Chapter Text
Gavin's been in AC for a few months now. He's been taking whatever jobs he could, building up a name for himself again. He'd honestly forgotten how tedious it was the first time, so used to having a reputation that starting from square one was honestly a little exhausting. He tries to stick with hacking jobs, it's what he does best after all, but beggars can't be choosers and he's had to get more hands-on than he'd honestly like.
Still, it puts money in his pocket and his name is being spread around certain circles. "The Golden Boy," the whispers say, "If you need anything done, he'll do it." Assassinations, hacking, theft, espionage, strategic dismantling of rival groups… if the price is good, he'll do it. People are starting to seek him out, now, instead of him having to beg for jobs.
It's tedious work, and Gavin, frankly, is tired of it.
He's tired in general.
Three days now he's been working away at a hacking gig for a job much bigger than the crew who hired him. Hacking into the personal database of one of the richest businessmen in the city who's known for dirty deals and less than legal actions.
Three days now he's been surviving mainly on a diet consisting of way too many Red Bull, whatever leftovers he has in the fridge, and spite.
Three days now he's gone with maybe four hours of sleep total, split between falling asleep at his desk while waiting for a program to run, or a power nap waiting for his microwave to finish heating up his food, or passing out for about 45 minutes on his way to the bathroom.
And, right now? He's sitting on his fire escape, feet dangling from where he has his legs under the railing, a cigarette between his teeth. It got too warm inside and he was starting to feel a little ill because of it–and probably the lack of sleep and the four Red Bulls in his stomach–so he went for some fresh air.
The air is cool, refreshing on his bare arms, and he revels in it for a long moment before patting himself down for a lighter. It's not in his front pockets, or his back ones. Weird, he can swear he'd grabbed it when he grabbed the pack of cigarettes.
No, actually, he hadn't. It's sitting on the kitchen counter where he had put it down to fiddle with something on his computer and forgot to pick it back up.
"Shit," he sighs to himself, smacking his forehead with his hand in frustration. "Damnit!"
While it'd be easy to duck back inside and grab it, Gavin honestly can't be bothered to do so. That requires him to get up, climb through the window, walk to the kitchen, climb back out the window, and get comfortable again. That's too much work and he's lazy.
He's resigned himself to just sitting and screwing around on his phone, and he's in the process of putting the unlit cigarette back into the pack when he hears someone call up from the alley below.
"What'cha doing?"
Gavin jumps, not expecting someone to talk to him, and peeks over the edge of the fire escape. Michael Jones, his across-the-hall neighbor and member of the notorious Fake AH Crew is staring up at him, hands shoved into his pockets. He's in plain clothes, lacking his leather jacket which typically means he's busy with crew work. Instead, he has on a brightly colored hoodie.
He smiles down at him and waves. "Hi, Michael," he chirps, swinging his legs slightly. "Just enjoying the air, I guess."
"On the fire escape?"
Gavin shrugs and lifts the cigarette between his fingers. "Was gonna have a cheeky smoke, but forgot a damn lighter."
Michael shakes his head, shoulders shaking in what Gavin assumes is laughter despite not being able to hear it. After a moment, he grins. "Fucking idiot. Go get one."
"Nah, can't be arsed to."
"Fucking lazy piece of shit. Hold on, I'm coming up."
Gavin watches in amusement as Michael jumps up to grab the ladder, crossing his arms across the railing and resting his chin on them. Michael makes quick work of the fire escape and soon is plopping himself down next to him, hand out expectantly.
Gavin blinks at him and utters, "What?"
"Wot?" Michael mocks, wiggling his fingers. "Cough one up, asshole. Or I'm not sharing my lighter."
"Oh! Right." Gavin offers him the pack and Michael grabs one and puts it between his lips. He pulls a black lighter out that reads 'BITE ME' with vampire teeth on it and lights it with a flick of his thumb.
He takes a long drag and shoves the lighter back into his pocket, and Gavin clears his throat. "What?" Michael huffs and Gavin raises his eyebrow and gestures with his still unlit cig. "Fucking… c'mere."
Furrowing his eyebrows, Gavin obediently leans towards Michael, who roughly grabs his wrist and lifts it towards his mouth. Once Gavin has it in his lips, Michael leans forward and he has the split thought of, 'Is he going to bloody kiss me?' He can't help the way his face heats up at the idea.
He doesn't. Instead, Michael presses the lit end of his cigarette against Gavin's. Realizing what's happening, Gavin inhales as his lights and leans away with an embarrassed cough. "Well that was unnecessary," he gripes, refusing to look at Michael who laughs at him. "Bit gay, innit?"
Michael takes another drag, chuckling as he does so. "Shit, Gavin, with a reaction like that, I'd think you'd never done that before," he ribs jokingly, grinning at Gavin. Gavin flushes further, shoulders hiking up to his ears.
