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It’s not unusual for his thoughts to become something more fluid and floating at the end of an intense day. For some, this is how fatigue works, and coffee does not help, it only makes them even more sleepy.
This time it’s the injury that adds to the injury, not assault,
Miles thinks not too cleverly as the gash in his left side makes itself known. He had hoped it wouldn’t hurt that bad. When his head fills with that liquid sort of thinking matter, it means it’s time to go back to the dorm, where he’ll probably find Ganke already asleep, the duvet pulled up to the top of his nose and the computer put on sleep mode instead of turned off, which Miles would then actually turn off for him. Ganke has gotten used to the fact that they don’t say ‘goodnight’ to each other, making it their unspoken ritual. He never asked why. Either he’s a bad friend and doesn’t care about Miles that much, or he’s an amazing friend and somehow got the fact that he shouldn’t even really try. If you dared ask what Miles does at night, he’d say it’s none of your business unless you have a deathwish. That’s because he doesn’t like you. But if Ganke were to ask, Miles would simply lie.
So he sneaks into their building through the window, legs first. He’s been checking things off his mental list for the past few minutes: dropped off the medicine at mom’s, some things that aren’t important to actually mention happened then, met uncle Aaron about
that
, he was all caught up on coursework, of course, now it’s time to get back to the dorm room, patch yourself up, no, no, first change out of the suit, then attempt to patch yourself up, don’t wake
him
up, he needs his rest, go to sleep too, and try to get those four hours in. Four hours should be fine.
Except there was no need to keep from waking Ganke up this time.
He entered their room quietly, since Ganke was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his bottom bunk, under that red Spider-Man quilt. If Ganke knew what Miles was up to at night, they wouldn’t be sharing a room. But they are, so Miles tries to be a good roommate and doesn’t make any noise at all, even when he’s barely standing straight, losing blood and extremely sleep-deprived. Or maybe concussed?
Miles can’t say his heart dropped. His heart doesn’t drop. Ever. Instead, a frown builds up on his face, tugging at his mimetic muscles when he sees that Ganke is missing. His bed was as neatly made as it was in the morning (though by Miles' standards, Ganke made his bed carelessly). His PC was turned off. Miles tries to remember whether Ganke said he had plans that chilly evening, going out just to wreck Miles’ nerves even more. He can’t recall anything like that currently, but that might be just his foggy mind doing its thing. He hopes so – it would be a hassle getting a new, somewhat tolerable roommate. Miles immediately scolds himself inwardly. If Ganke isn’t safe right now, it’d be incredibly insensitive to not clarify that he isn’t one of the just somewhat tolerable ones.
Light poured into the room through the blinds in a way that accentuated the absence of one of the boys, striking his mattress in the orange hues of the street lanterns and a blue gray glow of the moon that weighed heavily over Brooklyn. The Prowler should be able to ignore something like that.
No, no – he
is
able to ignore something like that.
But Miles isn’t the Prowler now, he is the roommate and friend of some nerd who couldn’t stay away from sketchy dudes and danger if it cost him his life (look at him being friends with Miles). Or, all this stress on Miles’ part could’ve been avoided if the computer buff simply wrote a text or even left a note saying he’ll be back in the morning or something. So Miles drops the antiseptic from his hand, leaving it and the bandages to roll on the desk.
He has to go look for Ganke.
Even if he’s got bruises and his left side is rubbing against his torn clothes and it hurts bloody bad and will probably give Miles an infection because filth is simply all over the city, hanging in the air, Miles has to go find Ganke.
A grunt escapes his lips in protest, his body warning him as he tries to push himself away from the desk and off of Ganke’s gaming chair, to which the dread of sleep draws him like a magnet. Sleep and a minimal,
uno en diez miles
chance of a concussion. Because if anyone asks, although it’s none of your business, today was worse than usual, so it’s a bad day for Ganke to be nowhere to be found.
Maybe
uno en mil
, because after a half-step his head begins to spin and he collapses into the aforementioned chair with another, less restrained groan. He begs Ganke to wait for him, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing.
The thing is, Miles doesn't merely tolerate Ganke; he genuinely likes him. Miles chats with mom about Ganke. When it got to that point, at first he started arguing with him more – the Prowler shouldn’t like people who are like Ganke, especially the way Miles likes Ganke.
Ganke’s chair is really comfortable. Miles shouldn’t have doubted him. He’ll only sleep for a while and then look for his roommate immediately. A nap will clear his head in this search, give him some strength back.
Well, “arguing” is a strong word. He just ended up trying to ignore the guy for a while to make those positive feelings fade, but that and Ganke’s lingering shy smile, even when Miles was making an attempt at being an even bigger asshole than usual, only intensified it. Maybe Ganke never noticed the difference in his behavior? Even now, Miles mostly grumbled at him in answer to most questions, walked a foot behind him like a shadow, and hid his giggle in his hands so Ganke wouldn’t think he was a comedic genius while Miles was suffering from some strange affliction a lot like fondness.
