deuceoftears | TLV IC Inbox

He'd have been entirely derailed if Jedao had: instead, he's heading back to the room after dinner, folding the green scarf he's made for Jeep to perch on without clawing him and sliding it onto the corner of the couch.

"Jedao?" he calls, tone light and cheerful, but with the faintest hint of nervousness lingering about it.

(He's aware it's very stupid to be nervous, but telling emotions they're very stupid has not made them go away in the past and he doesn't anticipate it functioning well in the future.)

He's already on his way, alerted by the door.

"Evening, darling," Jedao murmurs. "And Jeep. I hope you like your bed."

Jeep, alighting on top of the scarf on the couch, looks up and chirps at the sound of his name.

"He does," Gonou agrees, and leans in to steal a kiss. "Ah... so. I'd like to move the rest of my things in here. It seems silly, keeping them upstairs."

Jedao promptly looks delighted and then just a bit smug.

"Yes."

In a tone that's half-complaint and all affectionate tease, Gonou objects, "You don't have to look so smug about it, you know. Will you help me move? It'll go faster, with two."

"You want to put your belongings here. Because you belong here. With me."

Jedao does have to be smug about it, actually. But he leans forward for a victorious kiss.

"You don't have to talk me into it, you know. Carrying boxes is deep inside the very broad scope of things I would do just because you asked."

"Well, yes. Of course I belong here with you." He returns the kiss, raising a hand to cup Jedao's cheek. "Also, you told me not to be shy."

Which has been more of a barrier than where he feels he belongs.

"Come help me move boxes, then," he adds, smirking as he pulls back from the kiss. "Jeep, stay here. We'll be back."

They've talked about Jedao coming home to Gonou - and now, going home with with - but not in exactly so many words, the reverse. Jedao wouldn't have said he had any doubts about it; it's a warm shock in the pit of his stomach how pleased he is to have it set out so explicitly.

He wants to catch Gonou around the waist from behind, wants to kiss and bite all over his neck, wants to drag him back down to the couch -

He squeezes the back of Gonou's neck once instead, and gets to his feet.

"As you wish."

He leads the way briskly up to his room: inside, there are a few small stacks of boxes, pre-packed. He hadn't really doubted the answer to his question. His potted plants are in an open box on the table, trailing fragrant rosemary and mint branches out of the top. Kanan's memorial cabinet, which he really had not had the emotional wherewithal to imagine packing on his own, is still on its shelf.

"Get the ones by the door? I think it'll be a few trips, even with two of us."

Jedao dutifully hefts the boxes in question, lifting with his legs the way you're supposed to; his alien advantages don't particularly extend to strength beyond the ordinary, but it's enough to move house with.

The boxes by the door are mostly clothes; the ones Gonou lifts, with just as much care to good heavy lifting posture, are mostly books and kitchen equipment. Youkai strength is generally better than human, even if Goku and Gojyo can both easily out-lift him, and he's organized the boxes with that in mind.

"I'm not sure there's enough space by your plants to fit in my pots too," he confesses, falling into step with Jedao on their way back to the elevator. "Where should we keep them?"

It's a silly domestic detail, but --

After two years on the road, domesticity feels even more important. Organizing potted herbs in an apartment just the right size for two... it leaves him feeling warm and safe, far beyond anything the simple mundanity of it could explain.

"There's enough space. I can move the ink stone and a few other things."

He wants the plants to be together, even if Gonou's pots don't have faces yet.

Gonou softens into a smile, leaning just close enough to brush their shoulders together as they walk.

"You could draw on my pots. They're shockingly undecorated."

"I was hoping I might," Jedao admits. "Any thoughts on personality?"

"Mint bullies other plants with its enthusiasm," Gonou says cheerfully, freeing a finger from the edge of his boxes to hit the elevator buttons. "Rosemary is fussy but productive when it's comfortable. Aloe is thorny and low-maintenance but very soothing."

It's an open question whether these are personalities or growth habits, but with plants, he rather thinks they're they same thing.

"What a group," Jedao remarks, laughing along. The door opens for them automatically, of course, which is convenient; Jedao brings Gonou's things back to the bedroom.

Gonou sets his boxes of books and pots by the kitchen door, standing up and placing both hands on his lower back as he bends backwards into a stretch.

"One more trip!" he calls cheerfully in the direction of the bedroom. "Then we can unpack. Or celebrate?"

"It's up to you, Gonou-shei," Jedao tells him, emerging in time to see a bit of the stretch and imagine dipping Gonou on a dance floor, someday. Not that he knows how to dance.

"Celebrate," Gonou decides, straightening back up with a smile. "Unpacking can wait. Ah... mostly."

He hesitates, then admits in a rush, "I'd -- like to bring the memorial cabinet up here, too. If there's a good place for it. A little shelf...?"

"Would the living room or the study be better?"

The living room they spend more time in, but it's also where Jedao brings all manner of guests for tea and video games and general information-gathering; it feels more public to him, more exposed in some nebulous way. People like Nat, who Jedao loves but who does not have any particular reason to respect or care for Gonou, have a standing permission to come through the main door on file in the room grid, whereas the study is more protected.

"Or the bedroom?" Even if Jedao feels a little odd about the possibility.

"Not the bedroom," Gonou says immediately. Some associations do not need to be made, and that, he thinks, is one of them. The living room... well, the living room feels more public to Gonou, too. It's for entertaining, not for private things, and Kanan's memorial is deeply private.

"The study, I think," he says at last, and leans slightly against Jedao: he's not putting his weight on Jedao's shoulder, exactly, but it makes him feel supported nonetheless. He hasn't interacted with that cabinet since he returned. At home, he hadn't had any kind of memorial beyond the mountain nearby, beyond his own mind and body. He remembers this one, but it's still... it's a lot, to bring himself to go through the rituals of remembrance.

Since Gonou is vehement about it, Jedao allows a little of his relief to show.

"Plenty of shelves there. You can pick out the best."

"One of the higher ones, I think," Gonou murmurs, and then bumps his shoulder deliberately against Jedao's as he opens his cabin door. "I wouldn't make the two of you share a bedroom, you realize. She wouldn't appreciate it either."

He takes a carefully hidden fortifying breath as he steps into the room: there's the plant box on the table and the cabinet, now. He points the plant box out to Jedao with a lift of his chin and heads over to the cabinet, reaching up to lift it down with the kind of care he'd take with ancient porcelain.

"I did get that feeling. But it's going to be your bedroom too, so." So if Gonou had wanted her that close, he'd have managed.

"Hello, everybody," he murmurs sotto voce to the plants, running one hand overtop of the fragrant leaves, by way of giving Gonou at least a suggestion of a private moment.

Gonou sets the cabinet down with care on the other side of the table, his gaze flickering up towards Jedao with gratitude for a moment, at his careful turning-away of attention.

He takes a breath, then undoes the latch, and checks inside. The saucers and incense are sitting on the bottom of the cabinet; he'll have to tuck those into the drawer built for them. The bud vase should fit beside them, but if not, he can put it in his own pocket for the short trip down to Jedao's room.

Slowly, his gaze rises to the pencil portrait framed and inset at the top center, and his breath catches in his throat.

"I forgot how much she looked like me," he says at last, his voice thin. He had almost forgotten what she looked like at all.

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