Work Text:
Shoot.
If his knees weren’t still bruised, he’d kick the bike over in anger. Ryland chose to throw his head back and groan instead.
The morning had been one issue after another. His alarm never went off, then he couldn’t find his lesson plans, his tie refused to sit right, and the elevator had stopped on every darn floor on the way down. He was on his way to being really, really late to work, but now he wasn’t sure if he’d get there at all.
Sitting in front of him was the cherry on top of this god-awful day: His bike, laying on its side next to the bike rack, was completely destroyed. The wheels were bent and both tires were ripped open, the body itself dented beyond use. The bike lock holding it to the rack was twisted and marred with cuts. It looked like someone had tried to slice through the lock and took a baseball bat to his bike when that didn’t work. Because of course they did.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryland whined as he ran a hand over his face, pulling his glasses down in the process. This day could not possibly get any worse.
He considered calling the cops for a moment, but the idea was quickly pushed out of his mind. There wasn’t enough time for him to sit around and wait for the cops to come, not that they would be able to do much for him anyways.
A quick glance down at his watch told him he had maybe thirty minutes to get to the school if he wanted any chance of beating the kids there. He had to think of something and he had to do it fast. It was too late to call in for a substitute, the bus wouldn’t get him there for another hour or so at best, and hoofing it wasn’t an option on his still-sore leg.
What he needed was a ride, he admitted begrudgingly to himself.
The first few days following the attack on his way home, Ryland hadn’t been able to get himself back on his bike - call it anxiety or what have you, but he was not thrilled by the idea of biking home again so soon. He had been so averse to the idea he subjected himself to public transit, waking up hours earlier than before to get to work on time.
He cringed inwardly, the memory of that first week flashing in mind.
Ryland bounced impatiently, shifting his bag on his shoulder. The elevator had taken exceptionally long to reach his floor.
The click of a door behind him made him jump. He glanced back to see his neighbor - Driver, he remembered the odd nickname - stepping out of his apartment and locking up behind him.
Ryland raised a brow. He had been getting up at the crack of dawn for a few days now and he barely ever saw anyone in the building.
Driver turned to the elevator, hands in his jacket pockets as he approached.
They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment, Ryland too exhausted to break the silence right away.
“Why are you up so early?” He finally asked, flashing a tired smile.
Driver didn’t speak for a moment, just looked him over intensely. Ryland squirmed slightly, adjusting his tie under the others strong gaze. Something about Driver made him feel so hopelessly exposed, like those dreams he used to have as a teen of showing up to school with no clothes. Or an animal in a glass box. He tried not to think about it too hard.
“Couldn’t sleep.” Driver finally replied, eyes never leaving Rylands face. There was a toothpick in his mouth and Ryland watched as he rolled it to the opposite corner of his lips. He wondered if it was flavored or if Driver was just chewing on soggy wood for fun. “Why are you? The middle school doesn't start until 7:45. That’s what you told me.”
Ryland nodded, looking back to the elevator. “It doesn’t. Or, it does. It does start at 7:45.” He adjusted his glasses sheepishly. Even without seeing them, he could feel Driver’s eyes on his skin. “I’ve been taking the bus. It takes an extra hour, sometimes hour and a half to get to the school.”
“I thought you rode a bike.”
“I do. I just, uh -,” Ryland scrambled. What was he supposed to say? Yeah, getting jumped on the way home was really rattling so now I, a grown man, am too scared to ride my bicycle to work? “I don’t have a helmet. I ordered a new one online and it just, it never came.” Wow, nice catch. Not riding a bike because you have no helmet screams loser significantly less than PTSD. Idiot.
Driver didn’t point out the very obvious lie, instead nodding like it made complete sense. Rylands heart sank thinking Driver was probably judging him, although it made him feel better that he was at least playing along.
“I can give you a ride.” The words were so incredibly quiet Ryland almost missed them. Driver swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Let me drive you.” It sounded like a plea, but Ryland chalked it up to how early the two were awake.
Ryland whipped his head to the side, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh- Thank you, but no. It’s a bit out of the way and with all the traffic it can be a lot.” He laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and willing the elevator to hurry up.
“I don't mind,” Driver pushed, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s safer than the bus.”
