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Will jammed on the controller, but it was absolutely hopeless. It was only a matter of seconds and he knew it. Warren's fingers blurred across his controls, and in moments, Will -- well, Will's character -- fell down dead, bleeding gratuitously.
"Not invulnerable in the game, are you, Stronghold?"
Will scowled. "I could win if I wanted to."
"Yeah, you've just let me win the last four rounds to be nice."
"Shut up." Will hit the button to start another round, and vowed to focus this time. Just because Warren had won every game so far didn't mean Will couldn't win this one. Really.
Of course, Will didn't win it, and afterwards he sighed. "Okay, enough. Uncle. I'm done. You win."
Warren shot him that wide smile of his. Will could never tell if the smile was genuine or sarcastic -- Warren didn't exactly smile often, and when he did, it was at someone else's expense at least half the time. Which, Will supposed, this was.
"Yeah, yeah," Will said. "Want to wrestle instead?"
"Want to know how a charcoal feels?"
Will laughed. "How about food? More fun than violence... and more delicious."
"And here I thought revenge was best eaten cold," Warren said.
"Huh?"
"Never mind, Stronghold. Just something my dad used to say." Warren rolled his eyes.
Will hurried towards the kitchen, not looking back. This was exactly the sixth time he'd ever heard Warren mention his dad -- not that he was keeping track or anything -- and he'd learned from experience that he shouldn't say anything about it. If he did, Warren would accuse him of prying and get pissed, which Will didn't exactly think was fair, but it was just how Warren was. Will was happy to take the irrational, surly parts of Warren's personality if it meant being friends with him overall, though.
"Why do you always call me that?" Will asked instead, looking back over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. "And is the usual okay?"
Warren snorted. "What am I supposed to call you?" Then, "For the love of... I'll cook, I can't take any more mac'n'cheese."
Will smiled and stepped aside. Not that he'd planned that or anything. But he'd also learned that Warren was a secret food snob, and he'd rather cook than eat pre-processed anything from a box. So Will just leaned back against the counter and watched as Warren made himself at home, going through cupboards.
"I dunno," Will said. "You have nicknames for everyone else. But I'm just... Stronghold."
"Because that's your name."
"Layla's name isn't Hippie, or Flower Child, or Greenpeace," Will said. "Zach's name isn't Glow Worm or Neon."
"Yeah, but they're..." He shrugged and turned around, rummaging through a cabinet.
"You always call Ethan 'Popsicle.' You even call Magenta 'Guinea Pig Girl.'"
"Only to piss her off."
That was true, but still. Will crossed his arms and refused to move out of Warren's way when he tried to nudge Will off the counter. Warren glared, and Will grinned back at him. That was a nice thing about super strength; Will could basically make himself an immovable object when he wanted to. Warren growled and lit up a hand threateningly, but Will just raised his eyebrows. Invulnerability was nice too, and he was sure Warren wouldn't burn his house down.
Well, pretty sure.
He moved over to the table instead, so Warren could use the counter.
"Anyway," Warren said. "Your name is basically... exactly what I'd call you."
"Huh?"
"Stronghold. It sounds exactly like..." He waved his arm in Will's general direction. Will didn't mention the fact that Warren had tan lines from his fingerless gloves. He didn't think Warren would care.
"Sounds exactly like what?" Will asked instead.
Warren turned to face him and rolled his eyes. "Stronghold. It sounds like someone, you know, strong. And reliable. Upstanding citizen. And you -- you're wearing red, white, and blue, for god's sake."
Will glanced down self-consciously. Okay, yes, he was wearing a red and white t-shirt with blue jeans, but it wasn't an American flag or anything.
"I don't always wear..."
"Stronghold."
"Okay, I do," Will admitted. "But come on. You give nicknames to all your friends. And aren't we... you know... best friends?"
"You want to braid my hair and we can paint our nails?" Warren suggested.
Will flushed, just a tiny bit. "Never mind. It was stupid anyway."
"Yeah." Warren cooked in quiet for a moment, then said, "If it means so much to you..."
"Yeah?"
Warren didn't turn around, didn't look at Will at all. Will knew he was doing that on purpose, just like he knew that he had to change the subject if Warren mentioned his dad. Warren didn't like things to get emotional, and if they did, he couldn't handle eye contact.
"I'll call you Will."
It took Will a second, and then he beamed. Warren called most of his friends by nicknames, and everyone else, from his boss at the Paper Lantern to the entire rest of the Sky High student body, got called by last name. Will had never heard Warren refer to someone so casually. Warren kept himself apart from pretty much everyone, made sure he was never on a real first-name basis, so the offer to call Will, well, Will...
It meant something.
"Quit smiling, Sunshine, or I'll take it back," Warren said without looking.
"You didn't even turn around. Are you sure you're not psychic at all?"
"Nope. You're just obvious."
"Obvious about what?"
Now Warren actually turned around. He raised his eyebrows. All he said, though, was, "Get out a skillet and come here. I'm going to teach you how to cook, so you don't starve when your parents are on calls."
Will didn't think that was likely as long as he could call for pizza, but he also didn't mind any. Cooking had never interested him, but like basically everything else, he was sure it would be more exciting to do with Warren.