He likes to drive sometimes.
Elbow up on the door panel, aviators on, wind blowing in his hair. Makes him feel like he's in a film, and at times he wishes his car had a radio. But, he supposes, it's pretty cool by itself. A bit unusual, not something you're used to seeing around here—it's not your typical Porsche or Audi, but it's got class.
He's not very typical, anyway, and he thinks a man's car ought to fit him. It's so obvious when it doesn't, like wearing an unfitted suit with the tag still attached, proclaiming to all, This doesn't belong to me. Or, worse, I don't belong to this.
Driving's pretty mindless. It requires enough attention that his mind doesn't have to run a million miles an hour to make up for the boredom of sitting around doing nothing, but not so much attention that it becomes taxing. There's a lotta things he doesn't like to think about when he's sitting around, so it's better if he's doing something.
And like he said—it's a nice car. It'd be a shame to keep it hidden in the back of Mr. Miyagi's house all the time. It's the kind of car that should be appreciated, or otherwise, does he really deserve it?
It's on one of these drives that he's coming over a hill and spots a red Avanti pulled off to the side of the road in front of an open field. It's the type of car that could only fit one person in the entire Valley.
He just happens to know it belongs to Johnny Lawrence.
There's a thousand reasons he should ignore it, not least of which because it's getting pretty late—almost 9 o'clock—and he's got an early shift at the shop tomorrow morning.
He pulls over.
In the rear view mirror, he can see his hair is a little wild, and so for reasons he tries not to examine too closely, he runs his fingers through it in an ultimately fruitless attempt to tame it. Ah, well.
He doesn't see Johnny right away, which he tells himself is part of the reason he pulled over at all—what if he'd been in trouble? Daniel likes to think of himself as a good samaritan, looking out for his fellow Valley residents. Creating good karma, and all'a that.
He gets out of his car and rounds the Avanti, and sort of has to pull up short, because…
It's a bit of a contrast in Daniel's mind, the familiar versus the unfamiliar. Familiar: (pretty) blond locks illuminated by the moonlight, almost white in its brilliance, and headphones securely fastened over ears. Unfamiliar: black leather jacket, notebook in hand, pencil behind ear, eye pressed to… telescope?
It occurs to Daniel that there's a lot he doesn't know about Johnny Lawrence.
This is just one of those things.
It's the kind of realization that's enough to get him to back off, turn around. Get back in his car, Johnny none the wiser.
Because it also occurs to him that there are just some things he doesn't want to know.
— — —
Daniel is out driving the following night, and he doesn't have a destination in mind nor is he following a set path. It's purely chance that he drives over the same hill he had last night at roughly 9 o'clock. Really.
Again, he spots the Avanti.
His fists clench around the steering wheel. What the hell is he doing out here? is, somehow, a very dangerous thought. Something about cats and curiosity, and it was enough to have him running for the hills last night, but now he's back, struggling to pretend it was all an accident.
Who's he tryna kid, anyway? He's never in his life run from danger, would probably be a lot happier if he did, but hey, if psychotic billionaires in the business of making the lives of All Valley champions from Jersey a living hell weren't enough to end a guy's worst habits, well…
Anyway, Daniel is fine. Maybe not happy, per se, but nobody's happy every day of their life. It's a process, something to work towards, and that's what he's doing. At least that's what he tells his ma and Mr. Miyagi he's doing, and he thinks sometimes he even believes it, so.
He pulls over.
This time Johnny's headphones are around his neck, and his pencil's in his hand, and a tiny flashlight is clasped between his teeth, which makes for a very interesting image that Daniel couldn't walk away from even if he tried, although he never would've had the chance because—
"What do you want."
Johnny looks up and stares at him, his fingers snatching the flashlight out from between his teeth. Daniel's a little caught off guard, because this isn't how the scene had played out in his head when he specifically hadn't thought about it all day, not wondering about what would have happened if he hadn't run away last night.
How Johnny would be lost in his little world of stars and music, and then—surprise, asshole, betcha never thought you'd see me again. Like being caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar, except the cookie jar's a nerdy hobby that guys like Johnny used to ridicule other guys for having in high school.
But Johnny is looking at him like Daniel's the one who's gone off script. Can you believe this guy?
