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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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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.