Chapter Text
It's hot.
It's excruciatingly, blisteringly, swelteringly hot and the stretch of highway going on and on and on in front of Eijirou is not getting any cooler. Any hope for shade had died when the sun reached its highest point about two hours ago and, even though it is now making its gradual descent, the heat of the pavement under Eijirou's shoes threatens to melt his soles. He's long given up on wiping away the beads of sweat that cling to his forehead. He's practically swimming in how damp his clothes are. He thinks he might die.
Despite the probable eventual case of severe third-degree sunburns followed by a hearty dose of melanoma, Eijirou knows he shouldn't complain. He knows that this was his choice and he is going to follow through with it. He has to, actually. He doesn't really have a choice where he is right now. He was the one who wanted to see the country on as small of a budget as possible. He was the one who decided his savings of a couple hundred bucks were enough. He was also the one who told himself that walking isn't so bad.
Not many found the lifestyle of his trip alluring. He was often looked down upon as being a transient, but he kept to himself mostly. Any money he had, he used sparingly. When he couldn't find a seedy motel to spend a night in, he wasn't above sleeping on a bench. When he couldn't afford even the cheapest thing on a value menu, he wasn't above asking for enough spare change to guzzle down a small black coffee and call it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He repaid the kindness where he could and had met some remarkably thoughtful strangers who offered him couches, food, rides, and companionship on his long trek across the country.
And, really, walking isn't so bad. It isn't. It's just his feet hurt and he is certain that he's about to keel over any step from heatstroke.
A vehicle approaches from behind, and the distant roar of the engine is enough for Eijirou to perk up. The highway isn't as busy as he had hoped when he decided to walk along it. Transportation was arguably the most important reason, but at least traffic meant exhaust-filled breezes .
Walking backward, careful not to stumble over his own feet, Eijirou holds out his thumb and lifts the piece of cardboard that informatively says 'North' in front of him.
The car drives past like every one before.
Which sucks because it really does mean he's going to die on the side of the road. Eijirou tosses his head back, lowers the sign, and stands in the baking sun for a few seconds before he can get his aching feet to move again.
Why were people so afraid of hitchhikers? What happened to the good old days where someone could hitchhike across a whole content without either party being paranoid about murder? Make a friend for a few hours, share some stories, and part ways. The days of unlocked doors and stranger hospitality.
The 70s and 80s happened. The Randy Krafts, Pee Wee Gaskins, Edmund Kempers of the world happened. But they all killed the innocent hitchhikers, not the other way around! Why was Eijirou being punished for being on the other end of the spectrum?
Okay, he's being a bit of a hypocrite.
Eijirou has an itch. An itch that needs to be resolved by someone preferably in a car. The burly truck drivers being the only ones to pick him up are very kind, sure, but they aren't as easy to lure away with his sunny disposition and bright smile. An unsuspecting traveler with a big heart is what he needed. A tourist stop here, an interesting sight there; soon they're bonding like old friends reconnecting on a drive and wandering further and further away from the side of the road. The fear that hitchhiking was "bad" and "unsafe" really put a damper on things. It wasn't like everyone was out to kill everyone else.
Just him.
Honestly though, at this point, itch or not, he doesn't care who stops as long as it's someone. A truck driver, a bus, a lifted truck with a couple of rednecks. He just needed off the goddamn road. He doesn't need to take out the next person who lends him a hand. He hardly ever does! It's just a nagging thought in the back of his mind most of the time and one he can usually control.
After another hour of walking, Eijirou is at the point where he's debating on lying face down on the pavement like a fried egg until someone pities him enough to stop. And he might. Fuck, he's tired. There hasn't been any vehicle since the last one he saw and he hasn't seen one sign to indicate how far he is from civilization. He feels stupid for deciding to walk, he feels stupid that he drank all of his water, he feels stupid for not checking the forecast, he feels stupid for thinking this was ever a good idea at all.
He feels stupid for almost missing the near-silent hum of a motor drawing up behind him thanks to his pity party.
