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Wet shoes squished underfoot as Ganke pushed open the door to his dorm.
Thunder boomed in the distance, announcing itself like a laugh in the middle of a funeral. Rain lashed against the window, threatening to sleep through the cracks in the glass and fill the room until he drowned in it. He was tempted to let it happen. Maybe the water would muffle the never-ending throb of EDM coming from the next room over. He dropped the bag he’d been carrying just inside the room, the heavy wheels of his skateboard thumping against the wooden floor.
The door slammed behind him as he entered, shoving aside a chair that was piled high with clothes and other crap. His sore, frozen body protested the movement, but he gritted his teeth and kicked his way towards the other chair at the end of the room. He had no patience for the scattered tools on the seat, sweeping them off like a horse to flies. A hefty pair of pliers flew straight for his foot, pain ricocheting up his leg as it landed on his foot.
Ganke jumped, lifting his leg to grab at his wounded toes. Air hissed through his teeth as he forced himself to take a breath and not swear at the offending weapon. He needed to take his shoes off anyway.
He raised his cold hands to his mouth, trying to breathe life back into them. His warm breath burned against his skin, struggling to restore feeling into his stiff fingers. He rubbed them together for a moment before returning back to his foot, trying to untie his wet shoelaces. Ganke jammed his blunt fingertips into the knot, wishing he had waited to bite his fingernails rather than chew them off during his walk home. The chipped black paint on his nails winked at him mockingly as he ripped at the knot, barely able to loosen it.
“God damn it,” He hissed as his nail bent back, shaking his hand out before pressing it against his leg. With a surge of frustration, he opted to grabbing the wet shoe in both hands, leaning back as he tried to just pull his foot free. The wet canvas acted like a vice, but after some struggle he managed to pull himself free. Ganke launched the shoe at the wall before doing the same to his other foot, narrowing his eyes as someone shouted at him through the wall.
“Shut up!” He snapped, throwing the other shoe with a bit more force. The bass warbled back at him, vibrating the loose crap that was scattered across his desk. Spare parts, bolts, empty cans. He watched one slide off the edge of the wood, falling onto a sweatshirt that was partly stuffed under the desk. He jolted in alarm as leftover sugary drink spilled onto the violet fabric.
“No!-” Ganke yelped, snatching the can and hoodie up, quickly trying to blot out the stain. He’d spent the last of his quarters at the laundromat two days ago— he wouldn't' have enough to go back for at least another week.
It had been such a shit day.
He’d slept through his alarms that morning, exhausted after pulling two all-nighters trying to catch up on his work. Miles either hadn’t been there, or hadn’t woken him up, which was pretty rude. They’d been fighting anyway, though. Stupid petty arguments over nothing where Ganke would get his feelings hurt and refuse to talk to the other boy for days until he either apologized, or something new came up. It was usually the latter.
He scoffed quietly as he undid the snaps on his studded leather cuffs, dropping them to mingle with the mess. How hard was it to apologize? He should cut Miles off, see how he performs when his tech stops functioning. He glared at the black screen of his monitor, tempted to tweak a few lines of code. That would get Miles to talk to him again. He’d be forced to, if he wanted it repaired.
Ganke grabbed a clip from the desk, shaking his long, damp hair out from under his beanie. He gathered the dark strands up and twisted them, using the clip to hold it out of his face so he could avoid dealing with the tangles. He peeled himself out of his heavy jacket, making a small effort to hook the furred hood over the bunk bed rail so that maybe it would dry. But with the cold, damp air in the dorm, he seriously doubted it.
Hunger growled in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten. Well, he’d tried. After sitting through two boring, far too long classes (which he got in trouble for being late to), he’d shuffled off to the food court and bought a sandwich. The worker had to substitute the roast beef for turkey because they’d been out, and then had put green olives on it instead of black… But it was fine.
It hadn’t been raining then, so he’d taken it to the courtyard to eat, like he usually did when Miles wasn’t around. He’d barely unwrapped it when a football came flying from the other end of the breezeway, smashing directly into his hands and causing him to drop the whole thing, which was promptly covered in dirt. He’d glared at the water food, ignoring the laughter and fake apologies from the boys who’d thrown it.
“Throw it back, man!” They’d laughed, putting their hands up like they expected him to chuck it back. He’d only rolled his eyes and slipped back inside, six dollar poorer and still hungry. The rest of the day had progressed with similar instances. A shove in the hallway, bullshit written on his locker, a kick to the back of his chair. Most of the kids he went to school with had rich parents and didn’t understand what it was like to struggle. None of them questioned where their parents got that money. Or how.
He tried not too, either.
He didn’t have the most morally-ethical income source either.