Instead of answering, Gavin takes a long inhale, exhaling smoke in a big plume in his direction. Michael laughs at him again, throwing his head back and cackling, and Gavin glares at him. "Sod off."
Michael leans back on one hand, cigarette held loosely in his other hand. He still has a huge grin on his face, though he thankfully drops the subject. Instead, they sit in silence for a few minutes. Gavin flicks ash over the edge of the fire escape, leaning on his arms again.
The longer they sit out there, the colder the air becomes. It slowly goes from a tolerable chill that felt nice at first to a noticeable bite, raising goosebumps on his arms. Gavin regrets not bringing a hoodie or anything but refuses to go get one.
"Didn't know you smoked," Michael says, breaking the silence. Gavin glances over at him, before he looks pointedly at the cigarette in his fingers. "Shut up, you know what I meant."
Gavin rolls his eyes. He does. "I try not to, it's a damn nasty habit," he replies, ignoring every other bad habit he has. Drugs, drinking, lack of sleep, overworking… the list goes on and on, and he very carefully doesn't mention a single one.
"I get it. Sometimes you just need one, though."
"Yeah," Gavin sighs, turning his head to look in Michael's direction. "It helps with stress."
"What do you have to be stressed about?" Michael asks incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. "I barely see you leave your apartment!"
That's absolutely on purpose. If Gavin has to leave to do his job, he either leaves when he knows Michael isn't home or climbs down the fire escape. He doesn't need Michael asking questions, because that leads to figuring out answers, which leads to Michael finding out who he is.
"I'm stressed because of work, Michael!" He cries, keeping it vague. "They have me on insane overtime right now."
All Michael knows of his 'work' is that he's freelance and works remotely whenever he can. Which isn't a lie, per se, but it isn't close to the full truth. He can't afford to reveal more, not that he wants to, mind you, but God forbid Michael ever puts two-and-two together. Times like this, where Gavin can honestly trick himself into believing they're friends, would stop, for sure. If not worse.
"That's fair," Michael nods, scratching his cheek, his cigarette coming way too close to his hair for comfort. "God, I hate overtime. It should be illegal."
Gavin almost laughs at the absurdity of the statement. With their line of work, the idea of something being illegal is hilarious. He manages to keep a straight face though, and drops the butt of his cig to the ground below, watching embers explode outwards when it hits the ground.
Michael snuffs his out on the metal before carelessly tossing it forward.
"I can't wait to be done." He rubs his arms with his hands, trying in vain to warm up his frigid skin.
"When do you think you will be?"
"Soon." He reaches for the pack and pulls out another, toying with it for a moment. "I hope," he adds.
"You can always bitch at me about it. I think I'm a fucking stellar listener."
Gavin hums, and accepts the lighter from Michael. He doesn't let his disappointment show as he lights up, handing it back so he can do the same. He thinks of how he can word things without giving too much away.
"Eh, it's just boring, tedious technical work. Bunch of idiots don't know what they're doing and made a right mess of their systems," he settles on, fighting a shiver that tries to crawl up his spine. "And now I get to be the lucky bastard to fix it."
"Sounds complicated," Michael exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.
"It's absolutely boring," Gavin whines, shifting to lie next to Michael. The cold metal does nothing to warm him up, instead, it saps what little body heat he has. "But it pays the bills."
"Mm, yeah. Bet that makes it worth it."
"It does."
They lapse back into silence, only the sound of the city surrounding them. Someone lays on the horn for longer than needed, and in the distance, people are heatedly shouting at each other. Gavin wouldn't be surprised to hear gunshots sooner or later.
He stares up at the sky, cloud cover blocking the few stars that are usually visible.
He can't fight the next shiver that wracks his body, starting at the base of his spine and working its way up. Even his teeth chatter a bit, and Gavin grimaces at the sensation. When he glances at Michael to see if he noticed, he sees him watching him with a single eyebrow raised.
"Jesus, dude. Cold much?"
"It is cold."
"It's not that cold."
"It's like three degrees out!"
Michael kicks him in the shin. "Shut the fuck up. It's like, almost forty!"
"That's the same as I said you bloody mong!"
"No, it isn't! Three and forty are not the same thing."
Gavin shakes his head. "Michael, I'm using Celsius, Michael, the superior scale!"
"Are we water? No! It makes no sense to use Celsius."
"Humans are made up of around sixty percent water–"
"Shut up." Michael kicks him again, pushing himself up to point in Gavin's face. "Don't get all scientific on me."
Sitting up, too, Gavin opens his mouth to argue further, but another shiver steals his voice and he hunches in on himself, rubbing his upper arms. "Christ!"
"Go get a fucking jacket, Jesus," Michael gestures to his window.
Gavin shakes his head. "I don't want to, it's too far away." Going inside meant seeing how far his program had gotten, and if it finished then he'd have to go back to work. He'd rather remain blissfully unaware.
