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When Quatre's watch goes off, he wakes up immediately, the late evening light drifting in through the window. He'd fallen asleep on top of the covers, though he expects the workers here wash them regularly. It was as much for comfort as anything else.
He changes into the clothes the bar gave him--the same black linen pants and practical shoes as it gave him after the Cullen party, but a soft blue-grey sweater instead of a long sleeve shirt. He carefully stores his already folded business clothes in the bag, and takes it down with him to the Bar (locking the door behind him).
He drops the bag and key off at the bar, and peels the tangerine he'd picked up while sitting with Trowa and Cass, and he waits for the former.
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Why not? It's early enough in the day that he doesn't mind the caffeine.
Even if, unlike Quatre, he tends to subsist more on decaf. (This is a calculated habit to keep caffeine an effective stimulant for his system, and avoid addiction to it. Trowa's control issues do in fact extend to beverages.)
He doesn't particularly care how the coffee-pouring logistics settle out. This means there's a brief back-and-forth of glances and mug gestures, the easy sort you get with people who've been friends for years, and Trowa ends up pouring for them both. (After Quatre retrieves the second tangerine from Trowa's mug also. They probably wouldn't mix well.)
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But he does have a dinner to go to, later, and it won't be the sort where purchasing coffee would send the right impression.
"Thank you," Quatre says, once the mugs are full. He waits for Trowa to finish capping the thermos and setting it down before handing him his mug.
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Trowa doesn't say you're welcome. It's a given, and Quatre's not the kind of person who needs to hear it said anyway.
He just sets the thermos down again in easy reach, and accepts his mug companionably.
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Mm, coffee.
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But it's not as if he objects. This, too, is comfortable.
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"I think I'm going to get a room here," he says, quietly. "For future use, I mean. If Cassandra's is the standard, they're quite nice."
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It's practical. Given the time difference, for one. It's a handy way to get more hours in the day.
"I haven't seen a lot. But the room I rented once was fine."
He's done a lot of wandering-Milliways reconnaissance. But it's a little bit harder to discreetly check out personal rooms than it is to walk down a hallway as if you belong there.
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He really has no reason to miss Trowa as much as he does, Quatre decides. It's just because he got his hopes up with the planning. He knew long distance would be difficult, anyways, going into this relationship (and he never expected to find Milliways to help).
Still.
"It'd be nice to have a place here, too," Quatre says. "I mean, I do like the bar, but it's-- " he shrugs. Being alone is nice, now and then.
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It's a large and crowded public space.
It is what it is.
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Seriously, his mind is kind of one-track at the moment.
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And Bar makes it well, which matters more to Quatre than to Trowa. (Trowa appreciates good coffee more than terrible coffee, but he'll drink either, and he's not much of a connoisseur beyond 'this is pretty good.')
Quatre is leaning against him a little, knee brushing Trowa's. It's comfortable.