"I want you to kiss me whenever you want." K is harder to read than most people, and Jesus is good at reading people. He never knows exactly what K wants; he only knows K always expects worse than he gets. He smiles at him. "Will you do that?"
K was pretty confident of the answer, but he'd still much rather ask than assume; he remembers the way Jesus had withdrawn in the room with the jellyfish the last time they were physically together.
He could say this. Instead he leans down the short distance to kiss Jesus now.
He needed this reassurance, a little hint of proof that the night in that room hadn't damaged them. That his own hurt at K leaving hadn't got in the way of this.
He kisses him back, and when they break he looks up at K and then sits up slightly to kiss him again. "Mean it," he murmurs when finally he does let go. "Whenever you feel like it."
K meets him where he is, and as the second kiss breaks too, he stays close; the room where V is is silent, and the door they're behind locks. He doesn't mind lingering like this.
He brushes the backs of his fingers along Jesus's neck, rests his hand at his shoulder and nods; it's a harder permission for him to give in turn, not the least because it's difficult for him to believe anyone would wait for it.
But he thinks that and he knows in the moment after that Jesus absolutely does, so he offers, "You too."
"I would've always been in trouble in your world." For theft, for the usual things he was in trouble for in his own world; but also for this. He has no regrets.
He pushes himself up--wincing; his ribs are sore from some blows he'd taken--and he kisses K again. Just testing.
K gives him a quizzical look for the comment, but he's amused nonetheless. He closes the door behind Jesus and moves to clean up the kitchen.
It's a rough night for V from there, which means it's a rough night for K too. By the time he gets his friend to a point he can sleep again, K is too upset to try to sleep himself, and then he doesn't want to risk not knowing if V comes up hard and needs him.
So he's made it back to the couch and it's not that he forgot Jesus said he would be back today, but he has no idea or expectations for when, so he sinks into his thoughts with the television on low and his eyes unfocused through the corner of the room, expression uncharacteristically somber and unabashedly worried.
Jesus comes in without knocking because he'd said he'd be back and he's going on three days with minimal sleep, and in the Hilltop people came and went without announcing themselves.
He stops in the doorway when he sees K, then shuts the door quietly, studying him. He sees concern there, and fears the worst. Although for him the 'worst' is that V died and reanimated.
K is normally more alert as well, and certainly would have noticed anyone being any louder than Jesus; but not only is he trusted, but K is deep, deep in thought.
At his name though, he blinks and every emotion on his face goes away, drops back to careful neutral. Then he registers that it's Jesus and he softens a bit again.
"Hey, sorry. I didn't hear you come in," he offers as he uncurls from where he'd had his legs folded up underneath him.
By the time K has made it over to investigate the bag, it would be nearly impossible to tell he'd been in any kind of mood different from his usual only moments ago. He's only brought groceries back here once, but that's all it takes to recognize what's happening with a bag full of food.
He shakes his head, though. No, he's not okay by a long shot and K doesn't know how to help, either. He drops his voice so it pitches between the two of them. "Healing physically, but - he feels so deeply, and I don't know what kind of damage it did him."
"I've been trying -" The smallest of stress fractures in his voice and face, because he has; keeping a flow of food constantly is one of very few things he's been able to think of that might help, on the most basic level of keeping V's body going if nothing else.
As for himself, he's just forgotten, or been too preoccupied otherwise. "I just don't know enough, maybe." That isn't it and he knows that, but the end result is the same: he's all too happy to clear out of Jesus's way, to give him the kitchen space, spotless except for two cereal bowls from an attempt at breakfast soaking in the sink.
"I could teach you," he says, taking his coat off, then his weapons (two knives and a gun) and laying thema all where they could be easily grabbed back up again. "I'm not making anything fancy, but if you want to help, I could teach you."
"I just don't know what to do with any of this," he says, still lingering close; he was going to watch regardless. He's a fast learner.
He's just never seen food like what's available here, and it had been a delight when he and V had brought a bag of groceries home and just done their best with it. Now it feels stressful, but he's relieved that regardless of what Jesus has it in mind to make, he at least has a plan of some kind. It means he has K's full attention.
"Everything in Los Angeles is either pre-packaged, pre-made, or a packet that gets dumped into boiling water."
He holds up a carrot and breaks it in half. "What does this smell like?" And, explaining, "The first thing I do is make sure everything smells good. You'll know if it's not."
