Chapter Text
Stede waits in the circular drive in front of Bonnet Manufacturing headquarters, pushing his rolling suitcase 12 inches forward and then pulling it back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back.
A van with the company’s (new, improved) logo speeds into the drive and skids to a stop directly in front of him. The driver rolls down his front window. “Bonnet, Stede?” he asks.
“Oh, Ed.” Stede grins and shakes his head, grateful for a joke, even a corny one, to diffuse the inexplicable tension he feels around his coworker. His coworker, or more specifically, the head designer Stede hired to revamp the company's entire product line when he unexpectedly inherited it from his father. His travel companion for the next week. And the most effortlessly and devastatingly handsome man Stede's ever met.
“Uh–” Ed’s interjection snaps Stede back to reality. “You’re not actually waiting for me to open the trunk, for you, right? There’s so much product back there you’re gonna have to put your suitcase under your feet, sorry.”
“Oh, god, no, of course. That’s fine. Everything’s fine! Extremely fine.” Stede shuts his mouth as Ed’s expression starts to shift from amused to concerned.
Stede scurries around to the passenger side, suitcase bumping over the uneven surface of the pavement. He fits his luggage into the footwell next to what must be Ed’s duffel bag and squeezes himself into the remaining space.
They check preferences on temperature (“seems fine”) and the radio (“driver’s choice”). A few minutes pass in silence as Ed navigates out of the industrial park and onto the interstate. With Ed seemingly focused on the road, Stede contorts himself to extract a notebook from his suitcase.
“Thank you—” Ed jumps at the sound of Stede’s voice. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to thank you for taking the first driving shift.” He holds up the notebook. “I wanted to go over the details again–product specs, store information, you know. This is my first sales trip, and I don’t want to mess anything up. My father handled, well, everything, when he was alive, and especially now that we’re shifting the product line so drastically, I just—I’m a little lost.”
Ed takes his eyes off the road for a moment to flash a sardonic smile in Stede’s direction. “Bit of a Tommy Boy situation, eh?”
“A what?”
“Tommy Boy. You’re Tommy, so I guess that makes me—” Ed grimaces—“David Spade.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Tommy Boy. Classic 90s road trip buddy comedy?” Ed shakes his head in mock (Stede hopes) dismay. “You know Chris Farley, though, right?”
“Of course I know Chris Farley! I think.”
“Okay, new plan. If any Saturday Night Live references come up during these sales meetings, you leave them to me. Understand?”
Stede has to suppress a shiver at the little growl in Ed’s voice. He’s still not 100% sure if he’s being serious. “Yep, absolutely. I’ll stick to price points, production times, quality control, and you handle—uh, 90s comedy.”
Ed nods. “Better get back to your studying while it’s still light out. We’ve got a long drive tonight—looks like the first hotel’s near the store for tomorrow, which is great, but it’s a few hours away.”
Stede flips through pages of product component diagrams and anticipated Q&As for the meeting tomorrow until the figures start to blur on the page and he has to squint to see in the fading light. After checking to see if Ed’s good to keep driving—he holds up his Big Gulp of Mountain Dew as an answer—Stede leans his head against the passenger window and dozes.
He wakes when the van lurches to a stop and the glare of a neon motel sign hits his eyelids. “Are we—”
Ed’s already hopping out of the driver’s side door. “Gotta piss!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll check in.”
“Oh—okay,” Stede says to Ed’s retreating form. He hadn't meant to sleep the whole way and hopes Ed isn't mad. He didn't quite get the Tommy Boy reference, but it didn't seem complimentary.
Ed’s gone a long time—long enough for Stede to tuck his notebook back into his bag, to remove both it and Ed’s duffel from the footwell, to traverse the parking lot in search of a dumpster for Ed’s empty Big Gulp, and to take in the view (trees, more trees, & freeway lights in the distance).
When Ed returns, his face is clouded. He takes a breath, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Think there was a mistake with the reservation. Your guy made them, right? Leroy?”
“Lucius,” Stede sighs. “He had weeks to get this done. What exactly is the problem? No reservation? Wrong hotel?”
“Well, I figured there would be two rooms, because, you know, two people? But there’s only one.”
“One? Like…a single room?” Stede stammers. “I was very clear with him, I’m sure I double-checked the—”
“Anyway, I figured they could just add another one, but the guy seemed to think they were all full? Or he couldn’t find another key?” Ed drops his voice conspiratorially. “I think he might be drunk. Or just a huge dick. Anway, it’s late, and I think we’re just—stuck with it.” He dangles the single room key (a real metal key, not a card, attached to an ancient-looking plastic fob) from his fingers. Stede's torn between the desire to fix this incredibly awkward situation and the desire not to get firsthand experience with the "is he drunk or just a dick" desk attendant. He sighs. "I suppose we should see what exactly we're dealing with."
What they’re dealing with is a pretty standard-issue motel room. There’s only one bed instead of the two doubles Stede had briefly, foolishly, allowed himself to hope for. There’s a desk and a small pleather-upholstered couch, and not much else.
Stede sighs instead of doing what he feels like doing (sitting on the floor and possibly having a little cry). He turns to head back out to the parking lot. “This is my assistant’s fault. I’ll sleep in the van. Maybe if I stretch horizontally over the two front seats—”
“No way, man.” Ed bars his exit. “Absolutely not. You’ve gotta be well-rested for the meeting tomorrow.” He tosses his duffel bag into the room, takes a couple of bounding steps, and flops more-or-less gracefully onto the couch. “This’ll do for me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you—” Stede stammers.
“‘m already half-asleep after that drive,” Ed says. “I’ll be out in a minute, Besides I’ve slept with—I mean in—I mean ON—lots of worse surfaces.” He does a dramatic stretch and curls up with his face toward the back of the couch.
“Well, if you’re–-absolutely sure.”
“Yep!” comes the muffled reassurance.
“All right, then,” Stede says. “I’m just going to brush my teeth and shower and—” He stops himself before he can explain every step of his personal bedtime routine. “Uh. Sleep well. I’ve got an alarm set for tomorrow.”
Ed’s only response is a soft snore.