"That's Gay Bro"

They drove in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional sigh from Roman, and the soft click of the car’s blinkers.

"Comic books," Roman said simply, as though he had not been festering in silence for the last ten minutes.

"What?"

Roman's eyes floated to the clouds above, watching as they seemed to follow the car. He was reminded of night drives with his father, driving too fast to even notice that there were clouds. He wished Peter would drive that fast.

"You asked what it takes to excite me," He explained "I like comic books."

"Huh," said Peter expecting the answer to involve something more scandalous or relating to Roman's wanton lifestyle. "What, like the hulk and shit?"

"Batman," Roman said, picking at the bandaids on his fingertips. "And The X-Men." 

Peter stopped at a crossroad, trying to remember which direction they were supposed to turn. He chewed his lip for a moment, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. He would need to stop and retie his hair soon.

"Batman, huh? That plant chick is kinda hot."

Roman cocked a brow "Poison Ivy?"

“Yeah, her,” Peter grinned “Redheads man…”

“Which version?” Roman said coolly, trying hard not to seem like a nerd. 

“Huh?”

“Which version of her? Like which comic?” Roman attempted to keep the conversation casual but his knowledge of niche lore was threatening to slip out.

Peter took his hand off the steering wheel to run it through his hair.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve only seen the movie.”

Roman pulled a face. 

“Which movie was it? There is a wrong answer.”

“I don’t know man, I was stoned when I saw it.”

Roman sat silently for a moment, watching as the clouds above threatened to gray.

“The one with Schwarzenegger in it,” Peter said.

As Roman turned towards him, Peter decided the upir’s expression would not be out of place in Children of the Corn.

“Stop the car,” Roman said flatly, pawing at the door handle. “Stop the car, I’m walking home.” 

“Really, over Batman?” Peter said, rolling his eyes and pulling into a rest stop on the side of the road. 

He decided it was better to play along than for Roman to have an outburst in his front seat.

Roman exited the car, gesturing for Peter to pop the trunk. Peter complied, shaking his head as he reached under the driver’s seat. Roman grabbed his luggage, slinging it over his shoulder as he began to walk along the edge of the road.

Peter watched him for a minute, hoping he would get it all out of his system. Roman’s angry stomps reminded Peter of a ram, though he knew somewhere inside Roman was a gentle lamb.

“Pennsylvania’s that way, you know!” He shouted, his thumb pointing North. “Unless you’re hellbent on Kentucky.”

“I knew that,” Roman hissed, turning and passing the wolf in the other direction. By the time he passed the car he had already cooled off, unsure of why he was so heated to begin with. His stomach ached again.

“Are you really that pissed over a superhero movie?” Peter questioned as Roman brushed a lock of bottle-blond hair away from his eyes. He remained silent.

“Get back in the car, Roman.”

Roman paused for a moment, looking at the ground beneath him. Cigarette butts, pieces of broken glass, and hypodermic needles were strewn about the dead grass.  He stepped on a piece of a discarded beer bottle, just to feel the crunch.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” He said, still looking at the ground. He turned his head slightly to read the logo on a dented bottle cap, it was some beer brand he had never heard of.

Peter cocked a brow. Roman opened his mouth to continue but Peter stopped him.

“Look, if you get back in the car we can rent some other batman flicks,” Roman’s face softened “We’ll spend the weekend in some little town and have like a nerd marathon or something.”

Roman set his luggage down, looking at Peter for a moment. He hated this. He hated that Peter was being so kind to him. He hated the raw empty gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

“You know, the movies don’t really showcase the nuance of-”

“Oh my god, we can read the comics too, just get in the fucking car before it rains.” Peter playfully punched Roman’s shoulder.

Roman threw his luggage back into the trunk, slamming it shut before clambering into the front seat. Peter started the car and turned the heater back on as storm clouds gathered above them.

“You know, there’s also some X-Men films…”

“Don’t push it.”

Rain began to fall as Roman reclined his seat. He watched as raindrops raced down the windshield, melding into one big streak. He picked at the frayed edge of one of his bandages. 

“Hey, what was in those little vials?” He asked with a yawn.

“Huh?” Peter was busy concentrating as the road grew slick beneath them.

“In the first aid kit,” Roman clarified, “There were needles and little vials. What’s in ‘em? Good shit?” He secretly hoped the wolf was holding out on him as his Altoids tin was in the trunk.

“Nothing fun, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Roman ran his fingers across the window, doodling in the condensation. He drew a heart but quickly erased it, drawing a frowny face next to it instead.

