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Gray sat up in his bed, groaning. His entire body hurt. He had got severely injured a few days back during a fight, earning bruises all over—and that wasn’t even mentioning the ones from the alien beast that was now laying beside him, sleeping all cutely with his face half-buried in the pillow. Gray knew what he was doing getting into this, and he could have always turned Stephen down, but he would still regret it in the morning. As sweet as Stephen was, he was still inhumanely strong-
Ahem. Back to the topic.
It had been a couple of years since Gray had begun his work as the White Mamba (a name the press assumed was ironic, considering Gray’s suit was entirely black to better mask him in the shadows). By now, he had a good grip on the city. Or more particularly, on the problems it had. Even after the flood that the Riddler had caused, the city had rebuilt and come back to its former gloomy glory.
The “White Mamba” persona was, at this point, a part of him. It blended into his being, just like his suit blended into the shadows of the night. He would go out to his company in the morning, attend events and galas on the weekends, in the evenings, and during the nights he would roam the streets of Gotham clad in scaled armour.
It was a lonely journey, he was convinced for the longest time. He had Eugene, who had stuck with him ever since his days at Eunjang, becoming his right hand, his only aid. But Gray didn’t want to risk his friend like that. He had already been hurt in the past, far too much.
Speaking of Eugene.
Gray slid out of the bed, almost tripping over his own feet at a sharp pain in his back. He shot Stephen, who still lay comfortably in his bed, a look. The man smiled in his sleep. He grabbed the first trousers his eyes landed on in his wardrobe, and stumbled his way out to the kitchen while clumsily trying to put them on.
“So,” the man began, setting a mug before Gray’s usual spot at the table. “I see you’re kind of close with that guy now.”
Gray nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Warmth seeped through his chest as he drank, soothing the ache in his spine.
“Are you finally going to tell me who he is, then?”
Gray took a deep breath and set his mug down. It was plain black.
“We used to be close in middle school. He got into an accident, and we lost touch.”
A moment passed. Gray went back to sipping his coffee. Eugene stared at him expectantly.
Gray sighed.
“He’s the guy I started fighting for.”
Eugene’s eyes softened, and he sat across from Gray with his own mug in hand. Plain black as well.
“I guessed.”
“Then why did you make me say it?”
Eugene shrugged. Where did the timid guy from high school go? When did he get so cheeky?
“Some forced emotional vulnerability would do you well.”
While Gray attempted to will the earth into opening beneath his feet and swallowing him into its core; a pair of footsteps began to be heard, coming from the direction of the stairs that Gray came down through just a minute ago.
“I, uh, heard you talking about me. Thought it’s about time I introduce myself. Stephen Ahn.”
Stephen reached his hand out towards the sitting Eugene. Eugene eyed him sternly for a moment, then accepted Stephen’s hand in his.
“Eugene Gale. Gray’s friend since high school. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Gotham was a city of shadows. Darkness was always looming over its residents, waiting for a moment of weakness to swallow them into the abyss it became.
Gray loved this city. He found a new life here. Built a company, made allies and enemies. It was his place, even if sometimes it felt irredeemable.
So he let the shadows of the city absorb him. He became one with the night. The White Mamba did.
But, every time, without fail, Gray would eventually go back to his manor. Cut, shot, stabbed, he would always come back and heal there. He would take off his cowl, and head inside, where often his bed was already occupied by a man Gray had long since given up hope on seeing there. Even if Stephen lived in a city far away, he would still fly over to sleep next to him. Even if Gray always joined him long into the night, closer to morning than evening, Stephen would be there, if only so he would get to wake his boyfriend up with a kiss before flying off to his own work.
And when he wiped sleep off his face, he would be greeted in the kitchen with a cup of his favourite coffee in his favourite mug, one with a silly cat printed on. And he would be joined by his friend, who had stuck with him through all: moving, building the company, becoming the vengeful hero of this city.
The White Mamba ruled the night. He was the night.
But Gray Yeon was just a man. A man with a sickeningly sweet boyfriend, a loyal friend, and absurd amounts of money.