"What are you doing?" Daniel says instead of answering the question, except—damn it—that kind of does answer the question, and also kind of reveals way more than Daniel was prepared to give. Johnny smirks at him like he knows it too—what a douchebag—but at least he doesn't ask, Why do you care?, because Daniel would be forced to answer that he doesn't, what could give him such a ridiculous idea, and they'd both stare at each other as the million dollar question hung almost fucking palpable between them—
Then why are you here?
And Daniel really wouldn't have had an answer for that, now would he?
Anyway, if Johnny thinks he's doing Daniel a favor by asking—"What's it look like?"—well… he is, and they both know it, but hell will freeze over before Daniel ever acknowledges it.
Daniel stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and saunters forward—c'mon, that was practically an invitation, what're you glaring at me like that for, you ever get headaches frowning so hard all the time?—and drawls, "I'm surprised you know how to use one of those." And he nods to the telescope behind Johnny, which appears to be the exact same one from the night before, sitting casually on its mount like its very existence isn't messing with Daniel's head.
Johnny just scoffs and rolls his eyes, which is kinda disappointing because even though Daniel's not necessarily itching for a fight, his entire world might actually be liable to complete alteration if he's not even able to get a rise out of Johnny Lawrence anymore.
He's not sure he'd survive that kind of evolution.
Johnny seems largely unaware of Daniel's internal crisis as he turns back around, leaning down to look through the telescope's eyepiece.
"If I let you stay, will you promise to shut up?"
If he lets him? The audacity of this guy, like he owns the whole damn field or somethin'.
Daniel has to physically bite his lip to stop from sniping back at him. He wanders closer and pushes up on his toes to see over Johnny's hunched shoulder.
Dear God, there are actual numbers and charts and drawings on the page of his open notebook. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Johnny Lawrence?"
Johnny jerks his head back and twists to look at him. "What?" At last he sounds a little defensive, hints of real annoyance coloring his tone. It's a little like music to Daniel's ears.
"What is that?" Daniel points to a drawing on the page that could be a rectangle if Johnny had drawn it while he was drunk, two arbitrary lines sticking out the bottom of it.
"It's the Gemini constellation," he says, like it should be obvious, like Daniel's an idiot for not recognizing the star patterns he looks up to see every night, or would see if he ever bothered to actually look up at all, or if he didn't live in an area full of light pollution.
Daniel can see the amount of effort it would take to tell Johnny all of this just to defend himself against an accusation that is, at best, alleged, and exhausts himself just thinking about it. So he decides to be magnanimous and let it go. "Why do you have drawings of the Gemini constellation?"
"I'm tracking it."
"Tracking it?" Christ, it's like pulling teeth.
"Yeah, stars move, dipshit."
That's not what he meant, and Johnny knows that's not what he meant—he's sure of it—but he can't very well accuse him of it. Well, he could, but they both know who's intruding on who here, and Daniel wouldn't even be able to say he didn't deserve the punch in the face he got after Johnny demanded he leave him alone and Daniel… well, didn't.
(And Daniel does know that stars move, thank you very much, or at least he would've figured as much if he'd ever stopped to think about it, which he never had.)
Daniel sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, breathing like Mr. Miyagi taught him to do when he's upset—and he isn't so much upset as he is riled, like he always gets when he's treated to Johnny Lawrence's particular brand of antagonism, but whatever works.
When his mild irritation doesn't feel like it's about to boil over into full-blown indignation, Daniel clarifies. "Why are you tracking it?"
And, surprisingly, Johnny's face suddenly blanks, but it's only for a second before his eyes begin to darken and, oh, oh shit, land mine, Daniel thinks, abort, abort!
"Listen, man—"
"Fuck off, LaRusso."
Perhaps the most unexpected thing about this night is that Daniel does.
— — —
Daniel means to go back the next night. So he put his foot in his mouth… it's not the first time, and he's no quitter. He'd bet Johnny is even expecting him. Daniel LaRusso… couldn't leave well enough alone.
But somehow he gets roped into cooking dinner for his ma, and then they're talking and she's laughing and he sorta loses track of time.
She pulls out the cards and the brandy, and they play gin while listening to Helen Reddy on vinyl.
When he's laying in bed at almost midnight, he wonders if Johnny's still out there, or if he had even gone out to the field at all.
