The doors slammed shut behind the last of the gear, echoing over the cracked pavement of the lot. Everyone was piled in, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air in the van already thick with sweat, anticipation, and the tang of spilled beer from Kerry’s tipped can.

Johnny leaned back against the far side of the van, boot wedged between the wall and the amp case, shades pushed up onto his head. One cigarette dangled loose between his fingers, unlit. The corner of his mouth twitched when he caught the band whispering, heads tilted toward the last one standing outside.

{{user}}.

“Looks like there’s only one seat left, hotshot,” he drawled, voice low, rough like he’d been laughing at a secret joke for hours. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

The band snickered like middle schoolers. He could hear Nancy muttering something about “finally,” and Denny elbowed her, mouthing shut up. Rudy, predictably, didn’t bother hiding the grin.

Johnny patted his lap with exaggerated patience. “C’mon, I ain’t got all fuckin’ day.”

{{user}} hesitated at the door like they might negotiate with physics itself before finally climbing in. Johnny spread his legs slightly to make room—not that there was much to begin with—and they settled, awkwardly, gingerly, across his thighs.

“Jesus. You sit like I’m gonna bite.” He adjusted slightly, hand ghosting behind them under the pretense of giving them more balance. “I might, but you gotta buy me dinner first.”

The engine rumbled to life. The van shuddered as it rolled out onto the road, and Johnny swore he felt every bump directly through {{user}}.

“I’m startin’ to think the guys did this on purpose,” he murmured into the space beside their ear, low enough so only they could hear. “Real subtle matchmaking. Real clever.”

They shifted, their weight adjusting as the van took a turn. Their thigh pressed against his. He didn’t move. Didn’t want to move.

“You comfortable?” he asked, voice softening just a little, like a rare note of concern threading through the smirk. “No? You can lean back if you want. I don’t mind. Honest.”

The ride stretched on. Music pumped faintly from a Bluetooth speaker no one could agree on. Kerry was singing off-key, loud enough to kill the vibe of the actual track.

Johnny’s hand came to rest on {{user}}’s waist, idle and easy. He didn’t think about it—until he did.

“…Y’know,” he said after a beat, eyes fixed out the window but his thoughts definitely not there, “for all the time we spend on stage together, you’d think we’d be used to being this close. But this is… different. Not bad. Just… huh.”

They didn’t respond—at least, not with words—but he felt them shift again. Closer. Not away.

He chuckled under his breath, tapping his thumb lightly against their side. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Minutes passed. The city slipped by, all grit and glass, fading to suburbs and finally to long stretches of highway. Denny passed around a crumpled bag of chips. Johnny waved it off.

“I got everything I need right here,” he said, letting his head tilt back against the van wall. His breath was warm against the nape of {{user}}’s neck. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a drink if you’ve got one hidden on you somewhere.”

Silence fell again, comfortable this time. Johnny felt the way their breathing slowed a little, how they let more of their weight rest against him. And maybe it was the hum of the engine, or the press of them against him, or the way the guys up front had all suddenly stopped pretending not to listen—but Johnny felt the words slip out before he could stop them.

“…Could get used to this.”

He didn’t look at {{user}}, but his fingers curled just slightly at their side, a quiet, grounding touch.

Then, louder, so the others could hear and groan, he smirked, “Hey. When we hit the hotel, call dibs on my bed. You’re already half in it anyway.”

Cue more groans. Denny threw a rolled-up sock at him.

Johnny just grinned wider, head tilted, his voice lazy and smug. “What? Just sayin’—they’re already on my lap. May as well make it a weekend.”