Levi is counting the mile markers to distract himself, wondering how much distance he and Gideon can put between their history to make it disappear. Levi doesn't think he'll ever forget what they were, once, but he knows they can't be that again. When he told Gideon this, Gideon started crying.

     Levi hates when Gideon cries. Because it's hard to hate the boy he loves when he's crying.

     He takes the blame for that, for loving him in this way. For forging those feelings between them. Takes the blame for the nights he felt so empty, he couldn't help but fill his voids with Gideon. Levi always took first and thought about the consequences when it was entirely too late. He never really asked permission. He knows now he didn't need to, that Gideon would always give in to him.

     He regrets his choices, but that's the thing about regret: it doesn't erase the mistakes, it only emphasizes them.

     Levi glances at Gideon, whose gaze is on the road. His hand props his head up as it rests on the open window, the breeze blowing his dark hair upwards. He looks like he's been electrocuted. The sun's setting, casting shadows across Gideon's face that aren't normally there. He's beautiful, and Levi hates himself for thinking so.

     "You're looking at me," Gideon says, his eyes darting in Levi's direction before returning to the road.

     "I'm just looking. Not looking at you, specifically," Levi responds hastily.

     Levi had tried to make him understand, even though he didn't really understand himself. They couldn't keep going the way they were, not without getting caught, not without putting everything else in jeopardy. Just because they couldn't be together the way Gideon wanted didn't mean they couldn't be friends, still. 

     So Levi called it quits, told Gideon that there wasn't an us, and then he refused to talk about that night, about any of the nights. But Gideon kept pushing, cornering Levi on too many occasions. He had come over tonight, caught Levi just as he was getting home from work. What started off casually, quickly turned heated and they had it out on the front lawn before Levi's mom told them to stop giving the neighbor's a spectacle.

     Gideon apologized. He was always a kiss-ass when it came to Levi's parents, and then he suggested they talk in his car. Stupidly, Levi thought that'd be a good idea.

     Levi didn't want to talk to Gideon about any of it. He had a hard time keeping the night in question out of his head as it stood. But he got into Gideon's truck thinking they would finally put this whole thing to rest. He was tired. Tired of fighting with Gideon, tired of being mad at him. His resolve was wavering and he just wanted his friend back.

     "You need to let this thing go. We're best friends. And that's not going to change. I don't want it to change. We can forget about everything else, pretend it never happened or whatever, and go back to the way things were before," Levi had said. He thought this sounded reasonable.

     But Gideon flipped the fuck out, turning the ignition so hard that it stalled momentarily before it kicked in. He had the thing thrown into gear before Levi could register he was being driven off with.

     "Pretend it never happened," Gideon had repeated back to him, his tone, somehow, more than angry. Offended, maybe, suited it better. "You're un-fucking-believable, you know that? I mean, I know you're balls deep in denial but can you really just forget everything that happened? That we did? Just like that? Because the taste of you burns my throat everytime I swallow, Levi."

     Levi hadn't responded, clenching down on his jaw sourly so he wouldn't, didn't, say something he would regret. He was mad Gideon was even mentioning it, mad that just by saying those few words he was filled with a heat that simmered low in his stomach. He wanted to tear Gideon apart, in all the best and worst ways. And he hated it.

     It wasn't until Gideon had hopped on the highway that Levi realized he had no idea where they were headed. They'd always joked about taking off into the night, driving somewhere undiscovered, discovering it together themselves. But that was back when things were simple, back when Levi never questioned what they were doing. When Levi could stand to be in an enclosed space with Gideon for an extended amount of time without thinking...

     But the idea of being locked in a car with Gideon now, driving nowhere, made Levi's whole body seize up, a distinct and awful combination of dread and excitement. And that was what was most nauseating about it, how the little space between them made Levi want even less space.

     Gideon's driving with ease, shifting the gears and not taking much notice of Levi as he does. It's business as usual, which stalls Levi. Makes him mad. It's so easy for Gideon. So he likes the way Levi tastes, big deal. Levi could punch him for that because it is a big deal and why doesn't Gideon realize that?

     Gideon shifts again, too soon and the truck jolts, shaking Levi. His pick-up is old, passed down to him from his father. It's a manual, too, so he wasn't permitted to drive it until he could successfully shift through the gears. He tried to teach Levi but the whole using both feet concept went over his head.

     Levi's not a great driver, anyway, if he's telling it like it is. His mom says he has his head in the clouds too much, doesn't focus on the road the way he should. He sort of blamed that on Gideon. If he was driving with him in the passenger, it was a hard thing not to get distracted.