The idea of driving to work instead of cramming onto the city bus before the sun was even up felt like a dream. Inconveniencing his neighbor just to save a couple hours of sleep? Not so much. They were just starting to become friends, and Ryland didn’t have many of those. He would rather drag himself through the trenches of public transportation than risk messing it all up.
“I mean it,” Driver pulled him from his thoughts, looking at Ryland with this soft look in his eye. Ryland had seen it before a couple times but could never pin down exactly what emotion it was. He was never good at reading people. “It's no problem. I’m over there every day, anyway. Might as well take you with me.”
Ryland was trying to hold his ground but he was a weak man. Every time he thought of the extra time he could spend curled in bed, he…
“You’re by the middle school everyday?” He questioned as Drivers words settled on him.
The toothpick that had been rolling between Drivers lips stopped. The man blinked once, twice, eyes flicking to the side for a moment.
“I work nearby.”
“...I thought you were a stuntman? Don’t you bounce around sets?”
The elevator loudly announced its arrival.
Ryland startled in his spot, hand tightening around the strap of his bag. Finally. He knew this building was older but geez, they really needed to update the infrastructure.
He stepped into the elevator, turning and pushing the button for the lobby. Driver didn’t follow him, just stood in the entrance with his head dipped low. His jaw was tense and he stared at the floor. Ryland could practically hear the man thinking, but he had no idea what about.
“If… If you’re already heading that way, I guess- um,” Ryland fidgeted in his spot. “I’ll take you up on that ride. If you really don’t mind.”
Driver looked up at Ryland through his brows. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and the earlier tension visibly washed away from his features. Ryland felt something tight in his chest relax at that, hairs he didn’t know were standing laying to rest. He hadn’t even noticed it until now.
“Yeah.” Driver spoke, lifting his head towards his apartment door. “Let me grab my keys. Hold the elevator.”
Ryland looked back to the apartment building, counting the windows until he was looking at his floor.
He swallowed thickly. Okay. This was fine. This could work.
Another ten minutes of waiting for the elevator, and he found himself standing in front of Drivers apartment door.
All he had to do was knock on the door and ask. A totally normal, friendly human to human interaction. Easy peasy.
Ryland lifted his hand, the peephole glaring into him like some all-judging eye.
Nope.
His hand returned to his hair as he paced down the hall. Maybe he should just call in sick to work. They could find him a substitute if they really wanted to, or his class would be merged with another for a day. He didn’t need to bother his neighbor.
He worried his lip between his teeth, looking back down the hall towards the door.
This was ridiculous. The man had already driven him before and it was an emergency. Surely, he wouldn’t be that bothered, right? Time was running out and Ryland couldn’t spend more of it pondering the necessity of asking for a basic favor.
He stomped back over to the door, frustrated with his own procrastination. A huff escaped him as he raised his fist again, hesitating for only a moment before ripping off the bandaid.
Tap-tap-taptap-tap.
Ryland didn’t get the chance to feel the anxiety wash over him or bring his hand back to his chest before the door swung inwards.
Driver was standing there, leaning against the molding and rolling that same toothpick between his lips.
Ryland hadn’t heard him approach the door. He hadn’t even had a moment to wonder how pathetic he probably looked from Drivers peep-hole before his neighbor was standing in front of him.
Maybe he had just been about to leave, Ryland reasoned. He must’ve knocked at the exact right moment. An irrational, intrusive side of him wondered if Driver had been watching him work up the courage to knock through the peep hole. He dismissed it quickly - Driver had no idea Ryland was going to approach his apartment. Your bike getting vandalized overnight wasn’t exactly an event you plan ahead.
“Hi,” Ryland sputtered, feeling his face flush.
“Hi.” Driver looked him over, eyes flitting over Rylands face. His lips pulled into that small smile he does whenever Ryland speaks to him, but this time he could've sworn it was smug.
Ryland cleared his throat. “I- uh- Are you busy?” He cringed at himself. He was running out of time.
Driver shook his head, shifting on his feet.
“Okay, um…” Ryland scratched the back of his head, looking back towards the elevator. He considered how long it would take him to escape to his own apartment and accept defeat if he broke into a sprint right now. “So…My bike is kind of…out of commission, at the moment. And I need to get to work. Soon. In the next 20 minutes.”
