highway to hell [gene]

He was actually pretty excited for this. He had been looking for an excuse to take Honey for a drive for awhile, ever since the night of the concert, actually. It was only a bonus that he would be teaching his friend how to drive a little bit. He was a pretty good driver. He was self-taught, but he had never been pulled over or gotten a ticket. He didn’t technically have a license, but that only mattered if he got caught, right? He smiled at Gene as he pulled them into the abandoned parking lot and pulled into a space. “You think you’re ready to get behind the wheel?” He asked. On the way there, he had been explaining  what he was doing in excruciating detail, probably so much that Gene was tired of listening to him talk. He wanted to prepare him, though! How would he expect Gene to drive himself if he knew nothing about cars?

They boys had been starting to study for the examination Gene would be taking in the following August, and Ezra was doing his best to show him everything he had learned in his first year of law school so far. As someone who took, and passed, the test before—he thought he could be super helpful. Plus, having Gene around meant that Ezra was more likely to actually study than just sit around eating crisps, watching cartoons, and getting high. Not that he had much time for those favorite pastimes anymore. He had been working extra, picking up shifts and even doing night shows for the station to try to ease the way for Jam and Janae, both of whom had recently quit their jobs (out of necessity). Jam was already working, but making considerably less, and Janae was just… pregnant. He didn’t blame her for not being able to do the manual labor, or continue with her schooling. He knew it was hard enough on her as it was. He tried to be a good friend and pick up the slack.

Luckily, as the deal was, his parents paid for the apartment and utilities, assuming Ezra continued to go to school and keep his grades up. He wanted to study now more than ever to make sure that he could have what he wanted from his parents. Gene has really been helping. Their study sessions made Ezra understand the material better as he taught it to the other boy. They had also been growing closer as friends, too, and Ezra was happy about this.

Gene had always been a family friend of Ezra’s family, and they knew each other well growing up and even in school.. but they had never really be close friends. Gene was closer with Henry, and Ezra was closer with Jam. Even so, they were getting along now and it made Ezra feel a lot better about his recent breakup. Of course he had filled Gene in on that (over and over and over), but he was also still smitten with Oliver, talking frequently about him and how cool he was and how his vibe was so perfect, and the way he felt like the two had been the only people in the world that night they spent hanging out. He was gushing, he knew, but he was looking forward to their interview. He had, indeed, set it up for soon. He was eager to see him again, and Jam was really tired of hearing it—and was still salty about the Circe thing.

“Here, let’s switch.” He got out of the car, turning the music down a little first, and then walked over to get the door for Gene. “Alright, in you go. Other side. Don’t be nervous, I got you.”

@Gene Horowitz

“What, right now, right here?” said Gene nervously -- he was rather concerned now that he ought to have just made his dad teach him. It was one thing to be taught by someone his own age when the only thing Gene could lose was some pride and some time -- and his G.N.A.T. was ages away still -- but it was rather another thing to be taught by someone his own age how to drive what he was fairly sure was a death trap. (It was a very handsome car, which only amplified his anxiety.)

Driving was more like magic than litigation -- Gene had always had an easier time with things he could memorise than with things he had to do. Like Charms versus Potions -- Gene could read directions a lot more easily than he could understand what the hell Flitwick was saying about the conjuring power of visualisation.

He got out of the car anyway; it made him nervous to walk in front of it, so he went around the back, folded himself into the driver’s seat a little uncomfortably. It was still warm.

Ezra had already turned the music down, but as soon as Gene was in the driver’s seat he turned it off entirely; in the silence the car felt much deadlier and larger, but he’d already turned it off and would look like a fool turning it back on, and anyway, he was sure that it wouldn’t be much of a comfort to have great music playing if he had to be dragged out of the wreck of this car.

After a moment he found the bar under the seat -- that was the same as his dad’s passenger seat, at least -- and slid back. His dad always checked his mirror; Gene mimicked the movement but wasn’t really sure what he was meant to be seeing, so gave it up. “Alright,” he said, “You should show me all the like -- lights first.” If he could help it, he wasn’t pressing the gas pedal today.

“Fine, fine, yeah.” Ezra laughed lightly. “Baby steps, then. It’s cool.” He could sense the other’s discomfort with what all was going around, and really wanted to diffuse those fears. OF course, some of them were founded. Honey was something of a death trap in all honesty, but Ezra had always loved the idea of having a car. He had always wanted the freedom. Even so, his experience driving was entirely self-taught. His pureblood parents had no idea how a car worked, and had only splurged on this baby just for Ezra’s collection of curiosities.  Ezra loved muggle things. He even had a NEWT in Muggle Studies (an O, which he was very proud of). He would have collected toasters if he didn’t have his halfblood and muggleborn friends to tell him what a cool thing was to have and what was just fascinating to him.

