Another Day In Paradise | Danny Johnson x Reader

The Warmth Of The Campfire

You had a wild grin on your face as you sprinted for Brahms' car, which was parked and rumbling just outside of your home. It was gorgeous, a sleek black with a white top that looked as if it were pulled right from an old photograph. As Norman pushed the passenger door open from his spot in the back seat (it was only a two door car) you shielded your head with your arms and slid into the safety.

"What a downpour!" You cry out over the rain as you pull your legs inside and slam the door shut, letting out a breathy laugh, your grocery bags of snacks in your lap. Brahms is smiling from the front seat just like you as he slides the gearshift back into drive and eases onto the gas pedal. The seats in the car were a dark, fancy leather and the steering wheel was one of the vintage restomod ones. "Quite the car, wow," You lean forwards, running a hand over the dashboard and admiring the perfect condition of the aged surface.

"I know, right?" Norman chatters from behind you, leaning one arm on the back of your seat to poke his head up between yours and Brahms'.

"It's a Chevrolet Bel Air 19... 57, I think. It's my father's pride and joy." With a quick ask for permission you bumped on the radio, grinning at the orchestra who began to pump jumping notes through the tinny speakers. It was a very Brahms style music, you think, as you twist the knob to find something a little more akin to your own tastes.

"Is this okay?" You ask, tilting your head half over your shoulder so the question is directed at Norman as well- Lemon Boy by Cavetown was playing, just hitting the second chorus. Norman shrugged one shoulder, indifferent, and Brahms began to tap his finger to the music on the leather surface of the steering wheel, immediately tuning into the rhythm and soaking it up like a sponge. "You like music, huh?" You lean back into the seat, staring out through the front window at the sheets and sheets of rain pouring relentlessly down from above.

"Yes," Brahms says, "I've been studying it for as long as I can remember," The soft smile on his face demonstrated the passion that you had noticed he carried himself with. Brahms was a very different man, nothing like the boys you'd known back in New York. He had an abundance of human emotions and he wasn't afraid to show them- you could see his sensitivity, his softness, blooming brilliantly behind his emerald green eyes every time you looked into them. They were like glass, entirely transparent; Brahms was a boy you could trust with anything. "I play piano with my mother, and both she and my father like to visit the orchestra in the next town over. We often make a weekend of it, driving down there to visit my aunt and watch a show."

"Sounds lovely! I've never gone to an orchestra, but my dad went to one once. He came back and looked like he'd been crying," You grin, and turn to look at Norman, "What about you? Have you ever been? What are your passions? Hopes and dreams?"

"Oh, I really don't do much," Norman shrugged one shoulder, his cheeks going a little rosy. At once, Brahms let out a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh, something louder and more boisterous than you thought possible for the boy. In school he was always so silent and polite; it was strange to see him roll his eyes at Norman, grinning ear to ear and saying in a cheeky tone,

"I wouldn't say that," He dragged his words out as he spoke, relishing in the way Norman let out a quiet groan and hid his face in his hands, "Norman, it really isn't embarrassing. I don't know why you always hide it; he likes to clean, and he crochets with his mother. He likes to cook, he likes to knit- it's all fine stuff for him to like but he never tells anyone."

"Because it's-" Norman trailed off, waving one hand around as he struggled for his words, "Soft. I feel like a grandmother." Brahms let out a coo, one hand leaving the wheel to reach over and pat his shoulder.

"It's okay to be a grandma. I love my grandma." With that, Norman heaved out a sigh and slumped down to rest his chin on the back of the front seat again.