“Boo,” He said, not unlike a teenage girl.

Peter adjusted the windshield wipers as the rain fell harder. He glanced at the highway signs, deciding which small town to flee to for the night. They all looked the same so it really didn’t matter. He chose the closest one and hoped there would be a motel.

“Rabies shots,” he said, merging right and heading towards an exit sign. “Among other things.”

Roman raised a brow. “Huh?”

“It’s not like I can just walk into a vet’s office and ask them to stick me.” Peter gestured to himself, “And they don’t give them to you at the doctor unless you’re already bit.”

“Sheeit, I never thought about that,” Roman cracked his window, taking a match from his pocket and lighting a cigarette. “So, do you like have to have it every year like a-”

“Like a dog?” Peter finished

“I was gonna say like a flu shot,” Roman took a drag, blowing smoke out the window.

He wondered what he had done to make Peter so curt with him. Maybe he knew what Roman had done, maybe he was waiting for the right time to ditch him on the side of the road. Maybe he had asked Roman to tag along as a joke and hadn’t expected him to actually come with.

“Are you like mad at me or something?”

Peter stared at the road before him, trying to see past heavy raindrops. The lights blurred together as the sky darkened. The road turned from thick pavement to thicker mud as any signs of life disappeared. There were only two signs in the distance, a Motel 6 and a McDonald’s

“Nah, just concentrating. I can’t see shit in this weather.” 

Roman started to bring up Peter’s shortness with him earlier but decided against it. He didn’t need to start a fight, he was sure Peter was already disappointed in him.

“You hungry?” Peter asked, “Because I’m fucking starving.”

“Nah,” Roman lied, the gnawing pit in his stomach growing larger despite that morning’s feeding. “I’m good.” 

Peter shrugged and turned into the McDonald’s parking lot anyway.

“You can get a milkshake or something.” 

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but Peter was already in the drive-thru ordering one for both of them.

As they waited for their order, Roman contemplated telling Peter the truth. He tugged at his jacket, feeling a chill from Peter’s open window. The sun had now vanished completely from the sky, replaced by quick rain and heavy nightfall. 

Peter brought the bag of warm food into the car, passing it to Roman to hold. The scent of salt and grease filled the car as Roman held the bag to his chest. Peter placed the shakes in the cupholders, licking spilled whipped cream off his arm. Roman looked away, unsure of what he was feeling.

“I have to tell you something,” Roman said, staring straight ahead as Peter put the car in park. “But I don’t think you’ll like it.”

He placed his shaking hands between his knees, taking a deep breath.

Peter took a sip of his shake, staring at the way Roman’s face seemed to glow under the car’s overhead lights. The worry in Roman’s eyes was hidden by his long eyelashes.

“I have something to tell you too,” Peter started, turning off the engine.

He reached a hand out, guiding Roman’s face towards his own. Roman let out a shaky breath at the wolf’s calloused touch. Peter’s thumb grazed Roman’s cheek, just barely catching the corner of his mouth. Roman’s eyes nearly shut. 

The overhead light faded, turning off and leaving the pair in near darkness, save for the lights inside the restaurant. Peter could barely make out the upir’s silhouette. His gaze lingered as he pulled Roman’s face closer, unsure of his next move, all he knew is he wanted a full view of those Godfrey green eyes.

“Roman, I-” He stared into Roman’s eyes, almost forgetting what he was trying to say.

Roman nodded, encouraging Peter to continue. 

Peter opened his mouth once more, but his voice was no longer gentle, it was quivering, almost fearful.

“What the fuck is that?” He breathed, his eyes wide as he looked past Roman and into the darkness.  

A figure stood not far from them, its head tilted as it stared at the pair.

“What the fuck is what?” Roman slowly turned, feeling uneasy as he noticed a pair of glowing red eyes staring through him.

Roman opened his eyes only to roll them. "Yeah yeah yeah, it's about the journey and all that shit. When are we stopping the fucking car? I gotta piss."

"Oh," Peter said, ashamed about how profound he had gotten "There's a gas station in a couple of miles, the tank is getting low anyway."

Roman exited the small gas station restroom to find his companion standing in front of the drink display.

“Welcome back,” Peter said, eyeing a can of cheap beer. “Your fly is down.”

“Shit,” Roman glanced down, zipping his jeans “Why the hell were you looking anyway?”

Peter ignored him, shoving two cans of beer in his jacket.

"The fuck are you doing, man?"

Peter glared at him and nodded his head towards the cashier, who didn't seem to be paying much attention. “Keep your voice down.”

