K is quick to settle their palms together even if his grip is light, his fingers gentle. He runs his thumb along the tendons of Jesus's, idle and comforting for them both.
"Settling," he decides on instead of any of the other things he could say. The snug leather collar with its tamper proof buckle is still sitting around his neck, always. "I don't know if I've regained everything or just... accepted that it's happening now, so it's easier."
"It took me a little while, too. To accept this." He tips his head against K's shoulder as they stand and wait for a traffic light to change. This feels good. So little feels good like this does.
"It was Carver who got me thinking differently. When I met him I suggested we work together to find a way home. He said he was happier here, where he wasn't starving. Where he wasn't going to be eaten alive if he went into the wrong house."
"He helped. It was you and Vrenille and Rosita who really changed my mind though. I've never had people I loved before, not since I was little. Having that here...it's a hard thing to want to leave." So he made a little home for himself and he's letting himself enjoy it while he can.
He breathes out, letting that statement settle on his shoulders, in his chest. Letting it warm where and what it will.
When the light turns, he waits for Jesus to straighten back up before he steps out.
"There was this woman in Los Angeles that told me, once, that people move on to their next lives when they've learned all they need to learn in this one," he says, slowly.
"She believed it was selfish to want to keep them here with us, when what they really needed was their next step."
"I think she's right," Jesus admits. "But I also think that if you had asked me when I first got here if I was ready to move on to my next step I would have said yes. But I would have been wrong. I've needed to be here, to learn all this. About...being with people. Having family. Loving people. I'm glad I got to learn this now."
"They're things I never would have got to do back home. There were no men to love, not the way I-" Love you. He doesn't want to crowd K though, with his emotions. Not when they're still relearning each other.
"And my best friend here, Rosita? She lived in another community. We never got to spend much time together back home. So I didn't have that part of my family either."
"I'm so glad you aren't back there. And I'm sorry if you wish you were... I hope that whatever else we can say about this place, you would choose this city over that one." But maybe it's more of a lateral move for K than it is for Jesus.
"I suspect I'll never stop missing Los Angeles." Suspects, in fact, that he can't. That it's programmed into him to feel like he belongs there, that he needs to be there.
But he raises their hands a little further, and kisses the leading knuckle of Jesus's hand.
Jesus smiles and tips his head against K's shoulder. "There are things you've talked about that I wish I could see," he admits. "Like your car. Er, spinner? And the lights. We've been running on solar power and candles for so long that coming here, I couldn't sleep for how bright it was at first."
He smiles, a small spark of mischief coming through.
"It says LAPD on the side of it." He shrugs though, keeping it modest, not sure how appropriate this is right this moment but Jesus asked. K will follow his lead.
"It's a smooth handler, and goes vertical without needing to climb first or any horizontal movement at all. And it has a siren, and lights."
Jesus grins at him. "Do you miss the lights? Being able to break the rules of the road when they were on? I couldn't have been a cop, I'd never have respected a red light again."
"And then you have the people who follow you to see where you're going, who you're arresting," Jesus grimaces. "I had a friend who did that for fun. A lot. He wasn't even a lawyer."
He rubs his thumb over Jesus's knuckle, watching the way his skin moves under the pressure, the warm, living weight of him, the delicacy of his bones in K's hand - but trusting anyway, certain anyway that K won't hurt him.
"But I like parts of being here, too," he offers, quiet.
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"Settling," he decides on instead of any of the other things he could say. The snug leather collar with its tamper proof buckle is still sitting around his neck, always. "I don't know if I've regained everything or just... accepted that it's happening now, so it's easier."
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"It was Carver who got me thinking differently. When I met him I suggested we work together to find a way home. He said he was happier here, where he wasn't starving. Where he wasn't going to be eaten alive if he went into the wrong house."
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"They're good reasons to make this place a new home." Not always, though, good enough for everyone. "Did he change your mind enough?"
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When the light turns, he waits for Jesus to straighten back up before he steps out.
"There was this woman in Los Angeles that told me, once, that people move on to their next lives when they've learned all they need to learn in this one," he says, slowly.
"She believed it was selfish to want to keep them here with us, when what they really needed was their next step."
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"Learning. Loving."
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"And my best friend here, Rosita? She lived in another community. We never got to spend much time together back home. So I didn't have that part of my family either."
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Their lives are different, have been so different, but he raises their joined hands: "This wouldn't have been possible, in Los Angeles."
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But he raises their hands a little further, and kisses the leading knuckle of Jesus's hand.
"But it doesn't mean I can't... be happy here."
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"Unless you have blackout windows. It's never really light either. Just... neon."
He misses it. He misses it so much sometimes.
"The spinners are fun. Especially mine."
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"It says LAPD on the side of it." He shrugs though, keeping it modest, not sure how appropriate this is right this moment but Jesus asked. K will follow his lead.
"It's a smooth handler, and goes vertical without needing to climb first or any horizontal movement at all. And it has a siren, and lights."
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"But I still had to be careful. Other people lose their minds when they hear sirens, and can cause accidents getting out of the way."
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He rubs his thumb over Jesus's knuckle, watching the way his skin moves under the pressure, the warm, living weight of him, the delicacy of his bones in K's hand - but trusting anyway, certain anyway that K won't hurt him.
"But I like parts of being here, too," he offers, quiet.