There was no response. Driver just stared at him with those piercing blue eyes. Ryland felt like a tiny organism under a microscope. He squirmed, shifting foot to foot, hands wringing in front of him.
“I need a ride and you’re the only person I know with a car.” He's the only person Ryland really knows, period. A fleeting concern that he was too isolated passed through his mind, but it was quickly replaced with the image of his kids sitting alone in the classroom waiting for him to arrive, and he snapped back to reality. “Please. Don't make me beg,” He laughed breathily.
Driver’s eyebrows lifted, that smile - it was more a small grin, now that Ryland thought about it, something he wasn’t sure he’d seen on the man's face before - never fading. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Driver looked amused with his fidgeting.
Another beat of silence and Ryland thought he really was going to have to beg.
“Okay,” Driver finally spoke, voice soft. He stood up straight from where he had been leaning.
_______________________________________
Driver had not only brought him to work, but was waiting for him outside when the school day adjourned.
Ryland had resigned himself to having to walk himself back and spent most of the day dreading it. When he schlepped out the main doors and saw Driver, hands in pockets and leaning against his car in the staff parking lot, he was ready to leap for joy.
“You didn’t have to get me!” He called, grinning ear to ear as he approached the man. He squinted against the sun, holding a hand against his forehead to try and block it. “I could’ve walked.” He was so, so grateful he didn’t have to walk.
Driver shrugged, eyes flickering up to Rylands hair. It was a bit messed up from the wind and he could feel where it pressed to his forehead with a bit of sweat. He quickly wiped it away, hoping Driver wasn’t staring because he looked a mess.
“This is safer,” Driver stated, looking away from Ryland towards the school building. Most of the kids had already left for the day. There were a few stragglers hanging around the bike racks and bus loop chatting noisely, their laughter carrying over to them.
Ryland began to speak again when Driver pushed himself off the side of the car. He opened the passenger door and motioned inside with a small nod. “Get in.”
“Oh- Yeah, thank you.” Ryland stumbled, giving a nod to Driver as he slipped himself into the passenger seat. He fumbled with his bag, choosing to lay it on the floor next to his feet. The air in the car was cold and he sighed happily. He always liked his thermostat at home set low. Driver had obviously had the A.C in the car running for a while now, and he wondered if he also liked the cold.
He paused. Ryland hadn’t told him what time school got out or when he usually left work.
His body startled as Driver shut the door, watching him through the mirrors as he walked around the back to the other side.
“Were you waiting long?” Ryland asked as he watched him settle into the drivers seat, gloved hands flexing on the steering wheel.
Driver glanced over at him, hands dropping down to shift into gear. “No.”
The ride was smooth. Ryland spent most of it watching Drivers hands on the wheel and the way his eyes scanned each car they passed. He did what he could to fill the space with aimless chatter, trying and failing to get Driver to do the same.
Rylands latest ramble, a long spiel about how frustrating the parents of one of his kids had been, faded into silence. As much as he hated the quiet, he was content to let it sit for a little longer. They were almost back to the apartment complex, anyway.
A quiet sigh from his left made Ryland perk up in his chair.
He looked over to see Driver with just jaw clenched, tapping his fingers with irritation on the wheel and eyes flickering to the dash.
The gas gauge was almost empty.
“We can stop,” Ryland supplied, slightly unnerved by Drivers outward expression of frustration. “I’m not in a rush.”
Driver looked to him, then back to the road. He said nothing for a moment and Ryland thought he might’ve said the wrong thing.
Driver gave him the faintest of nods before turning them off the main road, pulling into a gas station he recognized. It was a little corner store he stops by occasionally on his bike back from work.
Once they pull in, Driver rolls his window down and steps out. Ryland waited patiently as his ride filled up the tank, watching with a little more attention than required. He needed to remind himself to pay Driver back for the gas somehow. The school was a close drive but it still felt wrong not repaying him for the effort.
The loud snap of the gas line cutting off grabbed his attention. His neighbor unhooked and returned the hose.
Driver bent down, resting his arms on the open drivers side window to peer inside. He scratched at his upper lip with his thumb. “Do you want anything from inside?” He asked gently.