He wonders if he's found what he's looking for, but that might just be the brandy. He's feeling a little tipsy.
Eventually, Daniel falls asleep.
— — —
He's on the road the next night and coming over the hill that is way out of the way of Mr. Miyagi's place, but he's kinda stopped pretending that he has any other reason to be here at this point, so it's mostly ceased to matter.
Daniel's reminded of the magnets he used to play with as a kid, when practically anything could grab his attention and everything about the entire world was fascinating. It'd amused him, taking them apart and then having them snap back together. He'd liked to carefully, ever so slowly bring them together, fighting just enough against their natural attraction so that he didn't lose control over them, but it was always more fun to watch them collide of their own compulsion.
There's not any fanfare getting out of the car or walking over to Johnny, and it's almost like he does this all the time. Maybe he could.
He says, "You come out here every night?"
Johnny doesn't say anything for a moment, but it's not because he's surprised by Daniel's sudden presence or that he's even particularly focused on his task. Daniel steps closer to where he's adjusting his telescope. There's a furrow between his brows, but his hands move easily, like whatever they're doing they've done a hundred times before, so Daniel has an unlikely suspicion that Johnny might just be thinking about what he's gonna say. And wouldn't that be a first.
"Most nights," Johnny finally replies, ever long-winded.
Daniel has the absurd urge to both sigh and smile, and he does neither because self-restraint is a thing he knows and also a thing he practices.
Again, he wants to ask why, but perhaps he'll wait to launch that grenade until they've inevitably pissed each other off and it won't matter pouring a little more fuel on the fire. For now he finds he wants to sit back and watch. Johnny's wearing that leather jacket again, and it pulls tight over his shoulders as he hunches over the telescope, his fringe still long enough to fall in his face although it isn't quite as long as it had been a year ago.
His hands are big, his fingers long and capable, all of which he'd already known—having been up close and personal with them many a time, mostly in unfortunate circumstances that usually led to a lot of pain on Daniel's end—but there's something a little enthralling about them when they're not clenched into fists.
"Why do you even have a telescope?"
"My mom bought it for my twelfth birthday."
Daniel waits for him to elaborate, but Johnny seems content speaking only the bare minimum. "Lame," he mutters, and he tries to mean it sarcastically, but Johnny just hums in genuine agreement.
"It really was. I wanted an Atari."
Daniel never would've even thought to ask for an Atari for his own twelfth birthday. This he doesn't say.
"So." Daniel really tries to draw out the word, make it as obnoxious as he can. "Telescopes are hip now? Must'a missed that memo."
"Eat me, LaRusso."
Daniel huffs a laugh and lets himself drop, getting comfortable on the grass. It's a bit of a novelty, this, when before if they'd spent this long in each other's company someone probably would have been bleeding by now.
… It's kinda nice.
"They're alright," Johnny surprises Daniel by continuing. "Space is cool. Y'know, if it doesn't wig you out that if you're out there without a suit, you'll blow up like a balloon, freeze, and be dead in a couple minutes because all your organs shut down."
Daniel blinks and bites his lip. "Yeah. Neat."
Johnny laughs. And it isn't just a quick chuckle or a typical schoolyard-bully cackle, but an actual laugh. His shoulders are even shaking.
Daniel stares, shocked and pleased and kinda wanting to memorialize this moment because who'd've ever thought there would come a day when Daniel LaRusso made Johnny Lawrence laugh and it wasn't because of something really embarrassing he did or said?
Something tight in the line of his shoulders relaxes for the first time in what must be at least a year. He breathes like there's nothing blocking his diaphragm, lives in this weird, delightful moment like there's nothing dark and terrifying hanging over his head, and lets Johnny tell him all the dumb, pointless facts he knows about space because he likes how his babbling steadily speeds up, how sometimes he doesn't even finish a thought before his brain has jumped to the next thing. It's the most he's ever heard him say at once.
"Alright, Galileo," Daniel cuts in once Johnny's circled back to the ice volcanoes on Jupiter or whatever that he finds so fascinating. And Daniel gets why that might be interesting to a space nerd like Johnny apparently is—and that's never not gonna throw him off, at least a little, and if the other little Cobras don't know about Johnny's new leisurely pastime when he's not kicking innocent Jersey boys around the town, he would sincerely like to be there when they find out—but he is, personally, much more fascinated by the way the tips of Johnny's ears pink when he gets embarrassed, totally conspicuous now thanks to the light of the full moon. "You never did tell me… Why Gemini?"