Roman rolled his eyes.

"Man, at least get the good shit." He reached past Peter, grabbing a full case of slightly more expensive beer.

"You have a good fake?" Peter asked, his tone hushed.

Roman smirked, looking at the old man behind the counter, who seemed much more interested in the crossword puzzle from last week's paper. In fact, Roman wasn't sure if he had noticed the boys come in at all. 

“Don’t need one.”

Roman sauntered up to the counter, setting the case of beer down along with a twenty-dollar bill. He gestured towards the cigarette display.

"And a pack of Marlboro Reds and some matches," He paused, chewing his lip "Lots of matches."

The cashier peered over his paper, looking the young Godfrey boy up and down.

"You got some ID for me, son?" he asked the obvious 17-year-old.

Roman glanced toward Peter a moment before going completely stone-faced.

"I don't need an ID, I look old enough."

The cashier furrowed his brow before lowering his paper and speaking slowly

"You don't need an ID, you look old enough." 

Peter turned his head away from the cashier, not wishing to be involved. Instead, he focused on the wall, reading the advertisements and trying not to make eye contact with the taxidermied bear head that marked where the restrooms were.

"You'd be happy to sell me the cigarettes."

The cashier nodded, his eyes completely vacant. He retrieved the pack of cigarettes and placed them on the counter, along with several boxes of matches. His movements were slow and stilted, like a human marionette.

"Your total is-"

Roman interrupted him, tapping the twenty on the counter.

"Twenty will be enough."

The cashier took it, placing it in the cash register.

"Twenty will be enough." He repeated.

Roman pocketed the matches and pack of cigarettes and gestured for Peter to grab the case of beer. Peter hesitantly complied, tucking the case under his arm and heading towards the door.

Roman made eye contact with the cashier once more.

"We were never here." 

Handing the case of beer to Roman to set on the floorboard, Peter climbed into the driver’s seat. "You have got to quit doing that."

"Doing what?" Roman wiped away his nosebleed as he got in the passenger’s seat. He stared at the blood smeared on the back of his hand, admiring the color. "We were never there, remember?"

Peter sighed, starting the car

"Fine, whatever. Just please stop doing the freaky roofie eyes shit. I swear your brain is gonna leak out of your fucking nose." 

Roman turned to look out at the window, his thumb brushing absentmindedly under his nose.

The feeling of loose gravel under the car's tires soothed Peter, it felt like home. The low hum of the heater reminded Peter of being a child and laying in the backseat, eyes closed as his grandfather drove over twisted dirt roads, cutting through thick forests. He could almost feel the warmth of the sun as it dappled through the trees.

Sitting at a stoplight, Peter viewed his surroundings. The sky was a muddled gray dashed with clouds that almost seemed fake. A light fog hung in the air like steam clinging to glass, it was unmistakably Autumn.

Peter thought about his answer to Roman's earlier question. He knew deep in his heart that any good road trip's destination was a feeling, a moment, not a physical place. But what moment was he hoping for? He daydreamed about coming clean and telling Roman the truth, but even in his own fantasy, he didn't know what that truth was. All he knew is that people's dreams aren't connected without good reason.

Roman broke the silence with a sudden yell and a fist to Peter's shoulder.

"Punch buggy green! No punch backs!"

Peter rubbed his shoulder, watching as a green Volkswagen beetle turned down the road beside them.

"Hey, no distracting the driver, car rules." 

Roman flashed his famous shit-eating Godfrey grin.

"You're just mad 'cause I said no punch backs."

Turning his attention back to the road, Peter paused a moment before he spoke.

"What the fuck did you call it just then?"

"Punch buggy?" Roman said, wondering if Peter was a little bit stupid "How the fuck have you been everywhere and not played punch buggy?" 

"Oh, I've played it," Peter rubbed his shoulder again, feeling a bruise starting to form "But it's called fucking slug bug, man."

"Whatever man, who cares?" Roman crossed his arms in the same manner as a pouting toddler. "Slug bug sounds stupid anyway, at least punch buggy makes sense. You see a buggy, you punch."

"Right." Peter shifted in his seat, pulling down the car's sun visor and reaching for the radio knob to fill the silence.

Roman wasn't sure what he had done to cause such a reaction, but Peter's silence made him uneasy. He looked down at his lap, picking at the blisters on his fingers. Between the dried blood on his cuticles and the fresh blood pooling on his fingertips, the smell was intoxicating. It made him feel lightheaded and nauseous and blissful all at once, it was almost arousing.