Ryland had to strain to hear him over the rumbling of the other cars, but he was slowly getting used to how quiet his friend spoke. “Oh! I guess I wouldn’t turn down something small. Maybe something sweet?” He fidgeted with his tie, "Surprise me.”
Driver nodded, giving the car a passing pat on the roof as he stood. Ryland watched him walk into the gas station, holding the door open for one of the other customers before stepping inside himself.
Ryland sighed, patting his thighs as he looked around him. The car was very nice; It was a classic muscle car of some kind, though Ryland didn’t have a clue what. Cars were never really his thing.
What he did know was that it was in remarkable condition for its age. The interior looked basically brand new despite obviously being a car from the 70’s. How long had this taken Driver to restore? Was this the only car he drove, or did he bust out something this nice just to Drive Ryland to work?
He remembered being thoroughly impressed by it when Driver first drove him after the mugging. God, calling it a mugging felt so embarrassing. He was a grown man, he should've been able to hold his own at least a tiny bit.
Shrugging the thought away, Ryland sank further in his seat. He always admired how people managed to turn the inside of their cars into a reflection of themselves and personality, but Drivers car was devoid of that. The car itself could be the reflection, he supposed - Old fashioned and sleek.
Maybe there was something here in one of the compartments. Maybe Driver had put something of himself in this car, he just kept it subtle. That seemed pretty in character from the little Ryland actually knew about him.
He considered looking around, staring at the center console. Ryland glanced back at the doors Driver had disappeared into and weighed his options. He had been so concerned about ruining his friendship by asking a favor earlier, was he really going to risk it for real by shoving his nose where it doesn’t belong?
…
What Driver doesn’t know won't hurt him, right?
Ryland grinned to himself as he poked around the dash, popping open the center console and going over the cassettes - god, driver still used cassettes for his music - inside. There were only a few, all labeled with one or two words. There was one at the very bottom of the console wrapped in the soft cloth one would use to clean their glasses. It was a different brand than the others and looked much older. There was nothing interesting about it save for its label written in pink glittery ink. It didn’t look like Drivers hand writing.
He shrugged, wrapped it back in the cloth and moved on.
Nothing inside the tape deck. Nothing in either of the sun visors.
He sighed and leaned back in the seat. He always thought Driver was mysterious and closed off, but maybe he was just boring.
Ryland stretched his arms, wrapping his cardigan tighter around himself when he was done. Nothing to do now but wait, he supposed. He wondered idly what snack Driver would get for himself, if anything. He pegged Ryland as a Corn Nuts guy. Maybe some Combos.
Ryland brought his legs up without thinking, placing his feet flat on the dash in front of him so his knees were closer to his chest. He shifted, the sound of his shoes dragging on the tactile surface made him gasp and drop his feet. A moment of panic washed over him and oh geez, his neighbor takes such good care of this car and Ryland just got his footprints all over the dash and this is so rude and-.
Ryland paused his frantic brushing of the little gray spots where his feet had been. The glovebox! He hadn’t shoved his nose into all of Drivers business yet: He never opened the glovebox.
He wrapped his hands around the box's handle and pulled, all excitement leaving his body when nothing happened. He tried again but it refused to open, and as much as Ryland wanted to keep trying he didn’t feel like explaining to Driver that yes, he had been snooping around his things and yes, he did break the inside of his very nice car. Sue him.
With all the grace of an angry child, Ryland let go with an annoyed gruff. It was locked. The keyhole to the left of the handle stared mockingly at him. If anything, it only made him want to see what was inside more.
Driver wasn’t exactly an open book. He never told Ryland much about himself, and although he would answer questions when Ryland pushed, his answers were vague more often than not. He had been dying to know more about him, especially because he told Driver so much about himself. Not that it was intentional most of the time; Ryland was never good at staying quiet.
Ryland had been grasping for any information he could about his neighbor. It had become something of a game to read between the lines of what he says and try to connect the dots. Once, when he caught a glimpse of Driver through his living room window getting into this car and peeling away, he considered leaving the blinds open to try and see when or with who he would return with. Not wanting to essentially stalk the man, he had chosen to close them.
Something glinted in the corner of his vision and Ryland turned to face it. It was Drivers car keys, still resting in the turned-off ignition.
