Requested by: Anonymous
Prompt: "And that's how I ended up standing naked on the Brooklyn Bridge on Christmas Eve."
A blanket was thrown at him from the car window, red eyes he knew so well glaring holes into him. Clutching his phone, the faded green car door swung open, the warm air hitting his body. He slid into the fur seat, not daring to look at him again. He felt so guilty for dragging his roommate out yet again.
Sting didn't even know if he would ask what had happened this time; maybe he would, maybe he would not. Rogue wasn't one to pry into his personal life, but he certainly did care enough to come pick him up in the middle of the night.
Once he settled in (making sure the blanket covered his legs), he strapped in and Rogue started to speed away. The toasty air pushed through the vents, but the atmosphere was still cold. Slowly he began to rub his hands together, blowing his hot breath into them. Frostbite was the only thing on his mind as he thought of his idiotic decision.
A stoic voice jolted him out of his musings, he was surprised Rogue wasn't yelling at him by now. "I care about you a lot, Sting." Even if his normal tone was monotonous, the statement was filled with tenderness. Headlights of the passing cars making his eyes shined as he kept his concentration on the road. Sting glanced over, completely baffled by his statement…
No one could ever care for him.
Sting's father left him to die on the side of the road. If that bastard couldn't care for him, why would anyone else?
He blew into his hands again, holding them up to the cracked plastic of the car's duct. The distance between them feeling like it was growing further and further apart with every second he didn't answer. There was nothing he could say to ease the man sitting beside him, at least he didn't think so.
Rogue's knuckles clenched the worn leather of the steering wheel, twisting it abruptly. He pulled them over to the side of the road, the clicking of the doors resounding through the car. "If you don't want to talk, get out. And leave the blanket." He sneered, eyes still focused on what was outside the windshield.
"Listen, Rogue…" His dark locks shifted when he shook his head, he swore his grip could break the steering wheel.
Absolutely fuming, Rogue began, "You can't do this to me anymore. You've gone to far with all your idiotic shenanigans, and until I get an explanation, you cannot come back to the apartment." His head sank down, resting his forehead against the wheel. "Sting, you worry me so much." Quietly he pleaded, his voice hitching.
"It was a part of gang initiation, please Rogue, don't worry about it." Now there was going to be a much bigger problem. His driver sniffled and Sting's heart sank, so deep down into the depths of his body. He wasn't sure if it could ever stop sinking.
"Your such a fucking idiot," Rogue claimed and he was right. The dark-haired man sat up, tears in his eyes as he looked at Sting. "I'm just glad you're ok."
Sting knew from Rogue's tone they would talk about his gang affiliation later, he already pried enough. His flatmate wasn't going to make him cough up more information.
"Thanks," he didn't know how to express his appreciation. He just smiled, which caused Rogue to do the same. "Now you know how I ended up standing naked on the Brooklyn Bridge on Christmas Eve." They both chuckled and Sting was eternally grateful for him.
And from there it was a blur, Rogue's cool lips brushing against his cheek. Then the nice silent car ride home. Ending up as a body of tussled legs and arms when they got home.
This was the start of a new beginning.