(no subject)

[plaguedrat]

For two months, Rat has done his best to avoid cooking meals. To him, it marks acceptance giving in to the form of the city and letting the apartment it provided become his home. Grey's presence has changed that rule. It's why he's bought carrots, potatoes, a round of beef, stock wine, and spices. For Grey.

Cooking for himself, letting this place be any kind of permanent? Rat can't do that. For Grey, though, he can.

Comments

[plaguedrat]

He reaches up to touch Grey's cheek, trying to read the emotion he exudes.

"What's going on?"

[silenttrainbaby]

It's so difficult to explain. For a moment, Grey doesn't want to try, but he wants to please Rat and that means he has to try. Train. He points to the word. It's the life he was used to. There was little love there. Little care, few boyfriends. But how does he explain that? He takes Rat's hand, writing letters in his palm. L-O-N-E-L-Y.

[plaguedrat]

"Surrounded by others and still lonely?" Rat understands, tries not to reflect on the years growing up alone or on the run or the crowds in the West District. He'd moved among them a deliberate stranger, never forming a bond if he could help it.

It's different from Grey's loneliness, but he understands it too.

[silenttrainbaby]

Kissing Rat's palm, Grey tries to make clear that this - what they have - would never have happened on the train, or rarely. It was what he likes to think he had with Gilliam. He presses Rat's hand to his cheek and nods. Yes. He wishes this for Edgar, for Curtis.

[plaguedrat]

He nods, tracing his fingertip over the tattoos on Grey's forearm. There are luxuries in this city that neither of them could have had elsewhere. This is one of them.

[silenttrainbaby]

Maybe, Grey thinks, there is a Painter somewhere in this city, who can add to the words on his body. In time.

For now, though, he hugs Rat closer. Yes, this. This is luxury.