     Not that it really matters. Levi doesn't do much without Gideon and Gideon doesn't mind driving. They coordinated their classes at the community college so that they could car pool most days. Gideon likes it like that, knowing exactly where Levi is at any given point in time. Likes knowing that he'll start and end his day with him.

     And on the weekends they usually end up parked somewhere off grid, drinking and smoking in the bed of the truck until they knock out.

     It's a hook-up truck, partially the reason why Gideon wanted it and partially the reason his father gave it to him. The front seats a flat bench, with little separating the driver from the passenger and with the bunch of blankets Gideon always has, it doesn't take much to get cozy in the back.

     Levi could cross the distance with a short stride and climb into Gideon's lap if he wanted to (and he has, on many occasion.)

     It was stupid to think they could do what they were doing without it affecting everything else, without it all getting tremendously complicated. Even if they didn't want it to be complicated — wanted their friendship to return to what it was, they knew it wouldn't.

     And, anyway, Levi had a sinking feeling that Gideon was going to make him choose. He was going to lose him, for good, which was sad because they were friends first.

     They're driving in a fighting silence, which they don't often get into but when they do it can go on for hours. Levi's too stubborn to say anything he's thinking (and he's thinking lots) and Gideon has a habit of mirroring him. Although Levi's pretty sure Gideon would be stewing in angry silence whether Levi was doing it, too, or not.

     And while Levi did had a lot to say, he didn't know where to begin.

     "You can't just drive off with me into the night," he says finally, deciding this is a good place to start. He crosses his arms to make his statement sound more serious because it's a lie, and a sad one at that. Levi's pretty sure his mother won't even blink an eye to his whereabouts, a consequence of being with Gideon. She trusts Gideon more than she trusts her own son.

     But Levi wants to make it clear he's not on board with this whole thing. Whatever this whole thing is. Clearly, Gideon's got some kind of plan. He must be taking Levi somewhere.

     It's steadily getting darker, giving them barely any light to see each other in the cab, but enough that when Levi looks over, he catches Gideon fumbling with a pack of cigarettes sitting on the cushion between them as he tries to maneuver his way across lanes.

     Levi reaches over, more out of habit than a willingness to help him, and retrieves a cigarette, holding it out to him. Gideon glances at him, briefly, before he lets Levi place it in his mouth. All the times that Levi had done this before had seemed so natural, but there's nothing but tension as he does it now. It makes him want to chop off his hands and never use them again.

     Normally, Levi would pick up the lighter and do that for him, too. Instead, he tucks his hands between his knees and angles himself so he can look out the window and pretend he doesn't know what the smoke tastes like when he's taking it out of Gideon's mouth.

     He hears him mutter his name softly, just a quick, "Levi."

     Another mile or so into the drive and Lev's itching for something. Noise. A distraction. Anything he can get, really. Reaching over, he turns the dial trying to find a station without static. He settles on some oldies punk rock station, his ears identifying the chorus of a Three Days Grace song.

     The dynamics of the car ride don't change with the music. Gideon remains the same, head tilted towards the window as he smokes. It feels like some warped dream, a memory of them but skewed enough that it's a nightmare, too. Gideon reaches out unexpectedly, holding the cigarette out to Levi.

     Levi's too tense, too jacked up on nerves, to decline it. But the act is far too familiar, reminiscent of their previous relationship. When he goes for the cigarette, Gideon pulls it out of his reach. Rolling his eyes, Levi leans towards him, lets him hold it as he takes a drag.

      Gideon watches Levi more than he watches the road, then he says, "I won't let you give us up."

     Levi shakes his head. "It's too late. I've already given us up."

     "Un-give us up, then," Gideon says and his tone is pleading.

     "I can't un-give us up anymore than I can un-breathe."

     "Fuck that, Levi," he snaps returning his gaze to the road. His hands are tense as they grip the wheel. "You think you can just forget everything that happened? You think you can just forget all those nights? I'm not going to let you."

     "Don't," Levi responds, voice hauntingly flat.

     "I won't let you forget, Levi. I'll be here everyday to remind you of just what you said. To remind you how it felt. Because I know you felt it, too. I know you feel it."

     "I will throw myself out of this moving car."

     Gideon stops then, fixing his jaw tightly, returning them to a complacent silence. The sun's fallen completely, leaving them with nothing but the headlights of the cars passing on the other side of the barrier to light the space between them.