He went around showing Gene the lights, the turn signal (an elusive beast that Ezra thought might not have been installed in other cars), the gas pedal and clutch, the gear shift, and everything else he could show him from the front seat. “Hey, go around to the back and I’ll show you what the turn-signal does, it tells whoever’s behind you which way you’re going by blinking a little light on that side.” He explained eagerly.

He ushered Gene out of the car to show him, eager and in good spirits. He loved everything about this, He was happy, happy to be around his friend and even happier to show off something he loved. When he had finished showing him the gadgets and gizmos, it was time for the driving again. “You want me to show you how it all comes together again?” He asked. He had driven them out there, but realized he could have shown him a lot more. “It takes a little practice with the gear-shift, I think, but it’s kind of fun. Assuming you don’t have anything around to hit.” They were in an open field now, just a large dirt-road, with nothing around they could hit.

“Or did you wanna jump right in? You’re smart, Gene, I’m sure you can do this.”

@Gene Horowitz  (tagged cause it's been 10 years since I've owed you this reply)

“Baby steps!” repeated Gene. He was not getting hysterical -- his voice was just naturally like that -- but maybe he was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. There were a lot of buttons in a car -- he’d started noticing that once he’d gotten old enough to sit in the passenger’s seat, but this was his first time trying to use them, and he was stressing out! Even this empty lot had plenty of things to hit. There was a tree like forty feet to his right.

But he did his best to ignore the tree, and how obscenely expensive this imported car must be, and tried to commit all of the buttons and pedals to memory, and Ezra budged him out of the driver’s seat to go look around the back. “Do you think I’ve never seen a car before?” Gene said, half-falling out of the open door. “My dad’s a muggle, mate.” But -- to humour him -- he went around the back and squinted at the little blinking light, hands on his hips. He couldn’t fault Ezra the desire to be condescending.

He leaned over to see Ezra through the rolled-down window, and Ezra offered to show him how it worked again. Gene nodded, propping his elbows on the window -- “Yeah, probably best if you do,” he stalled, “There’s a tree like forty feet that way.”

Ezra seemed to be able to tell he was stalling -- Gene grimaced. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m that smart,” he muttered, but he sighed and gestured. “Fine, let me in, okay.” But once he was settled in again, his brain stalled again -- he propped his foot on a pedal at random and said, “Okay -- how much do I push the gas to start? Or -- wait, I’m in park.”

Ezra blushed lightly as Gene asked if he thought he had never seen a car before. His father was a muggle, of course he had seen a car before. However, Ezra had honestly forgotten and thought just that—that this was Gene’s first time in a car, first time looking, first time driving. He wasn’t a blood purist or wizard supremacist even, by any means, but sometimes he forgot that not everyone was a pureblood wizard. He was so immersed in wizarding society, yet so interested in muggle culture, that he forgot there were people to whom muggle culture came naturally.
 

“I.. yeah, I guess you have seen a car before. I’m sorry Gene, I’m just so excited to show this to you. Honey is my girlfriend, the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.” He teased. When Gene got back into the car, Ezra smiled up at him. “No, no, you’re super smart. Smarter than me, dude. If I can figure this out, so can you.” He smiled. “So, right now the car is in neutral, means it’s not in any gear.” He tried to explain this the best he could. “So, when you wanna go, you put down the parking break, then push in the clutch, and try to shift into first. First goes up to… 20…miles per hour? I think? Maybe. Just until it starts getting shaky, I guess, then you go into second.” He explained.
 
He shifted, putting his hand over Gene’s hand to show him how to move the stick shifter. “Like this.” He explained. “As you release the clutch, you add some gas. Think of it like a teeter-totter, right? One side goes up, the other goes down.”
 
He hesitated. “If you’re really too scared, I can just drive you around awhile longer, you know? We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”
 
((as a warning I do not drive stick so this could be totally wrong, in which case ezra is wrong.))

“‘chine of a dream,” mumbled Gene, amused – he’d never met somebody that called their car their girlfriend, and was not sure what he thought of it. He’d had limited experiences, frankly, with people that had actual girlfriends. Henry was as hopeless as he was, in that department, and the only friend from Hebrew school that ever seemed to date was Rose; the rest of them were stalwart bachelors, inasmuch as one could be a bachelor as a teenager.

