It is one in the morning and the wind is dusty-dry as it hurtles past his ears, tangling in his hair at speeds he can still rather easily outrun. Nonetheless, he continues winding down the quiet highway, making his way from San Francisco to Los Angeles in a trip with no real destination other than 'somewhere else.' His ears pick up on the swooning of Ray Charles's cover—"I can't stop loving you…"—whispering through the radio, and he mechanically reaches forward to dial up the volume, his eyes still on the seemingly endless river of asphalt. The music dances out of the speakers and into the whistling air. Frankenstein's foot presses harder on the pedal as he hums along, deep and resonating.
He turns to exit the freeway and pulls his pink Cadillac convertible into the parking lot of one of those warmly lit 24 hour diners welcoming brooding cryptids, ragged souls, and the occasional group of bubbly teenagers out later than they should be in the dead of night. Frankenstein steps out, and unlike the discarded bubblegum on the ground, his car shines gaudily in the light of the moon as he shuts the door behind him with a thud. The 'T' in the red neon sign reading 'Benedict's' flickers. A waitress greets him as he enters, and he takes a seat at the service counter.
The counter as well as the striped booths lining the windows are polished to a shine. The tiled floor, however, can stand to be a bit better, but Frankenstein quickly dismisses his fantasy of mopping it. Elvis is on the candy-red jukebox, his deep, vibrating voice rising and falling throughout the diner: "At Heartbreak Hotel, where I'll be—where I get so lonely, baby…" Against one of the off white walls, next to a mosaic of framed black and white photos of what Frankenstein assumes is the owner's family, is a large pinup poster of a skillfully painted blonde, curls in her hair and her short windblown dress hiked up her thighs. A small, yelping dog is at her feet, and she looks to the viewer with a caricature of surprise on her face, her generous red lips in a perpetual 'O' and her blue eyes wide. He wonders for how long she's been staring so surprised at whatever colorful guests have passed through this establishment on lonely nights such as this, hearing her fair share of secrets, constantly shocked—"Oh, that couldn't be!" she silently exclaims.
Frankenstein barely looks at the menu. "A coffee," he orders. "And a T-bone steak, medium rare."
"With the eggs?"
"Sunny side up, please."
He sips at the coffee, dark and still steaming. The meat is slightly too cooked to be medium rare.
Someone else enters the diner and Frankenstein turns, wondering who else could be looking for a meal at this hour. The man is tall—though not quite as tall as himself—and slim. His black hair is slicked back, and round shades with golden frames lounge vainly on his face, shielding his eyes with their unnecessary and dark iridescence. The ripples of his dark leather jacket harshly catch the light. He takes the seat two away from Frankenstein's left and removes his glasses to hang them on his collar.
Frankenstein forgets he's staring. Oh, that couldn't be.
The man lowers his menu. He meets Frankenstein's eyes. "Am I that interesting?" The corner of his lips is tugged in a smirk, an eyebrow raised.
"Sorry—I just thought...you looked familiar."
"Then maybe I do." His voice rolls like velvet, deep and quiet and with the wondrous quality of immediately evoking an intimacy not easily shared between two strangers, making the space between them smaller. "Where're you from?"
Frankenstein looks back to his food. "Nowhere in particular." He punctures his egg with a fork, and the yoke runs golden. "And you?" he ventures, unsure of his destination.
"Same as you: 'nowhere in particular.'" The waitress briefly interrupts their conversation for his order: simply some hot tea and toast. "So, you have a name, or is it 'nothing in particular?'"
"It's Joseph," the name in Frankenstein's current legal documentation.
The man smiles, languid and charming. "Joseph," he repeats. "I'm Danny."
The tea he had ordered is a mug of hot water with a prepackaged tea bag bought from elsewhere. Frankenstein watches the bag bob up and down in the liquid with the movement of Danny's hand; his delicate wrist peaks out of the jacket. "If you wanted good tea, I could have made you some," Frankenstein says before he finishes his coffee.
Danny takes a sip and then looks at his own mug with an expression that can only be described as the aggressive opposite of enthusiasm. "I might actually have to take you up on that offer." He spreads the artificially sugar-sweet strawberry jam on his toast. Crumbs float to his plate as he bites. "Where're are you headed? Unless, this is your destination?"
Frankenstein shakes his head. "I know as much as you about where I'm going." He chuckles hollowly. "...From nowhere, going nowhere."
"Oh, then you do have the time to make me tea." He tilts his head and glances at Frankenstein's plate. "You done? Because I have your next destination for you now." Danny's smile is one Frankenstein can't find himself tiring of.
Frankenstein quietly pays for both of them and leaves a generous tip of one hundred and twelve percent under his mug.
The hotel front desk tiredly checks them into a room.
"You weren't lying about making good tea." Danny crosses his legs as he sits on the large, cushy bed, bringing the mug closer to his face to breathe in the sweet and flowery aroma. "I'm impressed. I've met a lot of liars, you see."
Frankenstein smirks as he wipes down the kitchenette. "Who's to say I'm not one?"
"Well, you didn't lie about this, so you're basically a saint in my books." He leans back, supporting himself on an arm as he drinks. "With all of this caffeine, we're not planning on sleeping any time soon, are we?"
Frankenstein shrugs. "It's up to you."
Danny reaches over to place the cup on the bedside table. He draws a smile, unadulterated seduction.