Ganke finished changing out of his wet clothes, adding them to the pile on the other chair. He didn’t have anything to dry off with, so his skin felt sticky as he pulled on a pair of soft pajama bottoms, Kuromi’s face plastered all over them. He dragged the purple sweatshirt on, trying to ignore the sticky spot on the front of it. His roommates scent had long-since faded from it, but luckily for Ganke, he knew where Miles kept his cologne. He rifled around in a drawer in their shared cubicle, his fingers closing around the smooth glass bottle.
He told himself that it wasn’t weird to miss him. He could still miss him, even if he didn’t want anything to do with him. He avoided thinking too hard about it as he took the cap off the bottle and sprayed a small amount on the front of the hoodie, just enough to keep him company in the quiet, empty room.
Ganke sighed softly, putting the bottle back in its drawer and returned to his place at his desk. He pulled the fabric tighter around himself, grabbing his headphones while he waited for his computer to boot up. He didn’t really want to listen to anything in particular, but just about everything was better than the teeth-rattling beat from the room over.
The bright screen finally lit up, causing him to squint and blink until his eyes adjusted. Even with the settings turned all the way down, it was still far too bright for a night like this. He pulled out the thin drawer underneath the desktop, logging into the computer. Except he wasn’t planning to do more school work tonight.
Instead, he hovered his mouse over an application called VirtualBox, double clicking it. From there, he opened both a system gateway and workstation, running his index finger against the mouse wheel as he waited to load into Tor. Even with his highly advanced, well oiled system, the computer still operated at a slightly slower rate with those four applications open. Ganke navigated to the Blacksite, an underground web page that he often advertised through. Idly, he flicked through a few responses he’d gotten, thoroughly unimpressed with them. There were the usual requests— demands to fry a rival gang’s severs, requests for the location of illicit goods, commissions for specialized gear. All the same unexciting bullshit.
Ganke groaned softly in annoyance, accepting the first three. He got so tired of the same routines. The same cycles. But it paid well, and he was damn good at what he did. He reached under his desk, grabbing an unopened can of FUEL— a drink line he’d been interested in for the past month. The caffeine helped enable his habit of staying up for days, so he bought in bulk when he could.
He already had programs created for this type of work, so all he had to do was find a way into the target servers and launch them… and then wait. It was a lot of waiting. A lot of watching the code play out, easily uprooting the information he was hunting for, which he then was able to return to his clients. He watched the money transfer through his accounts until it was safely locked away somewhere he could withdraw it later.
Hours passed by while he stared at the screen, the last reserves of his energy focused on monitoring everything so it moved fluidly. He was so immersed in the numbers that he barely reacted to the grating sound as the dorm window slid open. Harsh LEDs bathed the room in a magenta glow that rapidly softened as they powered down again. Ganke’s eyebrow twitched, but his eyes remained firmly glued to his screen. He was expecting Miles to wordlessly drop his gear off and climb into the top bunk.
He wasn’t expecting the soft, tentative brush of fingers against the top of his head.
Ganke blinked, finally turning to look at his roommate. Miles was still wearing his costume, the Prowler symbol proudly displayed on his chest, pointed tips of his collar framing his head. He’d taken off his gauntlets and mask, the gear laying neatly on Ganke’s nightstand rather than shoved on top of the rest of his mess. His hands ghosted over Ganke’s head, pulling at the side of his headphones. “Got a minute?” He asked, his voice almost as tired as Ganke felt.
Ganke scowled at him, pulling away to safely shut down and sign out of the software, powering the whole unit down so there was no threat of something latching onto him. He fully removed his headphones before finally turning around in his chair, the air heavy with unspoken tension. I’m still mad at you, he thought, even as Miles reached for him again. You still owe me a sorry.
He closed his eyes, his cheek coming to rest just below Miles’s sternum. He could feel the soft thump of his heart, a sound he welcomed graciously over the music and sound of the rain. Miles threaded his fingers through Ganke’s hair, his nails scraping lightly over his scalp. By design, Ganke felt himself start to relax. The tension bled from his temples, to his jaw, releasing the tightness in his shoulders and spine as it flowed gradually out of him, like the electrical current in his monitor.
Miles smelled like home. The lingering smell of the cologne Ganke had sprayed earlier was nothing compared to the warm, pleasant scent of his skin. He smelled like oil, and exhaust most predominantly, with something softer layered underneath. He was sure Miles picked up on the physical change. Even when they were fighting, both boys were so in tune with each other’s souls.
