~ink and cigarettes~

CHAPTER ONE

It was a dreary Saturday, despite the uplifted mood in Miles' apartment, the weather outside was abysmal. Heavy raindrops splattered the ground, creating large puddles on the concrete. The clouds were a dark grey, making the world abnormally dark and miserable, though there were still people walking bellow, hoods up and shoulders slouched, their heads buried into themselves.

As for Hobie and Miles, there was quiet punk music playing from a crappy speaker miles had had since he was in his early teens. Hobie had draped himself and his long limbs over Miles' sofa and was now watching the sky through the window as the thick raindrops launched themselves to the ground, his foot tapping to the rhythm of the music he had put on. Miles was in the kitchen that was joined to the living room, the warm aroma of his cooking wafting through the apartment as he stands next to the stove, browning off onions and cooking spaghetti noodles.

The song changes, which breaks Hobie out of his zoning out and he looks over at miles, thinking about the artworks the shorter boy had shown him back when Miles was in 9th grade and Hobie in the 11th. The pieces in his sketchbook were phenomenal, the boy had a knack for art and a talent with markers, which is what most of his artworks were produced with.

Hobie could recall a time the two were having a deep conversation and miles was worried about his future, in which he told the punk boy that he feared art would get him nowhere. From that day on, Miles hadn't really talked about or done any artworks in his sketchbook, as far as Hobie knew. He could tell that Miles missed throwing up his pieces under the Brooklyn station or on random hidden walls so his father didn't catch him, he could also tell that Miles missed burying his head in his tatty old sketchbook after a long day and drawing until he either fell asleep or the piece was finished, most of the time the former being the most common result of the two.

Miles clearing his throat broke Hobie out of his thoughts to realise hes been staring in Miles' direction for about 20 minutes now and a sheepish grin spreads across his face "sorry, mate.. caught up in my own head, innit?" Hobie clears his throat, going back to looking out the window at the rain. Miles chuckles, shaking his head and sighing fondly at his best friend, before going back to cooking as he questions the punk boy on his sofa.

"so, whatcha thinking about? you don't usually stare off into space like that." His voice is slightly distracted, but he was listening. he always was.

Hobie shrugs as if he was making a decision on telling him or not, but he was actually weighing up the chances of Miles wanting to go along with the plan, because he was completely serious about it. He decides to tell Miles, because whats the worst he can say? 'get out of my house'? actually.. that would be a pretty bad thing to say.

Hobie prays that Miles doesn't flip out because he does not fancy getting wet, especially in this kind of rain. "what dya reckon of opening a tattoo parlour together?" His eyes never leave the window he was staring out of, and he tries not to stumble over his words when explaining his ideas. "like, youd get to do what ya want with ya art, ya get me? and i got experience with tattooin', so we'd both be doin' summit we enjoy and we'd still hang out with eachother. its calm if ya dont, i was just thinkin, ya know?"

Miles pauses, considering the pros and cons of taking up on the offer, on one hand, it was art, and he loved art. But on the other hand, where would they set up? would they have to rent a building? neither of them have that good of an income since Hobie doesnt work because of 'propaganda' and Miles only works part-time night shifts. He lets out a deep sigh, going back to cooking. "Well, theres alot of cons compared to the pros... but i guess we could figure it out? Its a sweet idea, but what concerns me is how the hell are we gonna afford a building to set up the parlour? plus, where would we even get the equipment?"

Hobie lets out a thoughtful hum, but a satisfied grin plasters itself to his face and he leans his head back over the arm of the sofa, an eyebrow raised in Miles' direction even if his back was turned "dont deep it, mate, i know bare people, yeah? ill figure it out."

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After eating and watching another movie, Hobie was ushered out of Miles' appartment because he had to get ready for work, to which Hobie scoffed sarcastically and complained about capatilsm. He was now walking down the street, the soft yellowed glow of the street lamps illuminating the damp streets. The rain had slowed down to a light drizzle, but it was the kind of drizzle that you dont realise how much its raining until you step outside and get drenched. The tupperware of spaghetti bolognese Miles had shoved into his hands before practically booting him out was warming up Hobies icey hands, the lid collecting condesation throughout the 20 minute walk in the bitter weather to Hobie and Pav's shared appartment, He considered shooting Pav a text so the poor guy wouldnt worry about if he was safe or not, but the threat of his phone getting water damaged made him decide against it.

As the appartment block he lived in loomed in the distance, Hobie fished in the back pockets of his tight black jeans for his keys but they were nowhere to be found, so he checked his leather jacket pockets and had no luck. Sighing, he deciding to let Miles know that he mightve left his keys when he gets inside. Another valid excuse to see Miles tomorrow, so its a win win, right? Hobies wet footsetps come to an abrupt stop outside of his appartment block. He scans the battered building and sighed, taking in the noise of the city for a few minutes before pressing the buzzer. The sound of the car tires splashing little drops of water that were on the road amplifies the noise of the wind that blows Hobie's wicks softly, the small, cold drops of rain pricking his skin as he stands there, his nose dripping and clothes clinging to his lanky frame. He knows this isnt the best idea, since his hair will take ages to dry and he most deffinately will catch a cold by tomorrow, he still stands there outside of his appartment block in the rain, looking like a madman.

Atleast 5 minutes pass by and only when Hobie can feel how wet his socks are, he presses the buzzer of his appartment number, waiting for Pav to pick up and let him in. He winces when the screeching of his calling getting answered plays through the crappy speakers and Pavs confused voice rings into the air "Uhm.. hello? may i help you?" The high pitched, overly polite voice mutters and as much as Hobie loves his roomate, that voice can get irritating after a while. "hiya mate, its me. let me in? i forgot my keys." He sighs, hearing a surprised noise on the other end, and then a beeping signalising that the heavy entrance door to the complex has been opened. "Cheers" He mutters before swinging the door open, as soon as he enters the dry area he feels the discomfort of sopping clothes clinging to his skin and rain rolling down his face, dripping onto the shitty carpet beneath him.

He takes the elevator to his floor.

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As soon as he knocks on the door to his apartment, there was loud shuffling and then the rushed sound of the door unlocking from the inside. Pav swings the door open and gasps at the sight of Hobie, dripping and holding his knee-high boots in each hand since he didn't want to make the carpet wet and dirty. Pav moves out the way for Hobie to come in, running to the bathroom to retrieve a towel all while rambling about being responsible and owning an umbrella. Hobie lets out a dry chuckle and places his boots over the edges of the radiator so they can be dry for tomorrow, shivering as he waits by the door for Pav to give him his towel, not wanting to leave a wet trail behind him and ruin the apartment.

Not even thirty seconds later, two towels are thrown at his shivering body, one lands on top of his hair and one at his feet. He pathetically laughs and dries his face with the towel that's on his head, shuffling to his room when he picks up the towel at his feet and completely ignoring Pav's comments about "you're gonna catch a cold one day, dumbass" and "you should've called me, asshole."

He mutters a "gnight, man. I'm headin' to bed" before closing his bedroom door and peeling off his drenched clothes, tossing into the hamper before pulling on a pare of joggers. After an attempt of drying his hair, he gives up and collapses into bed, pulling the duvet to his chin and checking his phone. Its just turned 11pm, so knew that Miles would be on break right now. He shoots him a text of "Oi, left my keys @ urs, ill pick em up tmr. have a good rest of ur shift" before plugging the charger in, dropping his phone onto his bedside table and closing his eyes, drifting into a deep sleep.