Work Text:
Alec Hardison isn't used to being alone. No matter that he's worked alone for his hacking career, he's not used to being alone.
He's used to busy hallways and crammed rooms at Nana's, filled with noise and chaos and bumping elbows on the couch. He's used to loud foster siblings and video games and arguing over headsets.
He's not used to silence. He's not used to silent footsteps creeping up behind him or people sneaking into his apartment.
He knows his friends aren't like him. They're used to quiet, dark spaces. They're used to being alone. They're used to coming and leaving without a trace. He can relate to that only in his virtual world.
But, he could get used to banging sounds and muttering from the kitchen and scraping noises coming from his vents. Scuffling feet and excited giggles that were becoming more common in his apartment.
He could get used to waking up to cold feet pressed against his shins, breakfast served by one hand, immediately stolen by another, quiet evenings with his friends. Together, but not together. Each in their own spaces.
They could get used to making sound. He could get used to silence with them.