Ryland glanced back at the gas station Driver had disappeared into, to the keys, and back to the locked glove box. He had time. What's one little peak?
Before he could break out into a list of reasons justifying his actions to himself, Ryland reached across the cabin and snatched the keys from the steering column.
A cheeky grin spread across his face as he fumbled the key into the lock. He felt like a little kid sticking his hand in the cookie jar. It was harmless fun, he reasoned, just some friendly mischief. Because that's what they were. Friends.
The lock clicked, followed by the loud pop of Ryland pulling the lever. A sharp spike of excitement shot through him and he couldn’t suppress a small laugh.
Placing the keys on top of the dashboard, Ryland sifted through the glovebox, careful not to pull anything too far from its original spot.
It wasn’t cluttered like Ryland thought it would be. Now that he saw it, he wasn’t sure why he had. If there was one thing he did know about Driver it was that the man was meticulous. Nothing was to ever be out of place. There was a leather wallet with the registration and other paperwork folded inside. No manual for the car, but that made sense from what Driver told him about working in some garage. There was a polaroid of a woman with short blonde hair and a little boy standing beside her. The picture was warped but Ryland could make out the soft smile on the ladies face. Family, maybe?
He carefully put the photo aside and continued pawing around the box. A pocket knife and a rag with some oil stains were also inside. In the back, behind all the other items, was a small black fabric bag. It was a little bigger than his hand. Ryland pulled it out, spinning it until he found the zipper on top.
There were some folded papers inside, but they were in much worse condition than the paperwork in the leather wallet. Upon closer inspection he could see it was lined notebook paper and he could see some writing done in pencil.
Ryland raised his eyebrows in curiosity, quick to remove and open them. He looked momentarily back at the gas station. Still no sign of Driver.
Excitedly, he looked back at the paper. Maybe it was a letter or some kind of list. The idea of keeping your grocery list in a bag locked inside the glovebox of your car made Ryland crack a smile. The paper was loud in the silence of the cabin as he unfolded it carefully, placing the black bag in his lap to hold the sheet with two hands.
It was not a shopping list.
Great job! Don't forget - speed of light is miles per second, not meters! 89%
The words were written in red ink on the top of the paper. It was written with the same pen currently tucked in Rylands breast pocket. It was written by him.
It was one of his students' papers. He recognized the hand writing as one of the boys in his classroom's front row. He remembered grading this paper. The date on the top bore into Ryland: March 14th. The day his bag had been stolen and he had to limp himself back home.
The day his bag had appeared outside his door, cleaned and mended where it had torn against the sidewalk.
Something caught his eye at the bottom of the paper and he managed to tear his eyes away from the date. He moved his thumb to get a better look and-.
Ryland inhaled sharply, moving to hold the paper further away from him. There were dark, rusty blotches staining the bottom corner. The penciled numbers of the middle schoolers' work disappeared beneath what Ryland knew was blood.
Okay. Okay this is-... What the actual-.
Ryland looked down to the bag in his lap. He could see something else inside, something bigger than some paper.
He hadn’t noticed his hands shaking until now as he dropped the paper onto the center console. He swallowed thickly, mouth resting open in silent shock.
Reaching into the bag, he felt around for what he saw and grabbed hold. Ryland shimmied it out of the opening, already knowing what it was by feel before he saw it.
“I know I left them on the passenger seat,” He had insisted while he bent down to reach the communal washing machine. “Or maybe the dashboard. I don’t know. But I know they were in the car!”
Driver hadn’t responded, but he rarely ever did. He was doing his own laundry folding shirts that Ryland could’ve sworn he had already seen him fold that night.
He had borrowed his coworker's car for a day. One stupid day so he could lug the materials for a class party he was throwing his kids. The plan was to either walk or make multiple trips on the bus over the weekend, but when complaining about it in the teachers lounge one of his coworkers offered his vehicle. To say Ryland was grateful would be an understatement.
“I asked the guy who owns the car but he says they’re not in there. I have no clue where they could be- They are literally attached to my face for most of the day. How did they just disappear?” Ryland shook his head, squinting as he tried to measure the detergent while he poured it but couldn't see the numbers.