"You are such a lazy motherfucker," Michael grouses. "Won't go get a lighter, won't go get a jacket. All you do is bitch about it."
All Gavin can do is shrug with a sheepish grin, because he can't exactly refute that. He takes another drag of his cigarette, ignoring the constant shivering his body decided on doing.
Michael lifts his hand, plants it on the side of Gavin's head, and shoves. Gavin squawks in indignation, immediately retaliating by pushing Michael back, and ducks a swat at his head.
"Get a fucking jacket!"
"No!" He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest and glaring like a petulant child. "Why do you care, anyway?"
Michael pauses, hand raised to push Gavin again presumably. After a moment he raises one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. He lifts his cigarette to his lips, and when he pulls it away, he says, "Because if you become a British popsicle, then who else am I supposed to insult? Little old Gertrude down the hall? Fuck that. She's not a little prick like you, it'd be mean."
"Your love for me is touching," Gavin bites sarcastically.
"What can I say? I'm a loving man."
Gavin snorts at that, throwing away the remains of his cigarette to wrap his arms around himself.
"Fucking goddamn it, you're pathetic," Michael spits, with a hint of a laugh in his voice. Gavin hears him moving and watches him out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise Michael is unzipping his hoodie and shrugging it off his shoulders. He only has a graphic Legend of Zelda T-shirt underneath.
Gavin blinks and rears back when it's thrust into his face. "Michael?"
"Fucking take it," he shakes the clothing for emphasis. "I'm tired of watching you shiver like a fucking tiny dog." When Gavin does nothing but stare suspiciously, Michael rolls his eyes. His voice is quieter, and more sincere when he mutters, "It looks painful."
Gavin takes the hoodie slowly, holding it like it might bite him for a moment before throwing it on. It's warm from Michael, and it's about two sizes too big so it feels like he's drowning in it, but it's surprisingly soft inside and the warmth is comforting.
Gavin zips it and tucks his head into the collar, smelling the scent of Michael's laundry detergent and smoke. He's silent for a long moment before he mumbles, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," Michael waves it off and then glares at Gavin behind his glasses. "Seriously. Don't fucking mention it to anyone. If you ruin my tough guy reputation I'll have to kill you."
Gavin doesn't doubt that, though he laughs anyway, giggles squeaking out from underneath the hoodie. "Aw, the big bad Michael isn't so mean after all," he coos.
"I'm warning you, Gav," Michael threatens, a grin on his face. "I'll kill ya."
"Noted."
Gavin absolutely doesn't snuggle into the hoodie, his shivers abating, as he lays back down, one arm folded under his head. Michael copies him, and they talk at length about meaningless shit. They talk about what video games they like, finding out they both enjoy GTA and Minecraft. They talk about TV shows and complain about trash reality TV. They talk about the most recent book they've read.
Gavin's responses take longer and longer to be spoken as sudden exhaustion washes over him, his days of furiously working himself half to death finally catching up with him. He tries desperately to not fall asleep. He may find Michael fun and good company, but he doesn't really trust him at all. Not nearly enough to fall asleep around him.
His body, on the other hand, has other plans, and Gavin suddenly finds himself jolting awake, eyes snapping open and body lurching upright unsteadily. Panic thunders in his chest, last wisps of a nightmare he doesn't remember fading quickly, and it takes him a moment to figure out where the hell he is.
Glancing down at the hoodie he's basically swaddled in causes the memories to slam back into his brain and he jerks again in surprise. He can't believe he fell asleep. Not only that, but out on his fucking fire escape, with Michael beside him.
Michael, who is no longer there.
Gavin looks around for a moment, confusion bleeding off him in waves, but the man is well and truly gone, the only thing remaining behind being the hoodie Gavin's wearing. Or, well, stole, he guesses.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and scowls at nothing, only to blink and pull his hands back out. His pack of cigarettes is in one of the pockets, a receipt in the other. He pulls both out, and when he realizes Michael's lighter is tucked into the pack of cigs, he can't help but smile.
His smile grows when he glances at the receipt and sees a note haphazardly scrawled on the back. 'You fell asleep. Tried to wake you but you were sleeping like a fucking baby. I want my jacket back you asshole -M'
He puts both back into the pockets and stretches, relishing in the way his back cracks. It's grown colder, and a glance at his phone shows it's well past two am now, meaning he fell asleep for at least an hour. Well, it's better than nothing, he supposes, though he'd rather not have fallen asleep outside. Oh well.
Gavin clambers to his feet and brushes himself off, humming to himself as he heads back inside. He climbs through the window, shutting and locking it behind him. A glance at his computer shows his program has finished and is awaiting input. Perfect.
He grabs a Red Bull, cracks it open, and sits in his chair. Cracking his fingers, he gets back to work.