Miles’ right hand moved down to lace with Ganke’s own, silently guiding him to get up and follow him out of the chair. Ganke swayed slightly as he stood up, mumbling some half-assed complaint even though he made no effort to pull back. The pair slowly settled against the mattress a few steps away, sliding into the small hollow in the center that had been created by years of use.
Ganke tucked his face into the crook of Miles’ shoulder, laying on his belly. He pressed his side against Miles’, wrapping a sturdy arm around the other’s thin waist. Miles responded by looping his own arms around Ganke’s shoulders. He hummed slightly, slipping one hand up the back of Ganke’s hoodie to gently drag his nails against his back with a patternless, soothing grace. Despite himself, Ganke felt a small smile tug at his lips.
“You were gone a while.” He mumbled, shifting again to tangle his legs with Miles’, trying to be as close as physically possible. The other boy was warm, which was a blessing in the damp, biting air.
“Yeah,” Miles replied, pulling one of Ganke’s blankets over them, trapping their combined warmth. He frowned slightly, picking mindlessly at a small pimple on Ganke’s shoulder blade. It came away easily, already dried up. He tilted his head. “You left the window open?”
Ganke shrugged. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t cared enough to close it. Maybe he enjoyed being cold. Maybe he’d been waiting. He took a deep breath, pressing his fingers into Miles’ ribs. It was annoying how easily he forgave him when they weren’t yelling. “So what?” He asked, playing it off like he hadn’t even noticed.
Miles huffed softly in amusement, internally rolling his eyes. He knew Ganke better than that. Hell, Ganke knew Ganke better than that. He almost decided not to call him out about it when he caught a whiff of perfume rising from his hoodie. Which— he just realized— was the same one Miles had stolen from him earlier in the week. His face softened and he grinned. “You smell like me.”
“Shut up,” Ganke mumbled, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Something fluttered in his chest, trying to chase away the bitterness that had settled around his heart. He rubbed his cheek against Miles’ shoulder in an attempt to shake it off, resting his head squarely on his chest. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Blegh—” Miles said, spluttering as Ganke’s hair tickled his chin and poked into his mouth and nose. He used his free hand to slick the stray hairs back down again, pressing his jaw against the crown of Ganke’s head. He went quiet for a moment, lapsing into thought. He could tell from the moment he crawled through the window that something was up. Ganke’s eyes had been unusually red and heavy, and he was more disheveled than usual. Guilt tugged at his chest, gnawing at his ribs like a physical ache. Ganke was only this clingy when he was going through something… (Which was often).
Feeling like he should probably do something, Miles lifted his head, twisting to press his lips against Ganke’s hairline. I’m sorry, he said, feeling Ganke lean towards him. He didn’t have to say it out loud for his message to be understood. He laid back down after a moment, staring at the space above Ganke’s head. “We cool, though?”
Ganke’s heart fluttered again, affection rushing through his body. It was so simple— a momentary glimpse of sweetness that was shadowed by a mountain of repressed angst. He really shouldn't let it go this time. Every time he did it only added to the pile and served as more fuel for their next disagreement. But he was already forgiving Miles. And he cursed himself for it.
“Yeah,” He whispered, suddenly aware of the exhaustion tugging at his bones. The soft, steady beat of Miles’ heart lulled him into a state between half conscious and half asleep, hovering like sunlight through clouds. He was too tired to argue about it now. And why ruin a good moment with something painful and heavy? He’d save it for tomorrow, or the next day. “We cool.”
“Right on,” Miles said, his own eyelids growing heavy. He pulled his hand out from under Ganke’s hoodie, laying his hand on the back of his neck instead so he could gently play with his baby hairs. Even stiff from the rain and unbrushed, his hair was like silk. He yawned, mumbling. “Want me to beat someone up for ya?”
“Miles you get your ass whooped from standing up too fast.”
“Mm, yeah, okay. But I could get back in gear and threaten them.”
“Until they cry?”
“Sure, if that’s what ya want.” He replied, smiling fondly. He’d drop them off the empire state building, if it got that look to clear off Ganke’s face. He hated seeing him so drained. He imagined how he’d scare the bullies off, fully aware that he’d never do it in reality. Well, maybe a little. But only if he got the opportunity. Ganke would probably get to it first, with exploding model volcanoes rigged inside their lockers, or lighting a stink bomb off in the air vent.
“Goodnight, Miles,” Ganke whispered, the familiar sense of safety and belonging settling within his body. Despite everything they went through in a week, he always found himself back in Miles’ company. And he hoped it would stay that way forever.
“Night, Lee.” Miles whispered back as the pair of them blissfully drifted off into deep, dreamless sleep. Tomorrow they’d wake up still wrapped in each other’s embrace. Tomorrow, they’d still have each other. And that’s all they’d ever need.