#carcrash

henry's out for a late night drive and pulls over to help someone stranded on the side of the road, an artsy classic car with its hazards on, and inside finds a rail-thin, sickly-pale guy with clumsily-bandaged wounds and a blood-stained jacket.

driver's driven across the country. la to new york, and barely eaten or slept or stopped along the way, just sleeping in his car and starving and knowing he doesn't deserve anything else, and he keeps telling himself he'll stop when he's safe but he doesn't think he'll ever feel safe again. he just keeps running, keeps moving, stopping at diners and motels, usually sleeping in his car, wondering when he's going to die. wondering if he's going to have to do it himself.

henry looks into this guy's exhausted face and…gets it. really gets it, in a way he hates. he doesn't want to leave him, afraid the stranger might do something drastic if he does, but henry's useless with cars and admits as much. the driver stares at him for a little while, face empty and sad and sort of impossible to read, before he finally says it's fine — he can fix his own car, he just needs some tools, maybe some oil, and can henry go and get them for him?

so henry goes. he gets the tools and the oil that driver asked for and also some hot food and water that driver definitely didn't — and he’s secretly really fucking glad when he gets back and driver’s still waiting there as promised, didn’t disappear — and driver stares again but he finally takes the bags with shaking hands.

"thank you," he says, very softly.

henry nods. he still doesn't want to leave, but he's assuming this is the end of it, and he's probably already being weird like he always is and he'll be a total freak if he loiters. he wants to tell the guy that it's okay, that it'll get better, tomorrow's another day — the sort of shit sam says — but he can't get the words out. they feel stupid anyway, the way they do when sam says them to him. so he nods and mutters his goodbye and walks back to his car. driver calls after him.

"you need to take your car to a garage," he says, voice soft and scratchy and serious. "your front tyre's… just take it in. soon. tomorrow."

henry…nods again. he doesn't know what the hell that means, but the next day — at a normal human time — he takes his car in to the garage after class. the mechanic there goes white when he looks at it, the tyre that driver kept staring at.

"jesus. you were playin' with fucking fire here, kid."

"it's bad?"

"it's bad. woulda been really, really bad if it blew. like maybe you'd be dead bad."

"oh. shit."

"yeah. shit."

so henry gets it fixed. it's more than he can really afford, hundreds out of pocket, but it's all he can think about when he's driving his parents and athena to dinner a week later. they get there totally fine, and have a decent time. he chickens out of proposing, but tells himself they've got plenty of time.

he can't stop thinking about his guardian angel, too. that sad-looking stranger in his angel-white jacket. henry desperately hopes he's okay. he keeps an eye out for him, scanning every crowd for him — maybe he asks around, daring to come out of his shell just slightly to strike up conversations with cashiers and waitresses, asking if they've seen a tall, blond guy in a scorpion jacket.

The Substance Coralie Fargeat. 2024

Carcrash 306 Avenue Mozart, 06600 Antibes, France See in map

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so. henry taking driver to an art gallery, on something henry definitely lacks the confidence and self-worth to call a date but, well, is. and at first henry’s feeling distinctly awkward — he doesn’t know how to talk about his interests and he’s especially worried he’s going to bore or annoy driver, scared he’s going to blow this before it’s even really started, and maybe he’ll freak out or driver will freak out and it’ll be a total disaster, or driver will finally realise henry’s a waste of time.

but driver’s trying really, really hard. he’s got his hands in his pockets, hat pulled low over his eyes to hide behind, and he’s deeply deeply anxious being out in public and in an enclosed space like this, keeps subtly working out escape routes and jumping when anyone gets too close — but he also keeps asking questions and seems like he’s really paying attention to the art and to *henry*. and, without quite realising, it henry ends up talking animatedly, leading driver around to his favourite paintings and infodumping about them, telling driver all about the artists and how they lived — and, for once, not focusing on how they died, mostly because he doesn’t want to risk triggering driver but it ultimately makes it all healthier for henry too.

they sit together on the benches and stare at some of the paintings together, henry stealing glances at driver and being hopelessly endeared by how driver tilts his head back and forth as he’s examining the paintings. sometimes henry pulls his sketchbook out to do a quick study or two and driver will rest his cheek on henry’s shoulder to watch.

they make a deal to buy each other a lil gift in the gift shop at the end, and henry feels sort of like a kid, fighting back a smile, as he hunts for something driver might like. driver gets him a print of the painting henry spent the longest time gazing at. henry gets driver something utterly indulgent, a little plush toy or something, the sort of thing he knows driver was never allowed as a kid. he pretends not to notice how wet driver’s eyes get.

they hold hands on the walk home.

thank you so much for sharing this, I adore this so so so much <33 gosh, now I'm tearing up too hahah

I am such a sucker for them being soft with one another, they both deserve it and need it so so desperately :') I especially love them picking out little gifts for one another, that is so damn cute AHHHHHHH