Perking up and trying to put his most convincing "I'm safe, you can trust me" smile on his face, Eijirou turns around and juts his thumb out. The sign is irrelevant at this point. North, south, east, west; he didn't care anymore. He'd go back the way he came if it meant he could get out of the sun and stop walking.
He squints against the sunlight and holds up the sign to shield his eyes. He can't tell yet if the car is slowing down or not. He mutters some vague sort of prayer and, as if he's been answered, the orange blinker of the little silver car turns on. A bark of laughter – joy and disbelief – leaves his mouth as the car slows and curves to the side of the road.
Eijirou bounds over once the car rolls to a stop just over the worn barrier line, tossing the sign into the shrubs beside him as he does so. He uses his shirt to scrub at his sweat-streaked face as he approaches the passenger window in an effort to appear somewhat groomed to the good, kind, pure, wonderful, and not at all deserving of their possible fate samaritan behind the wheel of the car. Hell, as thanks for stopping, Eijirou might not use the person to scratch his itch at all!
His heart thunders in his chest as the passenger side window rolls down and he's blasted with a wall of cold air. And then he's frozen (metaphorically, he's still very much cooking on the side of the road). Whoever had answered his prayer moments ago seemed to be apologizing, bestowing him with a generous bounty as if to reward him for his patience, perseverance, and suffering. Eijirou may not have been actively looking at the time, but it'd be rude to pass up the offering now.
In the driver's seat sits the most beautiful man Eijirou has ever seen, alone in the car. The sun lights up the man's blonde hair from behind, crowning him in a golden halo. Eijirou would've called him angelic if it wasn't for something in his eyes. They're molten red and striking. With one look, Eijirou's fixed in place at the window and stunned speechless in a way he had never been before. There is something different about this man, something beyond his beauty. He's not soft. He won't go down without a fight and Eijirou wouldn't have it any other way.
His eyes trace the delicate slope of the man's neck, marble skin that would cave under the slightest press of a blade, and swallows. "Hey," he says, a little too airy and he hopes that he can play it off as fatigue. Eijirou clears his throat and tries to shake the sinful thoughts from his head. He smiles again. "Going north?"
The man nods and unlocks the door, gesturing to the backseat. "Trunk's full, but you can put your stuff back there. Anywhere in particular?"
Eijirou pulls the passenger seat forward as the man speaks and shoves his pack in the back, pausing to cringe at the clash of pristine upholstery against the dirty canvas of his belongings. The chill inside the car beckons him to escape the heat and Eijirou allows himself to be just a bit selfish, dropping his equally dirty self down into the seat beside his new saviour-victim.
"Just north. Anywhere north. Dude, I'm going to fuck up your car," he says with a light laugh. Everything in the vehicle is immaculate, not a speck of dust to be seen, not a single crumb or wrapper. Eijirou drops his gaze to his shoes, ratty and torn; a stark contrast to the spotless floor mat. "Like really fuck it up."
The man shrugs, checking over his shoulder and pulling out onto the highway again. "I'm getting it cleaned anyway. S'fine." From the corners of his eyes, Eijirou can see him glance over at him as he shoves his reddened face closer to the vents. There's an amused snort and the A/C turns up, blowing back the loose strands of red that have fallen free from his bandana. "I'm Katsuki."
Eijirou's heart stutters uncomfortable in his chest and he closes his eyes, hardly able to contain the smile tugging at his lips. Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki. He likes how that name sounds running through his head. He wonders how it feels on his lips. He wonders how his name sounds on Katsuki's.
"Eijirou."
They sit in relative silence for a good while as Eijirou tries to cool down. It probably would've been awkward if Katsuki didn't give off the vibe that he isn't exactly the talkative type. Something drones from the speakers quietly, not music; it's people talking, but the words are nearly indecipherable under the hum of the air conditioning. Whatever is playing, it's filling the space between them with some much-needed white noise.