His jacket is on the floor and Frankenstein's soon joins it.
Frankenstein stares for a long moment at that sleeping face before carefully shifting out of the bed. He quickly showers—a pathetic attempt at washing his guilt down the drain—and dresses himself once again. He packs the tea materials back into his suitcase. The door clicks as he opens it.
"So you're just going to leave after you're done fucking me? Real classy. And terribly lonely, don't you think?"
Frankenstein turns around to see Danny sitting and looking at him from the dark. The way his eyes catch the commercial lights outside their cold window almost make them look red, and for a heart stuttering second, Frankenstein aches that they were. "Would there be anything else you need?" Frankenstein asks, as if this night is nothing more than a bored transaction to be forgotten about within the next few hours.
"Don't act like you actually have anywhere important to be to rush off like that." Danny hops off the bed and stands nude before him, arms crossed. Frankenstein can make out the jut of his hips. There are still pink blossoms on his neck and chest and slick trailing down his thighs. His smile is challenging and shameless as if Frankenstein is an old and terribly intimate rival of his, like a well worn sweater that has already known him and his body for years and years. "Wherever you're going, take me with you. I don't care where, just somewhere else." His voice is electric, pressing forward to dare Frankenstein to refuse him.
"Why?" Frankenstein asks simply.
"It seems like a bit of fun, and I like you," he says like it should be self explanatory, punctuating it with a cheery grin that seems to encapsulate an entire night of optimism—that twinkles like the very stars, promising something beyond the mundane if only Frankenstein agrees.
Against his better judgment, he does.
Rock and roll is blasting on the radio, dampened only by the rush of the wind. Sunlight glints off his glasses, and Danny wears it like diamonds as he leans his head back to catch the warmth on his face. "Hey, let's stop by a store. I should pick up some stuff. I didn't bring anything with me."
"Clearly." Frankenstein gives him an exasperated smile.
The shopping center bustles with activity, people pushing carts and carrying more bags than they ought to. Appliances and clothing and food, a colorful caravansary of needs and wants as well as the unnecessary. Parents lead children who are always wanting more and more. Frankenstein does not know if he is capable of ever having kids or even wanting to have them. He stands waiting outside of a department store, its colossal, gaudy lettering above him in competition against the numerous other establishments for the attention of their precious customers.
"Alright, done." Danny taps him on the shoulder, and Frankenstein turns. The man is smiling as he usually does. "And I have an idea about where we should go next."
"And where is that?"
"The beach!" He rummages in his large paper bag before pulling out a pair of bright blue swim shorts. "If we're going to be in SoCal, then we have to go to the beach. Look, I even bought these for you."
"You...really didn't have to." Nonetheless, Frankenstein lets Danny hand him the shorts. "Thank you."
The sand is warm between his toes and Frankenstein sighs at the thought of getting all that grit and salt into his hair and everywhere else. The sunscreen his partner in crime insisted on lathering all over Frankenstein with his own hands makes him feel sticky and oiled, ready to be roasted in the heat, the sand becoming his golden crust as the other beach goers carelessly splash about and futilely attempt to build sand structures. The bright swimsuits dotting the water and the shore are kaleidoscopic in their activity, men, women, and children flashing their multitude of colors and patterns from the golden to the jewel as they soak and sink in leisure. Two children next to him get into a quarrel about who wrecked whom's sand moat, and Frankenstein decides to stand and leave the shade of the umbrella before they can start kicking sand at each other and consequently, him.
He watches Danny, dark hair swaying and swirling in the water, face upturned to the deeply blue sky. Frankenstein's eyes roll over his face and body as the gentle waves do. He can't help but feel at least a little sad.
"Finally, are you ready to enjoy yourself now?" Danny rolls forward from floating on his back and propels himself towards Frankenstein until the water is waist height. He then settles for inefficiently dragging his body by attempting to walk through the water until he reaches the shore.
"It's lunch time," Frankenstein says.
"So you want to leave? You didn't even swim."
Frankenstein crosses his arms and looks around in the distance. "I'm hungry," is his flat excuse.
Frankenstein treats them both to expensive Korean cuisine before they're off again, the pretty pink automobile purring down the road to nowhere and simultaneously everywhere, experiencing mundane wonders. He wonders for how long the day will go on, but soon enough finds them once again at a hotel late into the evening. He wonders if when they wake up in the morning, they'll do the whole thing over again. He wonders if his master would mind very much if they do.
Danny wraps his arms around him and sighs a name that isn't his, not really. Frankenstein wonders what it would be like if he were to say his real name; he can imagine it; it is on the edge of his fanciful hearing: each breathy syllable like catharsis through his sacred veins.
He brings a hand, caressing through Danny's hair, then his cheek, to cover his mouth. He holds him silent firmly and shushes him gently. "Be quiet for a moment. Just let me watch you," Frankenstein says.
It is empty next to him on the bed. Frankenstein pulls the sheets a little higher to cover himself. There are hushed secrets outside his humble hotel door.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I know what I'm doing. Just give me a little time. This stuff...it's harmless."
"'Harmless' doesn't cut it."
"Just—I'll talk to you later; this isn't a great time or place."
The door clicks open quietly, followed by muted footsteps on the carpet. The bed dips and creaks with the weight of another once again. "Hey Joseph," Danny whispers near his ear. "Tomorrow? Disneyland."
"Disneyland," Frankenstein promises.