Apocalypse cooking rules are a tiny bit different than what K might find on a cooking show.
K will literally eat anything that's been handed to him at least once.
He takes the potato, rubbing his thumb over the rough skin, considering it. He sniffs it and says, "It smells like dirt." As for the other question: "I haven't disliked anything I've found here."
"Neither have I." He looks up at him, sheepish. "I'm not a very good cook, K. I know how to roast things most people won't touch and I know how to pick road kill that won't make you sick. I've lived off the same thing for the last two years, almost every day. So fresh vegetables here, fresh meat?"
It's a dream. "We're going to have a poor man's Thanksgiving spread. Roast turkey breast, some mashed potatoes...some carrots."
no subject
But he feels a lot better now, more settled; Jesus will be back. He smiles.
"I'd like that," he assures him. "And V will be happy to see you too I'm sure."
He still doesn't let go, thumb smoothing over the side of Jesus's hand.
"May I kiss you?"
no subject
no subject
He could say this. Instead he leans down the short distance to kiss Jesus now.
no subject
He kisses him back, and when they break he looks up at K and then sits up slightly to kiss him again. "Mean it," he murmurs when finally he does let go. "Whenever you feel like it."
no subject
He brushes the backs of his fingers along Jesus's neck, rests his hand at his shoulder and nods; it's a harder permission for him to give in turn, not the least because it's difficult for him to believe anyone would wait for it.
But he thinks that and he knows in the moment after that Jesus absolutely does, so he offers, "You too."
no subject
no subject
"It's not illegal here to be too attached to replicants," he offers - explanation for both at once. "So yes, I'm sure. On break."
no subject
He pushes himself up--wincing; his ribs are sore from some blows he'd taken--and he kisses K again. Just testing.
no subject
The kiss is easy. He smiles as he stands, too, to walk Jesus to the door.
"That just means we would have met one way or another."
no subject
no subject
It's a rough night for V from there, which means it's a rough night for K too. By the time he gets his friend to a point he can sleep again, K is too upset to try to sleep himself, and then he doesn't want to risk not knowing if V comes up hard and needs him.
So he's made it back to the couch and it's not that he forgot Jesus said he would be back today, but he has no idea or expectations for when, so he sinks into his thoughts with the television on low and his eyes unfocused through the corner of the room, expression uncharacteristically somber and unabashedly worried.
no subject
He stops in the doorway when he sees K, then shuts the door quietly, studying him. He sees concern there, and fears the worst. Although for him the 'worst' is that V died and reanimated.
"K?"
no subject
At his name though, he blinks and every emotion on his face goes away, drops back to careful neutral. Then he registers that it's Jesus and he softens a bit again.
"Hey, sorry. I didn't hear you come in," he offers as he uncurls from where he'd had his legs folded up underneath him.
no subject
He looks at him, brow slightly furrowed in concern. "Is he okay?"
no subject
He shakes his head, though. No, he's not okay by a long shot and K doesn't know how to help, either. He drops his voice so it pitches between the two of them. "Healing physically, but - he feels so deeply, and I don't know what kind of damage it did him."
no subject
"I'll start by making dinner. He probably hasn't been eating much?" He gives K a quick look. "Neither of you?"
no subject
As for himself, he's just forgotten, or been too preoccupied otherwise. "I just don't know enough, maybe." That isn't it and he knows that, but the end result is the same: he's all too happy to clear out of Jesus's way, to give him the kitchen space, spotless except for two cereal bowls from an attempt at breakfast soaking in the sink.
no subject
no subject
He's just never seen food like what's available here, and it had been a delight when he and V had brought a bag of groceries home and just done their best with it. Now it feels stressful, but he's relieved that regardless of what Jesus has it in mind to make, he at least has a plan of some kind. It means he has K's full attention.
"Everything in Los Angeles is either pre-packaged, pre-made, or a packet that gets dumped into boiling water."
no subject
Apocalypse cooking rules are a tiny bit different than what K might find on a cooking show.
no subject
"A little sweet," he tries, handing it back.
no subject
no subject
He takes the potato, rubbing his thumb over the rough skin, considering it. He sniffs it and says, "It smells like dirt." As for the other question: "I haven't disliked anything I've found here."
no subject
It's a dream. "We're going to have a poor man's Thanksgiving spread. Roast turkey breast, some mashed potatoes...some carrots."
no subject
"What is this called?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)