Chapter Text
Fuck!
His fingers burn from where the cigarette has slowly burned down to the filter. The pain surprises him because he forgot about the cigarette altogether.
The view from the roof of the garage stole all his attention as soon as he sat down, and he hasn't really been able to look away. The view felt dramatic when he sat down, as clouds started to lose their shape and the colors of the sky slowly turned from a painting of blues, pinks, and oranges to an encompassing black.
It's completely dark now, and the smoke in the city makes the stars impossible to see. He settles for the knowledge that they are there though, hidden behind the thin veil. As he looks up, the vastness of it all makes it feel no less dramatic than it did earlier.
The roof of the garage is old and fragile, but Black learned years ago exactly which metal plates are safe to sit on, and where to step in order to get there without falling through and ending up splattered across the floor below. He thought he might have forgotten ever since he left to live in his own apartment, but apparently, the memory stuck to his mind and popped up as soon as he stepped on the metal ladder leading to the roof.
It’s been a long time since he was here last. His little hiding place on the roof of Gumpa's garage used to be his favorite place in Bangkok, and now, he can’t even remember the last time he had the chance to just sit still and watch as the city bustles around him. Sitting up here used to have the effect of calming him down. It got him thinking without feeling his usual need to do something rash. It doesn’t feel any different now. Or, it does, but it doesn't. His current problems feel more challenging to dissect though, so the calmness isn't as present as he remembers it being. It's a different sensation, one that bubbles under his skin and makes his hands twitch, wanting to fall back into his old ways of lashing out.
He doesn’t know what’s wrong, is the thing. Has wondered for weeks why everyone around him seems so in control and fine while he, himself, feels so left out - while he can’t seem to relax and just enjoy their new reality. It’s difficult to know that you got exactly what you wanted and that you still feel the same. None of the anger, resentment, and frustration is gone.
He has wondered many times if it’s because his selfishness can’t handle that he didn’t actually do anything of value to fix things. If his lack of happiness is because he knows that he got exactly what he wanted, but did absolutely nothing to get it.
Black hates to admit it, but he is aware that his selfishness and pride have a tendency to fuck him over. Not just him either, but everyone around him. So it’s probably that. His pride and a bruised ego. It doesn't really help him though - realizing that - because he still feels the same, and he can't help the added frustration he feels from knowing that he's unable to let it go.
He can't remember how many cigarettes he has lit and subsequently forgotten about until the heat from the burning tobacco shocks him back to reality enough to stub it out on the roof next to him. There's something about the atmosphere of his little place on the roof that makes him forget everything around him except his own thoughts all the while pure muscle memory has him fishing out cigarettes and lighting them even if he barely puts them to his lips. And it repeats until he forces himself to leave or he falls asleep.
He’s not sleepy now though, and as he feels his phone vibrate from its usual place in his back pocket he fishes out another cigarette and lights it - actually putting it between his lips this time - before he takes the phone out. He doesn’t check it, just holds the device in his hands as he takes a few puffs of the cigarette and lets the smoke out slowly so it burns.
Maybe it will keep him from answering.
He doesn’t need to see the name displayed in the harsh light of his phone screen to know who it is. It’s late now - too late for his brother or any of his friends to be sending him messages. So he knows. It’s how they work, him and Tod. One of them gets bored or can’t sleep and sends a message. They don’t even bother calling. Like actually calling and demanding an answer on the spot is a line neither of them wants to cross. A weird precaution so that if the answer is ever negative, it doesn’t need to seem like a big deal.
It’s rarely negative though, they both know it.
Black already knows what the message says. Doesn’t need to read that either. It’s always the same “You up?” as if they don’t both know the real question. He’s grown tired of it the messages though - frustrated with himself - and he wants to laugh deprecatingly at himself for falling for it every time. For being so weak, even though he knows how he usually feels afterward.
He drags his eyes away from the now dark screen of his phone and looks at the view again. It’s easier to keep himself from answering when his focus is on the headlights of cars as they move across the bridge to his right or the sound of sirens in the distance. He forgets his phone altogether as he finishes his cigarette, and finds his head blissfully empty for a few minutes.
Until he hears the unmistakable sound of someone opening the door to his right and he moves his head to see Gumpa move towards him.
