04_after | (no subject)

Quatre has a tendency to view parts of his life as projects. They have stages, with roughly forecasted deadlines, and detailed plans of action. This works pretty well for him, to a point.

The problem is: unlike projects, relationships can't exactly be checked off a list. It's not safe to put them on the backburner, or reschedule the review meeting for next quarter.

It's not that Quatre's been ignoring Trowa, because he hasn't (and he can't). But this morning he realized with a guilty start that he has been taking him for granted the past several months. Sure, he's been busy – he's a CEO, he's always busy (it's not a good enough excuse). He knows, too, that the main reason behind his cheerful taking-for-granted is because Project: Trowa Being Comfortable in a Relationship (with Quatre! The best part), has reached a successful close.

So, when he has a moment, he types a quick e-mail.

From: awinnerisq@freesky.net
To: bangbangbang@freesky.net

Trowa,

I hope your afternoon is going great! I'm sorry to hear about Catherine's cold, please pass along my sympathies. I hope she feels better soon, though I'm glad it's during time off.

Speaking of that, I was wondering if you have plans tonight? I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner around UTC 2300. Otherwise, I'm available this week for most non-work hours, except Tuesday.

Quatre

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(Quatre didn't notice, either.)

Quatre's eyebrows raise, curious. "I haven't read it for awhile," he says, "but people have been talking about an article about supercooled nanofoams and dust."

Carbon nanofoams are one of the main methods of blocking radiation space dust for spacecraft and colonies; for the past 200 years they were taken for granted until scientists renewed research into their more unusual properties about a decade ago. Quatre hasn't read the article, but he's read the abstract of one of the scientific papers it draws from.

"Anything you found interesting?"

"Yeah."

Because it's Quatre, he gets more detail. Because Quatre is genuinely interested in this material, that detail includes summaries (albeit laconic ones) of the articles in question.

The one about supercooled carbon nanofoams is one of four Trowa deems worth expanding on, so this conversation stretches a while.

Quatre'd taken his shoes off before they started to eat; during the conversation his right foot might end up tucked near Trowa's right knee.

Heat conservation and all. Important stuff.

If so, Trowa will fail to move away.

For reasons of heat conservation. Totally that.

(It's a good thing his boyfriend is so pragmatic and sensible about these things.)

Once a comfortable silence has fallen, he . . . will continue to fail to move away.

Yep.

Trowa is so practical. There are reasons they get along!

Comfortable silence has turned into, on Quatre's side, being overly aware of how every single thing that comes into his mind would be incredibly awkward to speak. It started with the only slightly too cheesy so, I want to kiss you forever and devolved with additions of maybe we should brush our teeth first, before he realized that that was even worse, and now he's staring at the table trying to find an out to his own thought process.

Oh, he knows!

Quatre stands up, smiling slightly. "Do you want any tea?" he asks.

They've already stacked the take-out boxes and dishes, so it's no trouble to pick them up.

Trowa glances up at him, faintly (and fondly) amused.

Trowa's childhood did not contain enough normal social training to give him any hosting compulsions. Quatre, on the other hand, falls back on them multiple times an hour.

However: "Sure."

He has no objection to tea!

Quatre smiles back (even though, to anyone else, Trowa's reaction probably didn't count as a smile).

"I can surprise you," he says, cheerful now that he has something to fall back on.

(It won't be that surprising. He doesn't have any new tea.)

He disappears with the cartons.

Trowa will wait with bated breath.

. . . Not really.

He gives Quatre a little time to putter about with the kettle and tea leaves before he rises silently to follow. He'd bring the rest of the dishes, except that Quatre already got them all.

Quatre has just set the mint tea to steep, and s leaning against the counter. His besocked feet are stretched out in front of him, and he is watching them when Trowa comes in; he glances up with a smile.

"Hey," he says, even though it is definitely unnecessary, and extends his hand to Trowa.

"Hi," Trowa replies solemnly -- well, deadpan, anyway -- and accepts Quatre's hand. (Unsurprisingly.)

He was planning to settle against the counter next to Quatre, but Quatre can overrule that if he wants.

Quatre's hold on Trowa's hand is loose, thumb curled up over the top, so he's more supporting it in his palm than anything else.

"I've been distracted," Quatre says, after a moment. "For a few months, I mean. And that's -- I'm busy, and I like being busy. But I'd rather not be distracted, when I'm around you."

It's not a promise, or anything; he's not so unknowing of himself to do anything like that. He doesn't even know if Trowa's really noticed -- but knowing Trowa, he has noticed that Quatre's been hyper-aware of himself today, and Quatre'd rather let him know why. It's polite.

Trowa was kind of waiting to see if there was a specific catalyst for Quatre's fretful self-consciousness, yeah, though he wouldn't have been bothered if Quatre didn't say anything. It didn't feel like one of Quatre's occasional attacks of guilt, though -- or, at least, not beyond his general tendency to find cause for guilt in everything.

It takes him a few moments to find words to reply. In part that's because he has to run it over in his mind a few times to figure out what Quatre thinks the problem is.

"I don't mind," he says.

"You're not that distracted."

"I mind," Quatre says, and smiles slightly.

His demeanour says I'm okay, because he is (and because he doesn't want Trowa to worry).

"I'm pretty selfish," he admits, "when it comes to spending time with you. Everything else gets all the rest of my time, it feels... wasteful to let it have this, too."

Trowa's smile is only in his eyes.

And in the way he shifts his weight slightly to rest his shoulder more comfortably against Quatre's.

"Okay."

He still doesn't mind the distraction. But he doesn't exactly object to this sentiment, either.

Quatre squeezes Trowa's hand slightly before letting go. He puts the tea bags on the dish laid out for that, and hands Trowa's over.

And, yes, leans back lightly against his shoulder.

Trowa accepts the tea.

And the companionably leaning (and sparklingly happy, silent or not) boyfriend.

Look, Quatre wouldn't call himself particularly subtle in his day-to-day life, however good he is at strategizing battles and organizing political alliances and business maneuvers.

Still, he is pleased by the sharpness of the mint as he slowly drinks it, letting it linger in his mouth. This is way less awkward than suggesting tooth brushing.

It's pretty good.

Trowa would drink it if he didn't like it, too; he eats and drinks what he's given, as a rule. But he likes mint.

When the mug is about half empty, he shifts it to his right hand, and leans over for a quick kiss.

(There are a few reasons for this. Among them: the fact that it's pretty sweet when your workaholic boyfriend says he doesn't want work to impinge on boyfriend time; the fact that Quatre is always inordinately happy any time Trowa does anything like this; the fact that Trowa wants to.)

Quatre smiles, startled, into the kiss (inside he is feeling triumphant, and surprised, and touched). It's mild, a hello-I-like-you reminder, but Quatre shifts slightly so it's easier to keep kissing, setting down his tea on the counter as his free right hand goes to Trowa's left arm.

Maybe kissing forever is an unlikely goal, but kissing for right now is something he is all in favor of.