He let out a shaky breath before stopping himself from picking anymore. He stared at his bloody hands, unsure of what to do with them.

He searched the floorboard for a discarded napkin, wiping the blood away.

"Ah, shit!" His wounds burned as he looked down at the napkin, which had previously been used to wipe away french fry grease, and of course, salt.

Peter looked over at Roman, who was now attempting to shake the salt out of his wounds. “Are you okay? What did you do?”

"I, uh, fuck that burns." Roman nearly put his wounds to his mouth but stopped himself short.

Peter pulled off to the shoulder, getting out of the car. Something about stopping abruptly on the highway made Roman’s stomach flip.

Peter shook his head as he popped the trunk "There's a first aid kit in the back, just stay there and don't touch anything." 

Roman nodded, glancing back down at his hands in shame. He usually didn't let himself get that far. He watched as the blood ran down his hands and onto his wrists, paying close attention to every tear in his flesh and every drop of blood. He deserved it, didn’t he? He was a monster, a monster that fed on helplessness and innocence. He deserved to be in pain.

Roman’s thoughts were interrupted when Peter returned with a small metal box and a plastic water bottle. He opened the passenger's side door and instructed Roman to hold out his hands.

Roman complied, holding out bloody open palms. He avoided eye contact as Peter took them into his own, his touch calloused but gentle.

"I can't take you anywhere," He said, shaking his head "Is that salt?"

Roman winced as Peter poured water onto his wounds.

"Grabbed the wrong napkin, I guess."

Once the blood had been washed away, Peter took a closer look at Roman's hands. Once manicured nails now had shredded cuticles, and the damaged first layer of skin was peeling from Roman's fingertips.

Peter frowned, knowing the wounds were self-inflicted.

"Roman-" He started

Roman pulled his hands away, shaking them dry.

"Quit looking at me like that man, that's gay."

Peter elected to ignore that comment, instead reaching for the small box he had placed on the dashboard.

"Gimme your hands again."

"No," Roman said, holding his hands in his lap "Not if you're going to look at me like that." 

A voice in the back of his head told him that maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"I just need to bandage them, I'll be quick."

Roman complied with a sigh, holding his hands limp in front of him.

Peter held a clean paper napkin to his companion's first two fingers, squeezing tight. He felt Roman's eyes staring him down as he avoided eye contact.

He raised his head to speak, accidentally meeting Roman's gaze. He couldn't help but notice the look in the upir's Godfrey green eyes. Behind the contempt and annoyance, there was a little softness, a look that could almost turn to a smile.

"You're doing it again."

Peter let go of Roman's hand, letting the bloody napkin drop to the ground below and clearing his throat.

"What bandaid do you want?" He asked, rifling through his makeshift first-aid kit. "Looks like we've got rocket ships or Sesame Street."

Roman cocked a brow

"You're joking, right?"

Peter held out the box so that Roman could view it for himself. Inside the box was a pile of loose bandaids, a handful of cotton balls, and single-use syringes tucked away next to vials of something Roman couldn’t quite make out. 

"Space, or whatever you said, just hurry up."

Once bandaged and back on the road, Roman sat with his arms crossed and his head against the window. The cool glass and bumpy roads soothed Roman as he tried to forget the events of that morning.

He could still see the look on that little girl's face, that smile with far too many teeth.

He could still taste her blood in the back of his throat.

Roman stole a glance at Peter, wondering how much his companion knew, whether or not he saw what a monster Roman truly was.

Peter brushed a lock of hair from his face, focused on the road.

Roman couldn't help but stare, his eyes tracing the silhouette of Peter's face. He brushed his thumb across the bandage on his finger, wondering why anyone would ever willingly care for him.

"Remind me to pick up a pack of hair dealies," Peter said, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind his ear. 

"Hair dealies?" Roman asked with a snort. "You're gonna call me out for saying punch buggy and then turn around and call them hair dealies?"

Peter huffed, searching for a rubber band in the center console, but finding nothing. He reached across Roman’s lap to open the glovebox, but was only met with a pile of napkins and a stack of maps.

Roman dug in his pocket, producing the hair tie he had found in the cafe bathroom.

"Here," He said, practically shoving it at Peter. "Hair tie."

Peter looked at it a moment before taking both hands off the wheel to tie up his hair. The car swerved for a moment, but Peter steadied the wheel with his knees.

"Better?" Roman asked, smiling at the sight of Peter in such a glittery accessory.

"It's a little tight, where did you say you got it again?"