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L4, backdated to March/Aprilish
The Winner estate library is, unsurprisingly, both comfortable and extensive.
In about three hours, Trowa will have to head back across the colony to the park where the circus has set up its tents, so he can change and warm up in time for the evening's show. But that's three hours from now. Right now, he's settled on one of the third-floor sofas in the Winner library, reading a borrowed book while Quatre's off getting tea.
(The caffeine is mostly for Quatre, who's a workaholic even when he's not rearranging his schedule to spend afternoons with a friend, but Trowa's not objecting to it either.)
In about three hours, Trowa will have to head back across the colony to the park where the circus has set up its tents, so he can change and warm up in time for the evening's show. But that's three hours from now. Right now, he's settled on one of the third-floor sofas in the Winner library, reading a borrowed book while Quatre's off getting tea.
(The caffeine is mostly for Quatre, who's a workaholic even when he's not rearranging his schedule to spend afternoons with a friend, but Trowa's not objecting to it either.)
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"You know," Quatre says, quietly with a smile audible, "you never told me what you decided about Reicht."
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"I got distracted," Trowa allows, blandly.
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Smiling: "Would you like to finish? I'm halfway through a reread of La Vie de la Souris."
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"Sure," Trowa agrees -- willingly, and with that same background amusement, but after just a second longer than usual.
Quatre remains distracting.
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"All right," he says, and steps back; his hand goes to Trowa's arm, again, but he drops it before touching him and just smiles. He turns and goes to get La Vie de la Souris from the proper bookshelf in the back.
(Everything in the library is sorted by topic and author; he's lucky it's not on another floor entirely.
If it was, he'd be reading another book.)
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He heads back to the couch. He doesn't let himself pause -- Trowa is deliberate about his movements, now as ever -- but all the same there's a moment's renewed uncertainty. Nothing about this is unwelcome in the least, but it's a reshuffling of habits; should he sit where he was, or closer? Is this reading just as they were earlier, or some middle ground? Reading short stories about ecosystems is not the top track in his brain right now.
(He would know perfectly well what signals to give if he were playing a role, and manipulating someone else's interest. Being yourself is much more complicated.)
But he doesn't let himself pause, or dither. He settles comfortably down, not quite in the corner where he was, and opens his book.
Page 103. Right.
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He made an idiot of himself (more of an idiot of himself than he's made in years), but it still went better than he could have hoped, so--he's okay with that. More than okay with that, honestly. He slips the book out of the shelf, fingers tracing the spine, and goes back to the front.
When he sees Trowa's head ducked, reading, he grins despite himself and carefully schools his face down to just a pleased smile as he rounds the couch and sits closer. Not immediately in Trowa's space--Quatre tends to set himself slightly angled when he reads, and space is important for that-- but close enough so that their upper arms might graze on occasion.
He opens to Mystères.
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Which is not to say he isn't retaining any of it. He is.
This is . . . comfortable.
Unsurprisingly, of course. But it's nice anyway.
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Quatre's crossed his left leg over his right knee, right hand holding the book open. The turning involved has actually brought him closer to Trowa, but he doesn't realize until a few chapters in when he bumps his arm, startles slightly, and smiles over at him before moving slightly to a better (but not actually further away) position.
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He also doesn't smile, but one of the nice things about conversing with Quatre is that Trowa doesn't actually need to move his face to have the underlying sentiment understood.
He turns a page, refocusing on his book, and settles back a millimeter more into the sofa. (If this puts his shoulder a millimeter closer to Quatre, too, that's . . . probably not a coincidence.)
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(Why do you think that might be, idiot? it's not like you just started dating your closest friend who you've been attracted to for years, or anything like that.)
He applies slight pressure to the tip of his tongue with his upper teeth as he tries to concentrate on the book well enough to not distract Trowa further from his book.
It's not that hard, if you dissociate enough. Which he doesn't want to do, so it's quite a bit harder.
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Not that he minds doing so. Reading is fine. (Reading with Quatre, here and now, is more than fine.)
But if he's distracted, uh, he'll survive.
However: if you happen to be a very perceptive reader of people, and you happen to know your best friend (boyfriend) very well, it's possible that his attempt to not be distracting -- and the extent to which he's concentrating on that -- can, in and of itself, be distracting.
Trowa glances at Quatre sidelong.
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"Sorry."
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Whatever 'it' is.
(Trowa might have an educated guess, though.)
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And, unlike Quatre's, it's not sheepish.
He turns his gaze back to the book, after a moment. But he shifts his hand slightly when he does, just enough for the edge of it to press lightly against Quatre's.
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It's easier to concentrate, really, if he lets his thumb trace along the contours of Trowa's hand.
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Trowa decides that he's okay with that trade-off.
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(He's straightened, and his face is more serious; calmer. This is only half of what's going on inside, of course.)
There's a pause, and Bernie opens the door, glancing inquisitively inward.
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Not much, in part because there's not all that much couch space to move across. And in part because he's following Quatre's lead, to a certain extent.
He slips his right forefinger under the next page, preparatory to turning it, and glances up at Bernie with calm and expressionless interest.
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"No," Quatre says, cheerfully, "that's okay. You know Enna will be mad if she can't find him later." Morrison specializes in L4 property law; Enna commonly consults him for advice on how to deal with problem tenants.
Bernadet agrees with a slight upwards roll of her eyes, and goes to shelve the book.
Quatre glances sideways at Trowa with a slight smile, and then goes back to reading his book.
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"I've sent you an update on the status of the M&A account for the 7:30," she says, and Quatre glances up.
"Thanks; Pelle's working on the bios, so I should be set by then."
She makes a thoughtful, agreeing noise, and then pats him on the shoulder as she straightens.
"Trowa," she says, mock-serious in her acknowledging, nodding to him and then to Quatre. "Boss. See you later."
Quatre rolls his eyes as she leaves, a little embarassed (but more fond).
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(Trowa likes Bernie. He gets along with all of Quatre's sisters, at least for surface chatting, but Bernie's more perceptive than most even by Winner standards. And doesn't need to give herself illusions about what she knows. Trowa respects both these things.)