Ban can remember the first winter.
“It’s so cold,” Ginji said, bringing his knees to his chest and shivering. Ban could see Ginji’s breath when he spoke. “Can we turn the heat on for a little while?”
“There’s no money for gas,” Ban had told him, pulling his blanket tight around himself. “If we finish this job maybe we can swing a hotel for a few nights. It’s supposed to be getting colder next week.”
Ginji puffed out his cheeks and continued to shiver.
Ban had sighed and hemmed and hawed and eventually he lifted up the edge of his blanket. “Come here,” he’d said.
Ginji had smiled wide and scrambled across the seats, pressing up warm and close. “You’re my favourite guy, Ban-chan.”
“Told you not to call me that,” Ban groused, “and not so close, it’s cramped in here.” And Ginji just pressed closer, so warm.
There had been a lot of cold nights that winter, and the ones that followed, the two of them shivering in the front seat and Ginji pressed up close to him in the dark, their breaths coming out together in puffs. Before he knew what was what, Ban had got used to that warmth, huddled against him in the cold. Fuck if he knew when it happened.
“Come here,” Ban says now. It’s the middle of summer and intolerably humid, the two of them sprawled out at all angles in the heat. But Ginji smiles, and scrambles across the seats to press close against him. Ginji’s breath comes out in soft pants, cool on his sweat-soaked neck, and his fingers are unbearably warm on his back.