Right this second, Miles feels like he’s going to vomit because the thought of Ganke (Ganke, Ganke,
Ganke
) fills his head and swims in it, creating waves, making him seasick. But at least he remembers that yes, Ganke was supposed to be staying with his girlfriend tonight. After all, that was why Miles had fled the dorm so quickly, giving his friend space when he noticed him packing for the night. Seasickness has never prevented anyone from falling asleep as far as Miles knows. Even when Ganke’s face drowns out any logical thought processes in his mind, Miles can choose to doze off in the gaming chair.
He’s not jealous at all, so he won’t run away this time, he’ll just take a nap, in the morning he’ll take care of the bleeding he’s put some cotton swabs against for now, and everything will be back to normal by the time Ganke gets back from her place. One… little… nap…
Miles still feels some placebo nausea when he wakes up, though that may be because someone is actually rocking his body this time.
“Is that blood?” The words are somewhat hushed.
No? (He doesn’t think he is.) And how is that anyone’s business? he thinks.
“That’s not the type of question you answer with another question.” There goes the thinking. “You know, you ruined my morning with this,” someone speaks in a quiet, singsongy voice. Ganke. His face obstructs the sunlight coming at Miles full-force. Had he slept through the entire night?
Ganke looks nice up close, and he doesn’t seem to be appropriately seething for what he just said. Miles kind of wants to compliment his eyes, and he kind of wants to cry, seeing his best friend again like that. Not enough to put himself in that compromising position though.
“Huh?” he opts for.
“I said, you sorta ruined my morning with this.” Ganke meets his gaze as he searches for any semblance of malice. “You’re awake.”
“Lo siento. Yes.”
Ganke shakes his head in a way that feels condescending for some reason. “What are you apologizing for? I was kidding.”
And in that moment, Miles decides Ganke shouldn’t joke when he has his palms on Miles’ waist, apparently making use of that bandage Miles pulled out the night before. Miles put his own hands on Ganke’s shoulders, trying to push him away and simultaneously wriggling out of his grip. He hisses upon nearly failing, even when for Ganke it seems to be ’no hard feelings’ – the other boy just raises his arms up in surrender and chuckles.
“How was your date?” Miles asks after he manages to snatch the medical supplies from Ganke. When he looks down at his wound, it appears to have been cleaned pretty well already. Did Ganke…?
Vergonzoso.
“It wasn’t a date,” Ganke clarifies, settling back onto his bed. “What happened to you?”
Ganke didn’t need to lie to Miles. He already admitted to Miles ruining his morning, so Miles doesn’t get why he’s trying to avoid telling the truth here. He mumbles something incoherently in response, trying to shut the liar up.
“Look, Miles,” Ganke begins. But instead of telling Miles to knock it off, he just goes through his previous day. “When I made it to Danika’s, she actually had decided we should make cupcakes, you know, for seemingly no reason. I agreed, cupcakes are fun to make, and now that I’m thinking about it, you can tell a lot about someone and what you mean to them by the way you two make cupcakes together. We should make cupcakes together some day. Danika, for example, is the type of person to cover her hand in flour to leave white marks on the back of your dark-colored shirt. Some people would just blow it straight into your face instead, you know? Anyway, we put the cupcakes in the oven and turned on some movie she wanted to see, I’m not sure you’ll know it. And you won’t guess why we even baked the cupcakes in the first place!”
“Yeah?” Miles glances at Ganke briefly, something tugging at the corners of his lips again, but he looks back out the window instead. Sitting on the gaming chair feels wrong.
“Turned out her girlfriend, Barb, you know Barb, was coming over too. Sure, I got to eat some of the cupcakes but come on!” Ganke mocks an offended grimace.
Miles pulls his eyebrows together. “So, it wasn’t a date?”
“I told you it wasn’t,” the boy sighs. “What’s up with you, Morales?”
“Your pronunciation is off,
Lee
,” he grumbles and nearly gets whiplash from Ganke’s laughter at this comment.
It’s crystal clear and makes Miles’ head spin. He kind of wants it to stop, but kind of doesn’t, so he just breathes out through his nose loudly and some other, not ’kind of’ words escape him. How they do it is beyond him, but he’s still deadpan in the way he states: “I love you.”
He thinks he might see Ganke halt, stop in his tracks, quiet down, but he doesn’t; he keeps laughing like he knew already. Miles thinks he might take it back or get up and leave with the colorful band aids Ganke had gifted him still in hand. He doesn’t. He just lets the reverberating sound of Ganke’s and his own happiness simmer as he squeezes his eyes shut.
“I love you,” Ganke says it back, letting his head fall onto Miles’ shoulder and rest there, carrying the vibrations of his giggle through the room. “Tell me why you’re all dressed up and hurt.”
Miles begins to laugh too, low and absurdly, because of how he didn’t end up finding Ganke, and instead Ganke found him.