Johnny was born in August. Sometimes Ali's girlfriends would talk about the killer parties Johnny would throw for his birthday. This is the only reason he knows this.
The crickets fill the silence with their maddening chirps for a few seconds, and Daniel gets to use this time to have a minor freakout about Johnny's potential freakout. There might even be a dawning realization in the deep, deep recesses of his brain that he's poked and prodded so many bears it's nothing short of a miracle he hasn't had his face mauled off, and why doesn't he ever learn?
But that's a lesson he'll soon forget again, because Johnny turns to him now and says, "My mom was born in June." His blue eyes flick up and briefly capture Daniel's—there's really nothing quite as thrilling as being caught in that gaze, he'd never appreciated that as much as he should've—before he looks away again. "She's sick."
And there's so much he doesn't know about Johnny Lawrence. This is another one of those things. Somehow, it tells him so much about the Johnny he'd never gotten to know in high school, and also turns him into an incomprehensible puzzle that he isn't confident he'll ever truly understand.
When he leaves the field that night, he sort of feels like a magnet fighting to pull away from its natural collision course. Strange that he doesn't feel in control at all.
— — —
His daily routine is thoroughly—almost underwhelmingly—unchanged. He still works his shifts at the shop every Monday through Friday. Still has dinner every night with his ma or Mr. Miyagi. Practices his katas every morning as soon as he wakes up. Dedicates hours to training.
Now, though, his nights become a bit more habitual too. Most nights he drives out to the open field where Johnny Lawrence has set up his telescope and just… sits with him. Talks to him. Or at him, really, because Johnny is a man of few words unless he's explaining, in considerable and impressive and entirely gross detail, the seemingly infinite ways a human can die in outer space.
And, okay, it's… nice, maybe. Or it's something, anyway, something different from the previous months when he'd spent the hours after the sun had set driving aimlessly, or drinking a little too much of his mom's red wine, or always kept a pair of chopsticks handy in case he spotted a fly. And maybe Mr. Miyagi was right about that beginner's luck thing, because he hasn't had any such luck—or any kind of luck at all—since.
It's Monday, and it's a globally accepted reality that Mondays are always shit, so he doesn't even feel too ashamed for swiping the single bottle of Jim Beam from the cabinet that has probably been there since they moved in.
When he gets into the car, his shoulders are unusually tense. His palms leave spotty marks of sweat on the steering wheel, and he has to actively convince himself of what a terrible idea it would probably be to open that bottle while driving. All that really takes though is imagining the look of disappointment on Mr. Miyagi's face after Daniel accidentally wraps his precious Ford around a light pole.
And he's not nervous, alright. He hasn't been genuinely intimidated by Johnny Lawrence since he stared into those stormy blue eyes while hopping up and down on his one still functioning leg and proceeded to kick him in the face.
And anyway, high school bullies really aren't such a big deal when you're out in the real world getting your ass kicked by, like, four different psychopaths hell-bent on your destruction. And maybe that's just how the real world works, how should he know. Maybe he should get used to it.
Daniel pulls into his established spot on the side of the road, and he must be a little early because Johnny isn't here yet. Every time this happens, his heartbeat spikes uncomfortably and irrationally, because what if Johnny stands him up? Leaves him sitting on the side of the road like a jackass for a few hours—a vague approximation. Daniel really doesn't want to know how long, to the second, he'd be willing to wait for him—until he finally accepts that he's been duped.
Nevermind that this is technically Johnny's territory—Jeez, alright, Johnny, so you were here first, doesn't mean you own the place—and Daniel only occasionally and temporarily shares the space. Maybe it's not his space as much as it is Johnny's, but maybe it could be. Maybe he wants it to be.
He grimaces, grabs the bottle of whiskey, and unscrews the cap, swallowing down a sizable gulp as if it'll expunge the thought. It certainly helps as Daniel spends the next few moments struggling to breathe properly after taking the bottle away from his lips, chest heaving and coughs sputtering from his lips. Jesus, that's kinda strong, huh.
