Archive of Our Own

Gyro had spent the better part of an hour insisting it was “not important,” which only made Johnny more determined to pry it out of him. They were sitting outside the motel room on the rusted metal steps, the desert air cooling off now that the sun had finally dropped beneath the horizon, and Johnny had his chin propped against his hand while Gyro stared stubbornly ahead like the answer might be written somewhere in the sand.

“You know literally everything about me,” Johnny said eventually. “You watched me cry over canned peaches once.”

“That was one time.”

“You held my hand during it.”

“You were emotional.”

Johnny snorted. “And you still won’t tell me your real name?”

Gyro groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. “It sounds stupid in English.”

“That’s impossible. Your fake name is Gyro Zeppeli. You’re already living like a circus performer.”

Gyro gave him an offended look, but it cracked almost immediately. Johnny could always tell when he was losing the battle with himself, when the corners of his mouth started twitching because he wanted to laugh even while pretending to be irritated.

After another long pause, Gyro sighed through his nose. “Julius Caesar Zeppeli.”

Johnny blinked once.

Then twice.

And then the laugh burst out of him so suddenly he nearly folded in half, grabbing onto Gyro’s sleeve while trying to breathe. Not cruel laughter, not mocking, just pure disbelief, bright and uncontrollable. Gyro’s face immediately went red.

“I told you it was bad!”

“No, no, it’s incredible,” Johnny wheezed, still laughing. “That’s not a name, that’s a declaration of war.”

“It’s a family name!”

“You sound like you should own a marble statue of yourself.”

Gyro shoved him weakly with his shoulder, trying to look annoyed, but Johnny could see the embarrassment all over him now, right down to the tips of his ears. It only made Johnny laugh harder.

“Oh my God,” Johnny said, wiping at his eyes. “Julius Caesar. Seriously. Your parents looked at a baby and thought, yes, this child will conquer Europe.”

Gyro buried his face in one hand. “I’m never telling you anything personal again.”

Johnny smiled then, softer this time, his laughter fading into something warm enough to make Gyro glance back over despite himself.

“Well,” Johnny said quietly, nudging their knees together, “I think it suits you.”

Gyro narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You were just making fun of me.”

“I still am.” Johnny leaned back against the railing. “But I mean it too.”

The silence after that felt easy. Comfortable. The kind that settled naturally between them nowadays.

Then Johnny added, almost absentmindedly, “Besides, emperors are supposed to be important, right?”

Gyro huffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Johnny looked over at him, smiling in that small, private way he only ever seemed to smile at Gyro.

“It means,” he said, “you’re my emperor.”

Gyro stared at him.

Actually stared.

Johnny watched the realization hit him in real time, watched the flush spread all the way down his neck while his mouth opened and closed once without producing a single coherent thought.

“You can’t just say things like that,” Gyro muttered finally, voice suddenly much quieter than before.

Johnny’s grin widened. “Julius Caesar Zeppeli getting shy? Wow.”

“Johnny.”

“Your Majesty.”

Gyro made a strangled noise and shoved him hard enough that Johnny almost slipped off the step entirely, both of them laughing before Gyro grabbed the back of his jacket to keep him from falling. And for a second, with Gyro still holding onto him and trying very hard not to smile too much, Johnny thought he’d never seen anyone look more painfully, hopelessly dear.