“Thought you would be out here,” he says as he moves slowly towards him. Black can see a pair of beer bottles glimmer in his hands as the moonlight hits the green of the glass, and Black hates the way his brain feels the need to tell him to be careful as Gumpa walks closer to him on the old roof. He stays quiet though. Realizes that Gumpa probably knows this roof even better than himself.
“Here,”
Gumpa holds the bottles out towards him when he gets close enough and Black takes them slowly, allowing Gumpa to sit down next to him. He feels the slight warmth of his body and is for the first time reminded that he forgot his hoodie on Sean’s old bed downstairs. He suddenly feels hyper-aware of how the cool wind strokes along his arms and he shivers involuntarily. He pretends to forget the way Gumpa notices.
He doesn’t dare look at him and keeps his eyes firmly on the view as Gumpa takes one of the bottles in his hand before taking a long swig of the bitter alcohol. Black fists the other one and tries to not wince at the taste it leaves in his mouth as it mixes with the aftertaste of his cigarette.
“It must be weird being back here,” Gumpa says after a few minutes of silence, and Black wants to laugh at the statement.
It is weird being back. Sitting on the same roof he used to when the world felt like too much, drinking the same cheap beer Gumpa always had in the fridge downstairs. Sleeping in a room that isn’t his anymore, with the knowledge that there is nowhere else to go.
“Yeah,” he answers truthfully, hoping that Gumpa will drop the subject.
Sometimes, like right now, he thinks he regrets it - giving up his apartment so his brother and Sean could have a place to stay. It was supposed to be temporary. Just a week so the two of them could find someplace for the two of them. It’s been longer than that now though, and Black doesn’t know if his inability to throw them out is because he feels like he owes them, or because he actually hates the thought of being lonely again.
It could be both.
When White and Sean were kicked out of the abandoned building Black had seen it coming. Had known that the two of them were living on borrowed time staying in a place so close to the police department, with only Dan’s good-for-nothing deal with the “owner” as their lease agreement. He’d seen it coming, so he had begun packing as soon as he found out that the two of them had moved back into Gumpa’s garage and were now sharing the small space Sean had once called his own. It made sense, is what he tells himself, that the two of them take his apartment while he moves back into his old room.
The room had been his first when Gumpa had offered him a place to stay years ago. Black had lived on that awful twin bed for months before his job as a mechanic allowed him to pay the deposit for his apartment. So it was simply what made the most sense.
Black still tries to forget the pride and something he could see coloring Gumpa’s eyes when he asked if he could move back in.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Black is forced back into the present as Gumpa speaks. He doesn’t bother answering, knowing that Gumpa already knows and is asking just for the sake of trying to make conversation. Gumpa doesn’t seem to need an answer either since Black can see from the corner of his eyes that Gumpa looks straight ahead without asking again.
It’s the worst part about him Black thinks, as he takes another swig of the bottle in his hands. How Gumpa just knows that Black doesn’t want to talk about it, but asks anyway. Just to be nice, and to try, just to see if this time will be the first for Black to open up - even just a little bit.
It’s not though, so he busies his hands with trying to tear off the label on his bottle, and pretends like it’s the most interesting thing in the world while he goes back to thinking about the message that sits unanswered in his inbox. It’s kind of funny, Black thinks - funny, in a weird, twisted way - to have the first person who ever made you feel something sit next to you while your phone hides a message from someone else.
He wants to laugh at the situation, but he’s scared it will come out as an exasperated sob instead, so he stays quiet and continues to pick at the label. He feels awkward, a sensation he’s not too used to, and he doesn’t know what else to busy himself with. Caring at all is something he tried to forget a long time ago, but as always - focusing on not doing something, makes him do it more.
It’s not the place itself or the situation that’s awkward. It’s the timing of all of it. It’s Todd and the message on his phone, it’s Gumpa and how he knew where to find him even though he moved out ages ago, it’s Black moving back again, sleeping just a few meters away from the biggest reason he moved out in the first place.
It’s just. A lot.
He doesn’t get surprised when Gumpa talks again. He feels the way the other man turns towards him and hears the intake of breath he takes just before the words come out. The words still surprise him though.
“Would you believe me if I said I knew that White wasn’t you from the beginning?”