He throws open his door and stumbles out with little grace, as if he's already had one over the eight. He ambles out into the field, stopping where he thinks Johnny might normally set up his telescope, thinking—How the hell does he know where exactly he always places it?
There's a bit of a breeze in the air tonight, not enough to chill him, but he still shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and lets his head drop back to stare up into the yawning mass of darkness and shadow littered with a thousand tiny pinpricks of light. Tries to see what Johnny always sees there.
He remembers a night back in Jersey at least a few months after his dad had died. His ma had been getting rid of the old chair he'd always used to sit in, the big, soft green one that rocked, felt like it could swallow eight-year-old Daniel whole. It's too old, his ma had said. And, yeah, that was probably true—the rich green fabric was starting to turn a little brown, and it'd had one too many loose parts, had squeaked infernally every time it rocked.
They'd set it out on the curb, and Daniel had stayed out while his ma had gone back inside. He'd sat down, brought his legs up and curled into the chair for the last time. Had looked up into the night sky and strained his eyes to spot the stars through the smog. He remembers the feeling that can only be enkindled while gawking at something so much bigger than oneself, something magnificent and unthinkably possible, how it'd swelled inside his chest, into his throat. Remembers how hopeful and desperate it had been—how curious, how awed.
How painful.
Does Johnny feel that, too? Not every time, surely. Sensation fades. Your favorite song doesn't elicit the same burning passion the hundredth time you've listened to it.
It could be hours or mere seconds later that the Avanti pulls up in front of the Ford. Something tight inside his chest eases.
Johnny steps out and seems to notice the bottle of whiskey dangling from Daniel's fingertips first. His eyebrows shoot up. "Rough day?"
Daniel shrugs noncommittally. "Somethin' like that."
He lets Johnny set up, doesn't ask if he can help—has learned by now that no one but Johnny touches his telescope. He trudges back to his car, leans over into the passenger's side without opening the door, and opens the glove compartment. Roots around until he finds what he's looking for.
Might as well get it over with now.
He stuffs the gift into his pocket so that the front of his hoodie is bulging outwards and waits for Johnny to finish setting up before he strides over. Hesitates, then offers up the bottle of whiskey first.
If Daniel's acting weird, Johnny doesn't seem to take notice. He takes the bottle and nods his thanks, turning away before Daniel can work up the courage to say anything else.
Daniel clears his throat— "Johnny."
"Huh?" Johnny doesn't turn to look at him as he throws back an impressive swig of the whiskey.
Daniel rolls his eyes, nerves converting to a more familiar irritation. He thrusts the gift at Johnny unceremoniously, knocking it into his elbow. Hopes it smarts a little.
"I brought you this. It's an astro… somethin'."
Johnny was already spinning around at the physical contact, lips twisted into a scowl. But then the lines of his face reshape into something a little less displeased and a little more confused when he sees what Daniel's shoved at him.
"Astrolabe?"
Daniel nods. "Right. It belonged to my dad, and seeing as he's not using it, I thought you might like it."
Johnny accepts the astrolabe, but his expression doesn't smooth out into anything less bewildered. "Why's he not using it?"
"Well, ah, you know… turns out trinkets and toys and shit are kinda useless when you're dead."
Daniel watches in detached amusement as Johnny almost drops the astrolabe, sees the moment as if in slow motion when his fingers slip across the thing and almost lose their grip entirely. He says, "Shit, LaRusso, I…"
The words are on the tip of his tongue—Daniel can always tell with this sort of thing. I didn't know… I'm sorry.
Johnny doesn't say them.
Daniel's unaccountably grateful.
"I can't take this," he says instead, already pushing the astrolabe back at Daniel. His eyes are a little wide, his movements a little frantic. Daniel thinks about what it would be like to map him as pain-stakingly as Johnny maps the midnight sky.
He doesn't take the gift back, has to step away before Johnny's pressing outright knocks him over. "No, c'mon, man, I want you to have it. You'll appreciate it way more than I will." He locks eyes with Johnny, because they've always been able to communicate best through eye contact. "Please. Keep it."
It works. Johnny seems to understand—or if he doesn't, at least he's stopped arguing. He lifts the astrolabe, running his fingers over its surface, so gentle you'd think he was handling a thousand year old artefact.
