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Streaky clouds, heavy with rain, hung over the city. Fog curled through the streets, obscuring the faces of passersby. It had been drizzling all day, the damp soaking into everything, muddling it all together. The sun had just retired, sinking behind the silhouettes of towering buildings off in the distance. Streetlights yellowed with age flickered on, rain falling amber in their light, gathering in murky puddles that reflected the weary light. The sounds of the city hummed low-- people talking as they walked under umbrellas, the distant honking of horns. All of it was drowned out by the pounding of feet on the wet pavement.
A boot landed in one of the countless puddles collecting on the poorly maintained road. Raccoon had his hood pulled low over his face, hunching over the bundle he clenched against his chest. The cars hissed down the road, forcing him to jump away from them to avoid being soaked by dirty water or side-swiped by the mirror of the cars that drove too close. Grimacing, Raccoon moved closer to the road, his left foot now soggy. He held the bundle against his chest a bit tighter, trying to spare it from the rain, as he continued his trek home.
Raven was sitting at the rickety table in the middle of the room, leaning forwards in the chair to account for his large wings. He thumbed absentmindedly through one of the books that had begun accumulating in the room since he arrived. He stifled a yawn, turning his attention to look vaguely out the window. He’d been home all day, just like the day before, and the day before that. Avians weren’t a common race in the city, so he couldn’t very well go wandering about by himself. Not that he would have wanted to on such a dreary day.
Over the rain he heard the shuffle of feet in the hall. The door knob rattled a few times and Raven caught the end of a muttered curse before the door popped open, swinging wide and bumping into the spare pot that had been placed under the leak by the door.
“What was that?” Raccoon asked, peering around the door. He was dripping wet, his hair matted against his head.
“The leak bucket,” Raven replied, glancing back down at the book in front of him.
“Oh damn, it started again?” Raccoon asked, looking from the half-full pot to Raven, who closed the book in front of him.
“No, I just put the pot on the floor for fun.” Raven stood up from his seat, crossing the room to rummage around in the pile of laundry they’d just saved from the rain the day
before. He pulled out a tattered but dry towel and turned towards Raccoon, who was lingering in the doorway. “Dry yourself off. You look like a drowned rat.”
He tossed the towel at Raccoon, who caught it one-handedly, the other still holding a bag against his chest.
“And give me that,” Raven ordered, stepping towards Raccoon, taking the slightly wet bag out of his arms, and dropping it onto the table.
Raven turned back around to find that Raccoon had started to towel off his hair and was trying to kick off his boots at the same time. Raven watched the shorter man hop around by the front door, a look of disdain on his face, before turning away to examine the bag’s content, exasperated by Raccoon’s impatience.
“What did you get?” Raven asked, peering into the damp bag. Raccoon had gone out to get food after Raven snapped at him over never having anything to eat in the apartment.
“Uhh.” Raccoon shuffled, now barefoot, over to the table. He’d succeeded in kicking off his shoes without falling on his ass and had just furiously rubbed his tail dry, making it explode into a mess of fluff. “There’s some bread and oh- I got stuff for soup!”
Raccoon beamed upon remembering the ingredients he’d bought, and part of Raven hated him for it. Raccoon could cook basic dishes and Raven couldn’t, forcing the taller man to rely on him for food. Of course, considering the reason why Raven had no knowledge of cooking, Raccoon didn’t show off too much. He’d even offered to show Raven how to make some basic stuff, like eggs, but Raven had rejected the offer. He already felt like he was becoming too dependent on Raccoon and he had absolutely no interest in owing him more than he already did. Raven justified the help he received while learning to read as an investment that would lead to his independence. He could learn how to cook by himself once he could read.
“Cool,” he replied, drifting away from the table and settling on the ratty futon pushed against the wall. He propped an elbow on his knee, rested his chin in his palm, and looked out the rain spattered window.
Raccoon watched the winged man as he stared out the window and guilt twinged in his chest. He knew that Raven wasn’t happy having to spend day in and day out trapped in their tiny one-room apartment, but he also knew it wasn’t safe for him to just go wandering about. Who knows who might be prowling the city, looking for him?
Instead of doing something dumb, like asking Raven how he was, Raccoon began unpacking the groceries, gathering what he needed to make dinner.
Later, after they had filled their stomachs and Raccoon had showered, the two laid on the futon. Raven laid on his stomach, his wings relaxed against his back. Raccoon had fallen into the bed on his side, his hair still wet, facing Raven. Half-lost in thought, Raccoon looked at the man beside him, who had turned his head towards the window. The meager light of the streetlights cast soft shadows over his tan skin, pooling in the small of his back. The feathers on his wings shone purplish-green when they caught the light just right.
Raccoon looked at Raven, in a rare moment of peace, and his heart swelled. He never would have imagined that angry, dangerous man he’d found bound in chains would one day be lying beside him, falling asleep. A car turned down the street beside their apartment building and for a moment the room was lit up by the beams of the headlights. Raccoon’s attention caught on one of the pale, raised lines of scar tissue that covered Raven’s body.
It must have been the rhythmic drip of the leak into the bucket, or the hushed patter of rain against the roof, or the dark-blue of night that filled the room and made it feel like everything might melt together. Whatever it was, Raccoon found himself reaching out and brushing his fingertips across one of the scars that cut over Raven’s side and onto his back.
Raven tensed under his touch but did not snap at him.
Still possessed by the courage that the dark gave him, Raccoon heard himself speak in a voice barely louder than a breath, “Does it still hurt?”
There was silence between them, Raccoon’s fingers resting on the scar that he’d reached out for. Another car drove by, whispering by on the slick roads. The rain continued to fall onto the roof. Water continued to drip from the leak in the ceiling. And then Raven spoke, in a voice just as quiet as Raccoon’s.
“No. Not really.”
Raccoon’s eyes fell shut, his fingers spreading out until his entire palm rested against the warm skin of Raven’s back. “That’s good.”
And he heard Raven nod against his pillow, realizing that the time to speak, even in the slightest of whispers, was over. The quiet of the night had grown, as had the darkness. To speak again felt like risking something they couldn’t afford to lose.