(He doesn't miss Quatre's glance, or the way his back relaxes after it.)
Years ago, in Peacemillion's kitchen, he'd sit at the big table under the harsh spaceship lighting, waiting while Quatre fussed with tea and water and cups, scrupulously giving both of them space, for the dreams Trowa couldn't remember and Quatre's guilt that he only half-understood. They talked of tactics and recent battles, when Quatre brought the tea over, or Quatre would chatter of other things while Trowa listened in silence.
Now, he pauses for an instant, and then joins Quatre by the counter.
After a moment, he lifts a hand to rest his fingertips against Quatre's upper arm -- light, and brief, and deliberate.
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(He doesn't miss Quatre's glance, or the way his back relaxes after it.)
Years ago, in Peacemillion's kitchen, he'd sit at the big table under the harsh spaceship lighting, waiting while Quatre fussed with tea and water and cups, scrupulously giving both of them space, for the dreams Trowa couldn't remember and Quatre's guilt that he only half-understood. They talked of tactics and recent battles, when Quatre brought the tea over, or Quatre would chatter of other things while Trowa listened in silence.
Now, he pauses for an instant, and then joins Quatre by the counter.
After a moment, he lifts a hand to rest his fingertips against Quatre's upper arm -- light, and brief, and deliberate.