It would be enough for Daniel that he doesn't refuse it, content him in a way he hasn't felt all day. Longer, probably. But then Johnny utters a quick, thanks, and Daniel's heart lifts a little.
— — —
March turns into April, which passes in a blur of days running together. Daniel finds he demarcates his days by his nights, by his memories of Johnny. By something he said or something he did. By the nights he does not see him.
By the way Johnny will sometimes lean up against him while they're sitting cross-legged on the grass, staring up into the starry sky, their knees brushing up against one another. The first time Johnny does it, it's all Daniel can think about for the rest of the night. He knows it was a Tuesday because he was so distracted by his thoughts that he'd forgotten to set his alarm when he finally got home. He was late to work the next morning, and had apparently, he would learn later, missed a very important phone call.
Today's Thursday. Daniel always knows when it's Thursday because it's the only night of the week he's guaranteed not to see Johnny. Daniel has never asked why Johnny does not go out to the field on Thursday, already feeling clingy about the other six nights of the week.
But tonight is special. Johnny asked him to be there tonight.
The thing is, Johnny never asks for him. Daniel's presence is always assumed. Always expected. He's there because Johnny has not explicitly told him he cannot be. And that's always been just fine, that's always been enough for Daniel.
But.
Tonight, Johnny wants him. Which sounds a little weird—intimate—inside his head, and he's definitely putting way more thought into this than Johnny ever meant him to, probably, but somehow he's still giddy. All day his attention has been diverted between what he should be doing and what he wants to be doing—and what he always wants to do is spend time with Johnny. All to say it's a bit of a problem when it comes to the efficiency of his labor, but whatever.
His distracted state doesn't lessen any as the sky turns indigo and then navy, and Johnny told him to get some sleep before meeting him at 2 a.m., but that's impossible. An excited thrill has ignited his blood, awakened his brain like a shot of pure caffeine, and he couldn't find the will to slumber even if he tried. Not that he does. Try, that is.
Daniel leaves the house earlier than he really needs to to make it to the field by 2, but he can't sit still any longer. He kind of feels like he's about to explode, and he doesn't know why. He tries not to wonder if Johnny is feeling anything close to this level of anticipation and, predictably, fails.
It's not any kind of surprise, really, that he forgets to bring his hoodie and only realizes it once he's parked in front of the field. There's always the option of going back home to grab it, but that would be a waste of gas. Besides, Johnny could arrive at any minute.
The night is so still and silent that he can hear the soft purr of an engine rumbling just beyond the hill. His heart picks up rhythm from its steady, thump...thump...thump. It starts to echo in his ears, louder and louder, until—
He sees the headlights first, immediately familiar. The red Avanti rolls smoothly over the hill, the sight of it having a calming effect on his heart.
When Johnny gets out to join him on the grass, he's carrying a rolled up blanket under his arm.
Daniel stares at it, and asks, "What's that for?"
And Johnny just shrugs and says, "We might be here a while."
Maybe it's not quite the response he was looking—hoping—for, if indeed he was hoping for anything in particular, but he's not disappointed. A while could mean anything. It had that promising ring of possibility.
He doesn't ask, Why?, because he doesn't want to sound reluctant. Like he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't know how to explain in words this feeling inside of him, this certainty that knows there is nowhere else he'd rather be.
Daniel lazes back on the blanket after Johnny has laid it out on the ground, watching Johnny set up his telescope. It is the same routine as always—he's seen Johnny do this so many times, he could probably do it himself without any instruction if Johnny ever asked it of him.
And when Johnny finishes, to Daniel's surprise, he turns on his heel and ambles over to the blanket, collapsing beside Daniel and pulling his knees up, wrapping his arms around them with one wrist clasped loosely in his other hand. He starts to jiggle his right foot slowly.
"What, you're not gonna look?" Daniel asks after a moment where Johnny doesn't say anything. He's just staring blindly out into the darkness, and Daniel couldn't guess for a million dollars what he's thinking.
"Not yet."
"Whaddya mean 'not yet'?"
Johnny lazily rolls his head around so he can meet Daniel's gaze. "You know what tonight is, LaRusso?"
Daniel squints at him, like maybe that'll help him understand Johnny better, but all it really does is narrow his field of vision. "No."
