand, and with a practiced sideways motion, skipped it towards the sea. The stone bounced a few times on the surface, stirring up a few ripples, before finally sinking into the golden light.
Cal turned his head, a sly smile spreading at the corners of his mouth.
"Want to do something?"
Amidst the daze, he heard it.
Want to make love?
The sea breeze swept between them, leaving a profound silence.
Cal grabbed his shoulders, and with a soft laugh, came the warm touch of lips on his.
Light. Cut off. His face. The scent of laundry detergent.
He was surprised not to reach for the place on Cal that usually gave him comfort.
Their breaths mingled. Cal's smile brightened again, more vivid than the dying sunset.
"Someone might see."
"No one," Cal said. "It's only us here. Just the two of us."
They held each other tightly. In the dimness, all that could be heard was the rustle of clothing and slightly heavy breathing. The stagnant air pressed heavily on every speck of dust. The calm sea began to stir, then grew tumultuous, waves crashing against the rocks again and again, more and more fiercely, until everything returned to stillness.
Cal took the tissues Andre offered and cleaned up all trace of this absurdity.
Neither of them spoke.
Andre got back into the driver's seat, started the engine. The familiar sound returned, like a low sigh. Cal rolled down his window, letting the night wind pour in, carrying the scent of sea salt and distant places. He reached his hand out, palm facing the wind, then slowly curled his fingers into a fist, and opened them again.
"Caught anything?" The driver turned to look at him.
"No." He pulled his hand back in, the window still open, the wind continuing to whistle through. "Just felt like it came from somewhere far away."
Andre reached out and grabbed the hand he'd just pulled back. Both their hands were cold; holding them didn't warm them up much, but neither let go.
The sun had completely sunk, leaving only a narrow slit of orange-red light on the horizon, like a scabbed wound. The wind was strong, making the car body tremble slightly. The whistling sound grew long and drawn-out, like someone singing somewhere far away.
"Hey," Cal leaned against the seat, eyes looking out at the darkening sky, "what do people become after they die?"
"Maybe they become wind."
"Why?"
"Wind can go anywhere," he paused, "no need to drive anymore."
Cal laughed softly, a light sound, quickly scattered by the wind.
"That's not bad either."
The wind kept blowing, from across the sea, from the direction they came from, from places they'd never been, through this car, through their intertwined hands, continuing to blow forward, towards even farther places.
The long wind filled their embrace; all things were at peace.
Where the destination was, it didn't seem to matter anymore.