“Here,” Drivers soft voice came over his shoulder and Ryland perked up to look at him over the washer door. He was holding out his hand and reaching for the measuring cup. “Let me help.”
Ryland offered a shaky smile. “Thanks. I can't see a darn thing.”
Ryland fumbled as the item fell through his hands and to the floor of the car.
His glasses lay there, lenses face down on the mat. They caught the sun and reflected the light onto the dash above them.
Rylands heavy breathing filled the silence but he couldn’t hear it. His eyes were locked on the eyewear, vision swimming at the edges.
He tried to work it through in his head. Maybe he hadn’t left them in his coworker's car. Maybe he had lost them in public or on the sidewalk somewhere. Maybe Driver came across them and took them to return them to Ryland. Like any friend would.
But then why were they stuffed into a bag alongside bloody stolen papers, placed in the back of the glovebox, and locked inside? Why was it taking him over a month to get them back to Ryland? Why had he listened to Ryland complain for weeks and didn’t say a word?
There had to be a reason. He was missing something- yes, Ryland wasn’t seeing the full equation. There was a variable here he was missing or a unit he failed to negate. Maybe it was- Maybe-.
Ryland launched himself towards the glasses, picking them up and struggling to do so. His hands trembled as he shoved them back into the black bag, fingers smearing the lenses and bending the legs in his rush; in his panic. He did the same with the paper from earlier, not having enough wherewithal to care that it wasn’t folded the same or wrinkled in new spots.
He froze. His heart was beating wildly inside his chest, pounding on his rib cage like it was trying to claw its way out.
Sitting at the bottom of the bag was another polaroid like he had seen earlier. Ryland clenched his jaw so tight it hurt, reaching inside and grasping it between cold fingers.
This time, the blonde in the photo was him.
It was taken early in the morning. He was walking into the school building, bag slung over his shoulder and helmet in one hand. The other hand was shaking out his hair, head tilted back towards the sky.
From the background Ryland could tell the photo had been taken from the guest parking lot directly beside the staffs. It was far enough away Ryland would have never noticed someone with a camera, especially while he was rushing inside.
He dropped the picture back into the bag, scrambling to zip it up. He all but threw it back inside the glove box, slamming it shut with both hands.
He let himself stay that way for a minute: leaned over in his seat, head down towards his knees as his palms lay flat against the dash. Ryland tried to get ahold of his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut as he listened to the frantic breaths escaping him.
A million thoughts ran through his mind; an endless train of whats and whys steamrolling any semblance of logic and control.
He bit his lip hard, urging himself to focus on the facts first. Driver had his lost glasses. Driver had a paper that Ryland had lost the night he was mugged. Driver had a photo of him taken without Ryland knowing, god, how many other times had he been there without him knowing?
He threw himself back in his chair, hands coming up to cover his face. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to open the car door and run home before Driver got back from the gas station.
Driver was coming back from the gas station.
“Shoot,” Ryland hissed, moving sharply to snatch the keys off the dashboard and into the glovebox lock. Once the familiar click rang out he shoved them back into the ignition, looking towards the gas station just in time to see Driver swing open the glass doors.
Ryland sat back in his chair, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and fixing his hair. Dread coiled deep in his stomach. Driver can't know. He just can’t.
Sooner than he would have liked, the driver's side door opened and his neighbor dropped inside. He had a new toothpick in his mouth, no doubt from a pack he just bought in the store. A brown plastic bag was clenched in his right hand.
“Hey,” Ryland choked out, clearing his throat. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling - couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. Whatever it was Ryland wished it would release its nauseating fingers from his mind.
Driver looked up at Ryland as he dug around in the bag. If he noticed the stickiness of Rylands voice or the stiffness in his body, he didn’t mention it. Ryland almost wished he would. At least then he could tell how much danger he was in. If any.
He jumped slightly when a bag was thrust in front of him.
It was a bag of skittles. The green kind. His favorite.
Ryland let his eyes flick up to Driver, who was looking at him expectantly. He brought his hand forward and took the candy, hoping beyond hope that his hands weren't shaking too much.
“Thanks.” It came out just above a whisper as his next words made his head spin. “These are my favorite.”
Ryland thinks Driver already knows that.