Black can’t help the way he almost reels back at the words. They hit him somewhere between his groin and his chest and sits there like a stone after the first blow.
It hurts is the thing, to have Gumpa of all people say that. Because he does. Black believes him.
It’s hard to explain even to himself, but it was a hard pill to swallow knowing that none of the people closest to him could tell him apart from his brother. He’s well aware that they look the same, for fuck’s sake, they even feel the same physical pain - but they’re different. So different that Black feels nauseous at the thought. Where White is and has always been light and positivity, Black has always lived up to his name and felt clouded by darkness, anger, and frustration. All of White’s soft spots are Black’s rough edges, and Black hates it. Hates how he’s grown comfortable with their differences, and how they allow people to never expect better of him. How their differences excuse all his bad habits.
Most of all, he hates how much he wishes he could be just a little more like his brother.
Gumpa never says anything he doesn’t mean, though. Black knows. Gumpa is thoughtful and analyzing, never a word out of place that hasn’t been considered and reconsidered before allowed to be said out loud. Black learned early that Gumpa never says a word just for the hell of saying them. So he believes him, how can he not?
How can he not believe him, when Gumpa is the only other person who’s ever sat with him right here on the roof and when he’s the one person who gave him a place to stay when his mom’s carefully crafted house of cards came crumbling down in a heap of lies and privilege?
How can Black not believe Gumpa when he’s the only person Black learned to truly trust?
He can’t answer him, afraid that all his well-kept secrets will come spilling out if he does. Can’t have Gumpa know that he could tell Black anything and he would believe him. So he just nods and takes out another cigarette in the hopes that it will calm his nerves.
Before he’s able to put the cigarette to his mouth though, a hand reaches out to take it and Black pretends not to feel the tingles that spread from where Gumpa’s hand grabbed his wrist to stop him from moving his hand out of the way. Gumpa only laughs lightly as Black gives him a soft push and a fuck you that sounds way fonder than Black is willing to admit. With the cigarette between his fingers, Gumpa just looks at him pointedly until Black hands over his lighter.
Black pretends not to stare as Gumpa turns towards the view of the city and takes a long drag from the cigarette. Pretends not to notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs, and the way his jaw looks sharper as he exhales the white smoke.
He’s quick to look away when Gumpa turns to him again.
“This for example,” he says and holds the cigarette out towards Black, allowing him to take a drag himself. “This clued me in early.”
“Your brother never smoked,” Gumpa smiles again and turns his head to look at the view. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a cigarette in your mouth, especially while preparing for a mission”
Black can’t help the short laugh that bubbles out of him at the words. Of course, he thinks, of course, White wouldn’t be able to do something as simple as that to keep up the act.
He allows his lungs to inhale stale air a few more times before he pats Gumpa’s shoulder and hands the cigarette over. “Yeah, well, we’ve always been pretty different,” he answers and tries his best not to sound bitter about it.
White has always been different. Better. Kinder. Nicer.
“He did well though, after a while,” Gumpa continues and Black hates the anger he feels brewing at the words. Hates how his head decides to remember the unanswered message on his phone. He plays with the device, turning it and spinning it in his hands, careful not to touch the screen so it lights up with the notification.
Somehow the air feels different now, sour with unwarranted jealousy as Gumpa stubs out what’s left of the cigarette and takes a swig of his beer bottle.
Black tries to pretend like he doesn’t see Gumpa look over at him every once in a while, and instead closes his eyes as a strong breeze tickles his face. He tries to pretend like he’s somewhere different. Sometime different, and like he’s sitting here on the roof two years ago, when he was just as angry and upset with world, but Gumpa was next to him and Black didn’t have to think about anything but how his warmth spread throughout Black’s body as they laughed about something funny one of them just said. When his biggest worry was whether Gumpa could tell that he had Black wrapped around his fingers, and when life was a mix of awful morning coffees on the old leather couch downstairs, discussion over who forgot to take the trash out, and pipe-dreams of a future where they had accomplished something that mattered.
He turns to look over at Gumpa again as he finishes his bottle. Allows himself to really look at him for the first time in years. He looks good, that’s easy to admit now. He doesn’t look different from when they first met, not at first glance, but Black can see a new type of confidence in the way he carries himself. He can see how the years and the past few months changed him if only a little.