And then the craziest thing happens. Johnny's lips blossom into a beatific grin, and Daniel's hit by the brightness of it like it's something physical. "Well, guess you've got a surprise in store, huh?"
Daniel has to take a moment to wet his lips, swallow some saliva to coat his suddenly dry throat. And still, he has to clear it before he can ask, "You're not gonna tell me?"
Johnny rolls his eyes and turns away, and it feels like Daniel's lost something. "Relax, man. You'll like this, I promise."
He still doesn't know what 'this' is, but he's not feeling particularly inclined to question Johnny. Trusting him is stupid and easy, and it's a lot like how he's made many decisions in the past but also not at all the same.
Of course, he eventually ends up regretting not bringing his hoodie as the minutes tick by and the temperature drops. Or at least becomes more evident now that Daniel's fervor has died down a bit. He locks his shoulders, tenses his arms, but Johnny still notices when he begins to shiver.
He snorts. "I thought you Jersey guys could handle the cold. It's barely sixty-eight."
"Shut up, I can handle cold just fine," Daniel snaps back, and he doesn't ask how Johnny could possibly know what the temperature is because it's too beside the point. He folds his arms around his torso and pretends not to think of it as defeat.
"Christ, LaRusso, here," Johnny says after another long minute of cold and silence, shrugging out of the black leather jacket he's always wearing. "If I knew a little bit of cold was enough to get you to shut up I'd have tossed you in a freezer a long time ago."
Daniel unjustly does not get the chance to rebuke this because he's too busy protesting the jacket being offered to him—"No, I don't need your stupid jacket. I said I don't— "
His words cut off as his brain short-circuits, the strong scent of Johnny abruptly infiltrating his nostrils. Rich, smoky, with a hint of mint. Daniel's mouth falls open, like he might be able to taste it. The jacket envelops him, warm and too big and intoxicating. He has to stop himself before he can bury his nose in the collar.
"There. Better?" Johnny asks, pulling away. A smug little smile sits on his lips.
It's all Daniel can do to feign a glare.
He keeps the jacket.
Later, his only excuse for missing it when Johnny finally nudges him to get his attention is that he's not used to staring up at the sky when he's out here. Space doesn't interest him like other things do.
But Johnny's hand on his arm is unmistakable, and he effortlessly follows the direction he's pointing. His breath hitches.
"Holy shit," he breathes, because the view is striking. The normally white full moon is now a ruddy-brown, bordering on red.
"It's the blood moon," Johnny says quietly, startling Daniel into turning towards him. "A total lunar eclipse. C'mon, take a look."
And he fluidly pushes to his feet and leads Daniel over to his telescope, adjusting it as he explains how the moon falls into the earth's shadow. Daniel thinks he already knows this, like a half-remembered lesson from elementary school, but it's so much more interesting when Johnny's the one teaching it.
He isn't quite prepared for Johnny's palm on the small of his back, coaxing him closer to the telescope. He has never let Daniel use it before.
But Johnny entreats him, "Look."
So Daniel does. This close, the moon is ever more staggering, like a glowing garnet. It is the only thing he can see.
Behind him, Johnny begins to speak.
"There are people in Africa," he says, "who have a legend about the total lunar eclipse."
They say it happens when the sun and the moon are fighting and believe it is their duty to encourage them to resolve their conflict. They take it as a sign themselves to stop fighting. To lay old feuds to rest.
Daniel blinks, a thousand different thoughts swirling through his mind and quieting all at once. He turns around.
Johnny is right there, his face only inches from Daniel's. He stares back intently, an apology shining in his eyes as clearly as if he had verbalized it. It leaves Daniel even more breathless than the bloody moon.
Johnny doesn't ask for forgiveness, but he does ask—"Can I kiss you?"—and to Daniel's ears, it sounds like almost the same thing.
He can't give a proper response, already surging forward, hand coming up to wrap—tremulous—around the back of Johnny's neck, his fingers burying into the soft, short hair at the nape, tugging forward, closer.
Daniel kisses him. And he doesn't know what stardust is supposed to taste like, or how it would feel to bask in the light of a comet. He has know idea what it would be like to be caught in the blast of a supernova, but.
But he kinda likes to imagine that it's something—maybe—just a little bit like this.