Eijirou takes the time to relax in the seat. Realistically it was only for the greater part of a day, but Eijirou swears he can't remember the last time he was able to rest his aching feet or feel cool air wash across his skin. It's heaven. With a grimace, Eijirou peels the front of his shirt away from his chest. It sticks to him full of sweat and grime, and it's only then that he realizes how out of place he is not only in the car but next to the insanely put-together Katsuki as well.
The hows and whens of Katsuki's fate have to come later, Eijirou decides. After he's clean and changed into something more presentable. He isn't one for planning anything flashy, but there was something sacrilegious about plunging a knife into someone like Katsuki's chest cavity while looking as he did now.
"You're an idiot." Katsuki's voice cuts through Eijirou's thoughts and, for a horrifying moment, he considers whether or not he's sitting next to a mind-reader. He tugs on his shirt a few times, fanning the air underneath the dirty fabric, and lets it drop back into place when Katsuki doesn't continue.
"What?"
"Hitchhiking's dangerous," Katsuki says.
Eijirou blinks in surprise and tries to assess whether or not Katsuki, a man he hasn't even seen smile yet, is telling a joke. There's more silence and a startled laugh leaves Eijirou. "You gunna take me down a dirt road and off me?"
Katsuki raises one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture. "I prefer a bridge at night." There's no change in his voice. He speaks deliberately, pausing as he thinks out his next words, unlike Eijirou who spews whatever comes to mind. There is a sense of calm calculation in the way Katsuki stops to think and it makes the hair on the back of Eijirou's neck stand on end. "Maybe a secluded creek," Katsuki continues, turning his head away from the road just enough to catch Eijirou's eyes. "Somewhere people don't go a lot or somewhere where your body could be swept away."
Eijirou's beginning to think he got in the wrong car until Katsuki gestures at his phone sitting on the dash.
"Kind of like what this guy did," he says, and Eijirou has to listen – really listen – to get what Katsuki's saying.
It's still hard to hear, but he thinks he picks out the word "investigation" coming from the speakers. There's a remark about police and another voice chimes in with a bantering comment. A podcast. A true-crime podcast. Katsuki doesn't do this shit. He's a fan of it.
Then there it is, a quick flash of teeth, a cheeky smile that feels so rare and secretive and as though it is a privilege for Eijirou to even see it. It leaves as quickly as it appeared and took with it all of the worries that had been creeping into Eijirou's mind. Then everything Katsuki said resonates with him.
Shit. He'd be in love if he wasn't about to carve up that pretty body later.
He clears his throat, shaking the nerves away and whatever the hell that feeling from just a moment ago was. "I have to admit, seeing a little car like this go trekking off onto a dirt road is pretty inconspicuous. Blends right in," Eijirou teases and laughs loudly when Katsuki scoffs.
"I did say secluded, dumbass. As in, no one would see me or my car… Or you."
Eijirou lets out an impressed whistle and reclines back in his seat to get more comfortable. "Okay, point taken. But it's a two-way street, Katsuki. Haven't you seen the signs on the side of the highway? Picking up hitchhikers is illegal." He drops his voice into something more spooky at the last word and wags his fingers around to drive the seriousness of the crime home. "It's for your safety, after all. What if I'm the killer?"
Katsuki clicks his tongue against his teeth. "You'd kill me?" he asks. His voice doesn't change much, but Eijirou thinks he hears a shift in tone; like Katsuki is pretending to be hurt. It makes Eijirou grin. "Even after I gave you a ride 'anywhere north?'"
Eijirou cranes his head to the side, noting the way Katsuki has his eyes trained on the road ahead of him. Content. Unexpecting. Stupidly long lashes fan against his cheeks every time he blinks, contrasting with the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Eijirou is convinced that he's staring at a carved piece of artwork designed solely for him.
A lump rises high in his throat as he thinks about the question. You'd kill me? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. Without a doubt.
Katsuki casts him a sidelong glance and his brows knit together in confusion when there is no response. Eijirou swallows the lump down and smiles wide; friendly and innocent.
"Nah."