It’s maddening to Black that he can see it - feel it.
He stares, and Black knows Gumpa can tell. He sees the way his jaw flexes once in a while and how his eyes tremble as they try to focus on the view. He allows himself to stare at the mole next to Gumpa’s eyes and is surprised when he turns to him and their eyes connect.
“I miss you”
Gumpa’s eyes are softer than they should be allowed to be as he says the words, and Black wants to look away. Wants to shield himself from the emotions he feels welling up inside him as the words register in his head, but he can’t seem to look away. Can’t seem to tear his eyes away even as Gumpa stares back.
It’s hard to breathe as he hears Gumpa inhale shakily before he leans back on his hands. “I’ve been missing you for a while actually.”
The words come out softly as if Gumpa is scared he might ruin the moment if he speaks too loud, but in the quietness of the night, they seem loud. Black forgets to breathe completely as he looks at Gumpa and realizes that he means longer than just the time he was away when his unconscious mind kept him chained to a hospital bed.
He doesn’t know what to do with that information. Doesn’t know how to handle it as he’s being given even more of what he wants without doing anything to deserve it.
When he feels something warm touch his fingers where they are splayed in the space between them, he does flinch back. He moves instinctively, but only so far that Gumpa is still able to reach out to him. Black’s world zeroes in on where their fingers touch - how Gumpa curls his little finger around Black’s own, and makes no move to remove it. Just holds on carefully as if he’s scared of Black moving away again, breaking the touch.
It’s beautiful in a heartbreaking way that has Black’s eyes stinging. He has to look away from their hands, turning towards the view and he blinks to keep his eyes from spilling over. He doesn’t move his hand, though. Allows it to stay where it is, in Gumpa’s hold, even if he feels it twitch with the underlying need to break the contact.
“I-”
Whatever Gumpa is about to say gets caught on his tongue as the phone in Black’s hand lights up and the annoying sound of melodic bells fill the air. Even without moving his head, Black can see the caller ID, and he hates the way Gumpa’s face has turned guarded as Black turns back and sees his eyes zeroed in on Tod’s name on the screen.
Tod never calls and Black hates to admit it, but he can’t help the slight feeling of pride he gets at the knowledge that Tod couldn’t wait long enough for Black to answer his message. It vaporizes quickly though, as Gumpa clears his throat and moves away. Not far, but Black can see how his body has turned rigid, and how a new uncomfortableness starts to settle over them.
When Black feels the cold air hit his side again, it feels a bit like a cold shower or finally reaching the surface after staying underwater for too long. As soon as Gumpa moves away he recognizes how out of breath he had been throughout their conversation. Like a string being broken, Black suddenly finds himself back to where he’d been before Gumpa entered the roof with his smiles and words and bottles of beer that remind Black of before - when Gumpa seemed just as out of reach, and life was worse but better, and Tod and Eugene weren’t even in the picture.
When Gumpa was a pipe dream that Black would never indulge in.
The realization that their moment is over is what brings him back to the phone that has gone silent in his hand. He unlocks it and types up a quick message before placing the phone in the back pocket of his jeans, taking the last swig of the now luke-warm beer.
He gathers his feeling and his stuff off the floor and starts to get up, his knees wincing as he straightens them out.
“I gotta go-”
“Can you sta-,” Gumpa speaks at the same time, cutting off his parting words, and Black can see Gumpa’s hand limply reaching out for him from the corner of his eyes before retracting as Black’s words compute in his head.
Black isn’t stupid. He knows what Gumpa wanted to say. It’s the same thing he said the morning Black stood in the middle of the garage with all his belongings packed and said that he was moving out. It hurts just as much now - if not more - but Black can’t stay, and he can’t find it in him to pretend like he doesn’t know the words Gumpa wanted to say, so instead he says nothing as he steps over Gumpa’s legs and moves towards the door.
As his hand closes around the doorknob he turns, unable to stop himself from taking another look at Gumpa bathed in the soft glow from the moonlight.
He hates the hopeful look on Gumpa’s face as their eyes meet again, and he turns away before he can see disappointment take its place at his parting words.
“Thanks for the beer.”