Even in December, even with the windows open, even without the car heater on, Gene was feeling decidedly warm around the neck. He unbuttoned his coat a little and took a deep breath, trying to follow what Ezra was saying (not that he was smart, although that was nice of him; all this garbage about the parking break and the clutch. Why were there so many pedals?)

“Right,” he said, “I think I get it.” He even did, albeit with such a lack of certainty that he intended to press on what he was ninety-per-cent sure was the clutch as though it were an exploding bonbon. Ezra put his hand over Gene’s.

In his own exalted opinion, Gene was not a depraved maniac, but an emotionally stunted but generally sane young man. In practise, he immediately forgot what he was doing and hit the gas. The car jolted so quickly forward that he said in a panic, “Wait, which one’s the brake?” then found it without being told and slammed it; the car made a horrible sound and Gene, white-knuckling the stick shift, said, “Oh my God.”

Ezra, wisely, offered to take the wheel again, but Gene, unwisely, shook his head; “Nah,” he said, “I was just surprised. Not scared.” Probably nobody would care, and probably the majority of their peers had long since outgrown petty house distinctions, but between the two of them, Gene was the Gryffindor and he intended to act like it. He blew out his breath again. “Okay. More slowly,” he said, and tried to repeat his earlier actions without the jolting.

Ezra went for a ride there for a second, jolting forward and hearing his car’s tires screech. “Fuck, holy shit Gene!” He managed. “Okay, okay... we’re okay.” He clutched his chest a bit, partly for the fact that it was beating rapidly, and partly for dramatic effect. “That was… a good try?” he started, trying to be nice about it. He hadn’t quite put together the fact that Gene’s frantic response had been to Ezra’s hand covering his, and not simply the stress of driving. “We can try again.” He offered, a little nervous. “I think you stalled out.” He admitted. “Just, restart the car, turn the ignition again. Happens all the time.”

He was proud of Gene for being brave, honestly. It was something that Ezra envied a Gryffindor for. He wasn’t cowardly per say but loyalty and friendship were the biggest things to Ezra, not bravery. He was a Hufflepuff tried and true, and didn’t mind being that way. Still, he admired a brave spirit—his best friend was a Gryffindor, after all—and he had to admit to himself that Gene was becoming more attractive to him the more determined he was to be brave. Was that weird? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to feel a sudden rush of attraction every time his friends did something he liked.

“You can do this. I trust you.” Ezra smiled. He didn’t know if that was true, but he did want to make Gene feel comfortable, and he also wanted his Honey to be okay, and he worried about her if Gene kept driving.

Ezra swore, violently; Gene, now safely screeched to a halt, jerked his hands free of the car’s controls and said, just coming down from his panic, “I can’t do it if you – never mind.” He would sound like a goody-goody whining about swearing; he was a goody-goody, but Ezra didn’t need to know that. It was bad enough Gene was too much of a pussy for drugs. He ran his hand through his hair; one finger snagged in a curl at the back of his head and he had to fight the urge to rip out the entire hunk of hair.

“I have no idea what –” he said, but Ezra was already explaining. Gene turned off the car.

More calm now, and feeling rather sheepish at having freaked out, he checked the mirrors again (stalling) and then moved the driver’s seat back again (stalling further) and, finally, restarted the engine, glanced around the way his dad did when he wanted to pull away from the kerb even though there was no kerb to pull away from. The tree was less than forty feet away now; it was making Gene a little nervous.

It was making Ezra nervous too; he said, with a cheeriness Gene couldn’t help interpreting as false, that he trusted Gene. Terrible idea, Gene didn’t say. “Thanks,” he did. “Okay.” More slowly. He glanced to his left at Ezra in the passenger’s seat, watching him, and then made himself look forward again before he could get weird about having made eye contact.

The car went; it was moving at about a flobberworm’s pace, but Gene was happier with this than he’d been with his little gaffe earlier; he eased it to a painfully slow stop and said “That better?”

Ezra was cautious but trying to be optimistic. He did trust Gene, he decided. He wasn’t sure how far that trust went, but Gene wouldn’t hurt them on purpose, would do his best to not harm the car, and would try as hard as he was able. Ezra knew that, and fed on it as the car began to slowly move into first gear. His grin widened a little as the car didn’t stall out right away, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off Gene’s face—rather the way the car was moving. He looked great, in the zone and focused. While Ezra knew Gene was anxious, he was trying anyway and that was exciting. 
 
