You were listening to the sound of your own steps echoing through the staircase, your weight coming down heavy with fatigue in each of them. You were tired by work, but you had managed to sleep better these last few days and weren't exhausted.
You just had a pretty descent day; making fries and ice-creams was absolutetly not your ultimate dream but you unfortunately had to pay the bills. You were lucky enough that your coworkers were nice and unbothered.
The bad smell of the subway and the long walk to your flat didn't tire you as it usually did. The same four floors to climb seemed alright today.
And you absolutely knew it was due to him.
Hobie.
You knew he was waiting at your place, either sleeping, singing, playing some music, writting something, or just doing stuff. And whatever he was doing, you were thrilled to know he was here. Although judging by the absence of the familiar sound of his guitar resonating in the halls of your musty building, he must have been sleeping.
You finally got to your door, and took your keys out of your jacket. You could hear faint discussions and water going down pipes in the walls, while trying not to make too much noise inserting them in the lock.
You opened the door carefully, noticed the darkness, and knew you were right.
He had been sleeping.
You stepped on the scruffed out door mat, closing the door behind you, muffling the sound of your keys as you locked it back.
Cautiously taking off jacket and bags, you took a look at the barely lit room; the only light source being tiny rays of street lamps coming through the blinds.
He was laying on your couch in what seemed an uncomfortable position for him and his long legs. You sighed, as you had told him before that he could, of course, sleep in your bed. He had refused once again, probably because he knew the only thing you usually wanted to do after work was throw yourself into the matress and sleep away.
Your flat was arranged in a single room, except for the bathroom that was compacted right next to your door.
The room was rectangular and ended with a window; a kitchenette greeting you right when you came in; the toilets were out on the step and shared by the whole floor.
It wasn't much for sure, but better than sleeping on the streets. You could deal with roaches, not with men. Especially not after 10 pm.
Your "couch" (that was really just a pile of pillows and blankets put on top of a pallet) was facing your bed on the opposite wall. A small separation was created by a wooden screen you had found in front of your building, allowing the tiniest bit of cocooning. You had decorated with whatever you could. Plants. Posters. Old vinyls. It did the trick and you actually felt at home.
You took off your shoes, the floor cracking under you, and took the food you brought from work with you as you walked to your bed. You didn't have any so called table, so you ate wherever you could.
You had managed to save quite a lot of food from the bins today. Your work didn't normally allow you to do that, but you had become really stealthy at it; and your managers didn't care enough to be precise with the food waste.
You sat, and took a cold burger from the plastic bag, silently eating in the dark. It was a peaceful moment. No thoughts occured in your head as tiredness took over your brain. Weirdly therapeutic.
Until you were woken up by the sound of Hobie turning around. Your eyes snapped at him, and you jumped a little when you noticed him looking at you. You didn't expect him to seem this awake.
"Hey." He said, his voice a bit rocky.
You chuckled through your burger bite, almost managing to choke with it.
"Hey. Thought you were asleep. You scared me a bit."
He grinned, rubbing his eyes and pushing himself upwards.
"Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, I was taking a nap real quick. Gotta sleep sometimes."
"Yeah I heard it's good for you." You smiled. "Sorry if I woke you up, tried to be silent but you know, wood floors."
He shook his hand in the air, the other reaching in his pocket.
"Nah don't worry, I was half awake when you came in anyway."
He took out his rolling tobacco, putting a filter between his lips as he swiftly pulled out a sheet.
"Alright." You took another bite of your burger, pointing towards the bag. "You want something? I got fries and stale mozzarella sticks."
"These always smash better than the fresh ones don't they?"
He finished rolling, putting the cigarette behind his ear. He reached up to switch a tiny lamp on, the dim light letting you see his tired eyes and pretty face.
He immediately started rolling another cigarette.
You had moved to the floor, scooping closer to him, and were now putting out the food items between you two, trying to make it look as nice as it could.
You messily took the last bite of your burger, wiping the corner of your mouth and your sauce covered hands in paper napkins.
You looked at him again, incindently as he was licking the paper to make it stick, and your heart fluttered a bit as your gaze diverted. He was so gorgeous. It almost made you reflect on your current posture; sauce everywhere, back arched, hair probably still shaped by the mobcap you had to wear at work; but you tried not to do that, as it was not the time for a mental breakdown and self awareness. You only shuffled your hair a bit, just to be sure.
He suddenly held the cigarette he was done rolling out to you, once again taking you out of your thoughts. You noticed the one he was giving you was very nicely rolled. His was just a bit less.
You took it, thanked him, and got up to search for your lighter.
You found it in a corner of the room, and opened your blinds and window.
You did smoke, but you did not want the whole room to smell like cold tobacco when you woke up in the morning.
You sat on the window sill, facing your room. You flicked your lighter on, not yet lightning your cig as you invited Hobie with a glare.
He closed the distance between you, now leaning down with his cigarette between his lips; and as your face came a little closer to the fire and you both breathed in to light up your sticks, you wondered if the light was bright enough for him to notice you were getting flustered.