3nanashi | (no subject)

Shuttle rides are boring. This is a fact of life; every traveler who's ever been on an inter-colony or atmo-breaking trip knows this. But it is, perhaps, especially boring when you know exactly what this engine can do (not as much as many machines, but a lot more than this commercial pilot is asking of it) and which trajectories it could take to L4 (several, of which this is the most staid that has any speed at all). Trowa keeps himself occupied with his computer, and tries not to spend too much time mentally calculating alternative routes and contingency plans for various attacks that will never come. He doesn't expect them, but it's something to do. And it never hurts to be prepared.

When they dock, he waits through the excessively slow cross-check -- double-checks and triple-checks are how you keep your equipment in order and yourself alive, but this crew's clearly never done this under fire -- and then slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and files dutifully off the shuttle with the other passengers. Time for the Immigration And Visitor Registration paperwork. Trowa tells them the truth, nowadays, although occasionally in rather targeted wording.

All that's ahead after that is a much shorter (and, privately, less irritating) trip by ground transport to the rich district of this colony. He'll call Quatre when he's close.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Quatre has full pajama suits in his closet here, unlike back in Milliways, but he's realized that he rather likes sleeping in soft pants and t-shirts.

Because they're comfortable. Yes.

So he's wearing a pair of navy blue pajama pants, and a grey t-shirt (compared to the cartoon hippo wearing sunglasses on Trowa's). When Trowa walks in the door, he's washing out the coffee mugs in the sink.

He glances up and smiles, moving to wash his hands. "Cathy's choice?" he asks, with regards to the pattern.

Amused, "Yeah."

How could you tell?

"It suits you." Quatre dries his hands on a towel, and tries not to laugh as he walks forward. He stops half a step away, hand curling on the bare skin just above Trowa's right elbow as he kisses him, briefly.

"Would you like to grab a book, or?"

There's water in the refrigerator.

Trowa doesn't say, you're biased, but the sentiment is (affectionately) there.

(He also doesn't say that he figured this might be a useful sartorial option depending on the general fashion trends of Qasim U. Trowa believes in blending in.)

"Sure," he says, after a brief consultation of how tired he is. He doesn't expect to be reading for too long, but he might as well for a little while. His body clock hasn't totally adjusted to L4 time yet.

It's another moment or two before he looks to the bookshelf, though.

Quatre draws back, reluctantly, and goes to fill two water glasses from the pitcher in the refrigerator while Trowa finds a book for himself. He's already taken his pills for the evening, but it's nice to have a glass on hand during the night.

It doesn't take long. Trowa's not too choosy about his reading.

He gives Quatre enough time to fill and carry the water glasses, though.

Quatre gifts him one of the glasses, with a half-smirk and tinge of overdone formality.

There is a moment of hesitance, when he picks a book off of his bed, where he realizes he doesn't know what side Trowa prefers. (Quatre invariably, no matter where he starts, ends up somewhere in the middle; so he doesn't have much preference.) In Milliways Trowa is usually reading, and the lighting is one-sided enough to allow that to make the decision.

He decides to go with that, anyway, and moves to the left. Communication would be awkward, and he's tired.

Trowa doesn't actually care. So that works out!

(The only part of sleeping arrangements he really cares about is not having his back to a door if at all possible. In Quatre's bedroom here, unlike his room at Milliways, that's easily done. It's a change Trowa appreciates.)

He settles down in companionable silence.

Quatre waits for Trowa to turn on his bedside lamp before turning the main lights of the room off.

He slips under the covers, and turns to lay an arm across Trowa's abdomen, tilted up so his hand rests lightly on the lower section of Trowa's ribcage; it's a deliberate choice because he won't get in the way of Trowa, if he decides to tilt up on his elbows to read.

Quatre sighs quietly as he settles, and wishes Trowa a muzzy "Bonne nuit."

Answering isn't really necessary.

But: "Tesbah `ala kher."

(Unnecessary words are sometimes a gesture, and sometimes a joke. Unnecessary words in a language Trowa's still learning, doubly so.)

Trowa doesn't plan to read for too long. This may have more to do with the hour than a lack of interest in the book -- novels may be boring except for ulterior motives, but practicing Arabic is not -- but it's still true.

So he doesn't mind settling into place with the book in one hand, and the other hand resting lightly over Quatre's.

(It'll fall away in time -- when Trowa dozes off, if nothing else. But Quatre will start cuddling closer as soon as he's asleep, so that evens out.)

Quatre's breath huffs against the pillow in not-quite laughter, and he smiles.

"Some day I'll learn Japanese," he threatens, fond and faint.

"Oyasumi," Trowa supplies blandly, and without looking up from the page.

Also without expectation that Quatre will remember this language lesson, but it's clearly the logical reply.

Quatre would accuse him of being a show-off, but he's not that cognizant currently, so he just makes a faint agreeing noise to the sound of Trowa's voice. He hasn't opened his eyes for this whole exchange.

He drifts off to sleep.

Trowa turns a page.