“Much better!” Ezra praised, smiling at him. Gene was very impressive to Ezra, overall. He was working a real job with the ministry—which impressed Ezra just on principle (despite him never, ever wanting a ministry job). He was also studying for law school and cramming as much as he could. He was living with his parents still, likely to save up money for law school, which was likewise impressive. Ezra was, arguably, just as impressive by those standards, but he didn’t see the successes in himself—only in others. He couldn’t imagine having to save up money on his own to pay for anything (and honestly never had, having been given most of what he had now). His job was fun, and felt more like he was enjoying a hobby than actually working. Law school was rough on him, and he had spent some of his seventh year cramming, too, but he had all but forgotten that now. He was intelligent, but not a good study. He typically just “winged it” on exams and focused his effort on his assignments, instead. The assignments taught him what he needed for his tests… kind of. 
 
“Why don’t you try to go a little faster, just kind push lightly on the pedal, slowly. Then we’re gonna try to shift gears when you get a little faster, alright?” He offered. He set about explaining how to change gears, using the clutch, and hoped he wasn’t confusing him too much. Gene was smart. He could figure this out. “If you start getting stressed or overwhelemed, just put the brake on and we can stop.” Ezra promised. “I’ll drive us home when we’re ready, so don’t worry about having to get on the actual road.” He assured.

Ezra was watching him, which made Gene more aware of his face and what it might be doing than he ever was, and almost more aware of it than he was of the car; he didn’t drive far before he decided he’d better brake again, and flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror (useless; he couldn’t see Ezra in that) and then to the left mirror by the window (there had to be a name for that; anyway, that was useless too, as Ezra was still watching him and the mirror only showed a side view of his hair) and finally turned his head.

Ezra was smiling at him. Smiling very broadly, which made Gene suspicious that he was still extremely nervous about Gene’s driving (and rightfully so.) Gene grinned awkwardly back – much better – and blew his breath out in slightly exaggerated relief.

A little faster, then. Gene thought he was starting to get a sense of how to use the pedals. (He’d played piano for over a decade – he knew how to use pedals – but the ones in Ezra’s car were a lot more sensitive.) Lightly; slowly; gently, gently. Shifting gears was a little harder – pianos didn’t have gears or stick shifts – but Ezra was thankfully wise enough to give him the option of stopping before any gear shift. Gene started the car again and let it crawl another few feet, swivelled the steering wheel to avoid the tree, and stopped when he was a safe sixty feet from it.

It was weird that he had to like, keep pressing on the brake – he felt like, if he’d had to drive for a long time, his foot would get tired from pressing down. (Was he using a muscle for this? Did lorry drivers get massive muscular shins or something?) He shook it out of his head and said, “Okay,” and clapped his hand on the stick shift again, resolving to not freak out (again) if Ezra touched it again. “What gear do I shift to?”

Ezra was indeed watching Gene with interest. He seemed relatively pleased with himself, even as he was clearly very nervous. Ezra wondered if him watching made Gene more nervous and realized that it probably did add to the pressure. Everyone felt strange when someone watched them, especially intently, while they were doing something complicated. He felt like apologizing, but then Gene was doing such a good job that he deiced to just look in front of them, and only peek out of the corner of his eyes. When Gene came to a stop, far from the tree, Ezra grinned a little—less wide than before, but more genuine. 
 
“Amazing!” He teased lightly, then turned to face Gene more directly. Again, having not learned his lesson, Ezra placed his hand over Gene’s hand and showed him how to shift the car. He didn’t really remember the miles per hour that he was supposed to shift at, only knew the shift when it started to get shaky. He didn’t explain it well. “Basically, long story short, when you want to go faster than you’re going and the car gets a little shaky, just shift up one gear. Once you get to fifth, it just goes as fast as it can go—but Heavens, Gene, please don’t take Honey as fast as she can go.” He laughed. “Not even I have really charged her, and I want to pop that cherry myself.” He laughed. 
 
“In fact…..” He hesitated. “You wanna have a little fun? Switch seats with me.” He shifted to open the door. “I’m gonna take you on a ride like you’ve never been on.” 

Gene had been steeling himself for this – his other hand was gripping the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth – but it still felt like a spark when Ezra put one hand over his. A spark, or a current – both of them paying attention, both of them noticing, both of them exceedingly awake and aware and alive. Ezra’s hand moved, and the stick shift moved with it; Gene nodded, not listening to Ezra’s instructions at all, and stared as fixedly at the dashboard as he could, willing himself not to read too deep into this.

He had wondered, often, if Ezra was gay, but the efforts he’d made to force some kind of mutual acknowledgement through eye contact had, he thought, fallen through. He couldn’t say for sure – since they’d started getting older, Ezra had treated homosexuality like such a joke that Gene had stopped wanting to be around him, but sometimes he thought there just had to be some insecurity behind it. (Why he couldn’t be insecure about it in a less offensive way, Gene didn’t know.)

