#but isnt it so soft a;lskfdja;slfkd

[misas-biggest-fan]

LA Maps

a birthday massacre (bxnaomi) fic

1100 words

prompt from @side-ho-ryuuzaki !! <33

Beyond doesn’t know why Naomi chose to ‘steal’ him, but she did and now they’re on the run together. However, daredevil that he is, he refuses to wear his helmet and that’s strictly against Naomi’s motorcycle rules.

When he rides on the back of the motorcycle, he doesn’t wear a helmet. This is very stupid because 1) he could fall off and saturate the concrete with his brains and 2) because after the fire, he’s even more recognizable than usual, with all those red lines of melted skin crisscrossing his cheeks like a map of LA highways. But if he doesn’t wear a helmet, he can wrap his arms tight around Naomi’s middle and press his face up against the back of her shoulder and get cozy in the crook of her neck and that kind of closeness is worth the risk.

So even when she tries to insist that he wear his helmet, he refuses and he thinks way too longingly about the warmth of her body under her leather jacket and how nice it feels to sit there, cuddled against her as they rocket down roads.

“Once we circle back to LA,” Naomi is saying. She’s got a forkful of scrambled eggs in her hand and she’s kind of waving it around a little as she talks. “You have to wear the helmet then, okay? Out here in the country, no one will recognize us as easy, but once we’re in a city, we’ll be in tough territory.” They’re at a little roadside diner. The sun’s coming up and he’s more exhausted than he’s letting on. A breakfast burrito sits on his plate, untouched. 

“Ah, Misora,” he says. He grins flirtingly. He doesn’t know if he can still turn on the ole’ charm like he used to before the fire. Charm is an equation with some parts overconfidence and some parts a pretty face and he’s not sure of the proportions. He’s gonna have to add extra confidence in lieu of a pretty face melted off. “You talk like you were born to be on the run with me.”

She rolls her eyes and sticks her fork in her mouth.

“I wasn’t born for any of this,” she says. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Should I flatter you then?” He says. “You’re clever. You’re way cleverer than anyone gives you credit for.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Naomi reprimands, gesturing with her fork towards his untouched plate. She’s started ignoring his constant compliments. He supposes after hearing so many that it starts to all sound like static. He’ll have to switch his tactics.

Instead of going for his breakfast burrito, he picks one of the little plastic containers of jam out of the condiment holder in the corner of the table and peels it open and licks out the contents with his tongue. He adds the container to a small pile of other empty containers. She ignores it.

When he escaped prison a month ago, Naomi was one of the agents sent to find him. And of course, she did, of course. Who else could. He remembered standing there, his hands in the air, her frame in the doorway of his shitty motel, and realizing he’d been missing her like a tourist in Hollywood misses a map. Some vain part of him (which to be fair was a pretty big part-most people are 70% water but he’s decided he’s 70% vanity) didn’t want her to see his face and how it healed after the fire. 

But see she did and to everyone’s shock, including hers, especially his, she put her gun away and took his hand and led him out to her motorcycle and put him on it and ran away with him, like he was a trinket she was stealing. He’s been on the run for months now and only with her for a few weeks, but he’s shifted gears since that night. He feels like something she’s scooped up and walked away with-he’s lost all control of his own prison break-but it’s a nice feeling. He’s happy to be something she deemed worth stealing.

When she finishes her breakfast and gets up, he gets up too and follows her out the parking lot where she picks up the helmet that’s supposed to be his and holds it out to him pleadingly.

He remembers again why it’s stupid to refuse and pictures his burn victim face busting open on the pavement. But he also remembers the feeling of that same stupid face on her shoulder-a luxury he can’t exactly give up so easily.

“Miiisora,” he cooes with a grin, drawing out the ‘i’ in her name like he does sometimes, tasting the sound. “Come on! I can’t deprive the good people of LA my gorgeous face-it’d be a downright crime against humanity!”

Naomi studies his eyes for a second and sees he’s determined and, frowning, she puts the helmet away again in their backpack of supplies that he wears while they ride.

“Alright,” she says. “Fine.”

Then, she sits down on the motorcycle. No helmet, either.

He sits down almost gingerly, his arms lacing around her cautiously. Everytime, he thinks she’ll flinch and she doesn’t.

“Well, you’re going to wear your helmet, right?”

“Nope.”

“I-But. Naomi.”

Naomi starts up the motorcycle and he squeezes her gently.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Oh and it must be less dangerous for you just because of your thick skull, right?”

“That’s very funny, you’re a comedy genius, but really.”

“Nope. This is a helmet strike.”

She pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road and he’s getting nervous. 

“Naomi!” He shouts over the roar of the engine. 

Now it’s not his face he’s seeing break over the concrete and every time the picture plays in his head, he feels increasingly nauseous. 

They’re coming up on the ramp for the freeway. 

In his head, he sees her beautiful face. Cars on the freeway roar.

He squeezes her tighter and then shouts, “OKAY! OKAY, FINE!”

Naomi pulls over onto the shoulder before they reach the ramp and when she turns around, she’s smiling triumphantly. He’s frowning.

They get off the motorcycle and she takes the backpack off of him and pulls out the helmets and puts his over his head. He’s still frowning.

She’s holding hers in her hand and she smiles at him and pulls up his visor.

“There,” she says comfortingly. “Was that so hard?” Then, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, where skin is warped and raised and red. LA highway maps.

“You’re too clever,” he says quietly. 

Beyond Birthday gets back on the motorcycle and he puts his arms around Naomi Misora and neither of them split their heads open and when they reach LA, neither of them are recognized on the highway. On the spot Naomi’s lips touched his skin, Beyond feels invincible.