"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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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.