Fifth gear; Gene looked up and caught Ezra’s eye.

After a moment, he realised he hadn’t let out the breath he was taking in – he exhaled, and shoved the thoughts away. “Right,” he said. Not that he’d want to go as fast as possible in a blooming car park, no matter what Ezra said about it.

Ezra, of course, seemed interested in trying it; he ordered Gene back to the passenger’s seat. Gene swung the door open to get out and realised too late that he hadn’t put the parking brake on – he did so hastily (gulping gorgons, that was embarrassing) and stepped out, swung around the back of the car to get back in.

(There was no way Ezra didn’t know how that had sounded, but that went the same way as the other things he wasn’t thinking about; he felt like his sense of decency was scurrying around his brain with a broken-pronged rake trying to scrape his thoughts into the realm of normal ways to think of your mate during a driving lesson. They were just two blokes in a car, for pity’s sake.) “Right,” he said again, unsure what else go say (‘Gun it’? He wasn’t a super spy; that couldn’t be right.)

Ezra noticed the spark, but not so much the turmoil going on in Gene’s head. It was though he was clueless to the way he was phrasing things, anyway. He was being intentionally flirty, using double entendres. He had the sneaking suspicion that Gene was into guys, and while Ezra couldn’t honestly say he was into him in that way, he flirted with everyone as often as he could. Those gay jokes he made frequently had a bit of truth to them. He was always saying things like ‘we should make out’, then laughing about it like it was a funny statement—though in all honesty, if Gene had gone for it, he would have happily done it. It was always no homo… unless….. He noticed the other being a bit icy when he would make such statements, but he assumed it was more because Gene didn’t want to make out versus an offense about his internalized homophobia. 
 
Ezra was not “out” by any means. It was interesting, because Ezra thought he was keeping some deep dark secret when everyone in his life absolutely knew. He wasn’t subtle. He was obvious, always touching and make goo-goo eyes at cute boys. He had been with men, more than just one guy and more than just one time. Sure, most of that was Sid, but that wasn’t the point… Ezra knew he wasn’t gay, as he still had plenty of attraction to women… but he knew he wasn’t straight and was terrified of it. This said, he often thought with the head in his trousers and not the one on his shoulders and that meant flirting with guys and trying to get some no matter who it was. If there was the tiniest spark of attraction, Ezra noticed. Ezra wanted it. 
 
He noticed Gene tense up. He felt the electricity through the contact, and locked eyes with him, subconsciously wetting his lips. He didn’t follow through, though. Instead, he had made the joke about taking him for a ride. He let the moment pass, removing his hand from Gene’s hand. He flashed the other a coy smile, despite himself, and then slid into the driver’s seat. 
 
“Buckle up for safety, Eugene.” He teased, using his full name just to tease him. He flashed him another shit-eating grin, some part of him reliving the spark where their hands touched. He locked his own seatbelt, and then started to shift the car into drive, lift the parking break, and start sliding onto the road. “You ready to see how fast my girlfriend can go?” He laughed. “I’m excited. I’ve never really gunned it in her before.” 

Ezra wet his lips, which didn’t make any of this any clearer. Gene couldn’t tell whether this was a moment now, whether they were actually having the kind of silent-eye-contact-perfect-understanding that Gene had coveted for years, whether he was going to have to renege on years of thinking of Ezra as just another straight boy who thought being gay was hilarious, or whether Ezra was just looking at him because he’d looked first, and licking his lips because it was December and it was dry.

(For the first time, Gene was starting to consider that silent-eye-contact-perfect-understanding was not the optimal mode of communication.)

They had known each other altogether too long to not get each other at all, but then that was how Gene felt about Henry too; for all he worried about other people looking right through him, it wasn’t like he understood anybody else – maybe they were all unknowable in some way or another. But now he was looking at Ezra’s lips, but thinking about how he’d known him when they were both kids, and how Ezra had worn his party sunglasses upside down at Gene’s bar mitzvah, and in an instant the moment (whether or not it had been a moment) was gone.

He was already reaching for the seatbelt when Ezra prodded him to buckle up; irrationally annoyed that ‘Ezra’ was already its own shortest form, he said, “Yeah, safety,” (he was getting the sense that this would not be safe) and then, “Yeah – slam it.” Definitely not a moment – Ezra was now onto calling his car his girlfriend. (Gene had ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ stuck in his head again.)