Chapter Text
The old, unsteady truck jounced and wheezed as Dahlia pulled off of the road next to an endless field of crop. There wasn’t anything in sight for ages, no lights from other cars or any buildings on the horizon. It seemed like a safe enough place to spend the night.
Kristoph hissed as his head hit the door handle. He was positioned awkwardly, his legs strewn over Dahlia’s lap and his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle against the passenger door. Dahlia parked the truck and turned the headlights off, darkness flooding the road. She felt around for the cupholder as her eyes readjusted. Her hand landed on a plastic bottle covered in a thin sheen of condensation, and she uncapped it as she carefully pulled her legs up onto the seat.
Dahlia climbed on top of him and straddled Kristoph’s thighs, leaning down to reach for the back of his head and tilt it upward. Their height difference made this immensely more awkward than it needed to be. She put the bottle to his lips and the half-unconscious man seemed to come back to reality, opening his mouth and accepting the cold drink.
“Thank you,” Kristoph croaked as she pulled it back to let him breathe. Dahlia just grumbled in response, trying not to let her knee slip off the edge of the seat. The darkness did well to hide the rosy pink of her cheeks but the rather compromising position they were in wasn’t doing her any favors. Luckily for her Kristoph seemed to notice and mustered the strength to pull his legs further up, gritting his teeth and groaning. Dahlia sighed inaudibly as she rebalanced herself, knees on either side of his hips and elbows propping her up under his arms. She lifted the bottle to his lips once again, taking in his appearance as he drank. Dark circles polluted his perfect complexion and he looked more gaunt, almost sickly. His clothes were stained and his hair knotted from weeks, months of neglect. It didn’t suit him, with his put-together perfectionistic personality.
And yet, he was still breathtaking. Long dark eyelashes and plump lips, made glossy by the water he drank, still looked ineffably divine. Though he far more resembled a beautiful specter now than the angel she’d once compared him to.
Dahlia giggled a little as she let Kristoph breathe again. “Now you look more like Hades.”
His brow furrowed for a moment before he recalled their conversation from what felt like centuries ago.
“That bad?”
“You look like hell,” she snickered.
Kristoph rolled his eyes with the slightest of smiles. “I don’t suppose we still have the comb I stole?”
“Doubt it. If I find it while you’re sleeping I’ll do my best.” He nodded in an appreciative way. Dahlia always found it funny that he, the poster boy of courtesy and manners, hated actually saying ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ so much. “How do you feel?”
“How do I feel?“
“Alright, don’t catch an attitude with me bitch, I could’ve let you die.”
That drew a proper laugh from him. His voice was hoarse but his laughter was contagious as always.
“I wasn’t asking because I thought you were gonna jump up like the fuckin’ grandpa from Willy Wonka,” Dahlia continued through her laughter, “I’ve got to know if I need to buy bandages or something.”
“Well, my muscles feel like they’re on fire, my limbs feel about 50 pounds heavier than they should, and my head is throbbing. But, all things considered…” Kristoph licked his lips, amusement lingering in his eyes. “I could be worse.”
“Pain meds, got it.” Dahlia nodded.
“I was more surprised that you asked, really. You hate taking care of people.”
“I know,” she grumbled as she held the water bottle out. “I feel like a housewife or something.”
Kristoph chuckled after finishing the last of the water. The weariness had returned to his eyes and he looked ready to pass out again.
“Wife...”
Dahlia hardly caught the mutter over the crinkling of the plastic bottle she tossed into the backseat, but something about the word triggered a sense of spatial awareness in her. Mostly being that she was still quite literally draped on top of Kristoph, propping herself up on his chest.
“Don’t go telling me you wanna get hitched now.”
“Maybe... if we don’t die, and actually make it out of America without getting caught, that’ll be our celebration. Sounds like a riot,” he smiled. Dahlia liked that sound of that more than she wanted to admit.
She sat up, leaving her hands on Kristoph’s stomach for a moment before carefully disentangling their legs and retreating to the driver’s seat. “You must be really beat. Willingly putting yourself on a government document? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Kristoph shifted to his side and mumbled. “Must be the water.”
Dahlia smiled, leaning on the wheel and looking up at the sky through her window. The sky almost glowed over their pitch black surroundings. There were more stars than she had ever seen, almost like someone spilled a jar of celestial glitter over the dark purple void above. Her mind wandered, through every place they’d been and every shitty traumatic thing she’d seen in the last two months, and then to their goal. All the things she’d be able to do when they were free, and the kind of house they would live in if they didn’t part ways... Maybe Kristoph would agree to getting a dog.
The infinite expanse around them coaxed the words from her mouth before she could talk herself out of it.
“If... If I had to marry anyone, I would want it to be you.”
No witty retort followed. Dahlia looked back to her right. Kristoph’s eyes were closed and his breathing slow, the faint sound flowing through the car like a gentle stream. Dahlia bit her lip and turned forward. She clenched the steering wheel and pulled, smacking her forehead into it.
Stupiiid... Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought angrily. Look what you’ve gone and done. Her composure cracked and she glanced back Kristoph. Her little freak-out hadn’t disturbed his rest at all. He looked so peaceful; Dahlia hadn’t ever seen him sleep before this. Any time he had, she had fallen asleep first and woken up after him. It was really cute honestly. But then again, he usually was.
Stupid! So much for ‘don’t get attached to anyone’. Now you’re talking about marrying a man. And a fucking serial killer! Dumbass, she groaned, hitting her head on the steering wheel as quietly as she could. Why did she even care if she woke him up? She shouldn’t, she’s never cared before, not with anyone else.
...To be fair, Dahlia had never watched anyone else shoot an innocent person at point blank range for little more than existing in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it wasn’t like she was pretending to care about him for her safety— she knew Kristoph wouldn’t do that. She... actually trusted him not to?
Dahlia laughed so she wouldn’t cry. She crossed her arms on the steering wheel and rested her aching forehead. She really did sound like Iris now. Disgusting.
But there was no use in thinking about her family, and what could’ve happened if she wasn’t the person she was. All that mattered anymore was what she had. Right now, that was a dead stranger’s car, an order to be shot on sight from the FBI over her head, and, confusing as it was, she had Kristoph. That much would just have to do, she thought as her heavy eyelids finally caved under their weight. That much would just have to do...