It's not a request K would have anticipated, not one he would have made; not because he's opposed, but like emotions, he's still learning what the options even are. Furthermore he hadn't invited Jesus here because he expected them to actually do anything, even this - the echoes of losing control of himself to the injection are still very much on his mind - but now that he's said it, now that it's on the table, K is aware of a much more subtle pull of want.
He pulls his hand back carefully, slowly, not because he wants to but because he needs it to settle further back on the couch where he is. He moves the chocolate safely aside, and makes sure he's comfortable. Then he holds that hand back out to Jesus in invitation - anywhere he wants, as close or as far, as much of him touching or not as he's comfortable with in turn, K is willing to offer.
It only takes him a moment to decide. Then he's crossed the little space between them, and he's sitting next to K, touching at the shoulder and side and hip. To make it more comfortable he pulls K's arm around him, then looks up at him, silently asking if this is okay.
K takes a bit longer to settle, though mostly because he's letting Jesus move him where he wants him. He makes one small adjustment to how they're sitting that ends up leaning them a bit closer together, but then his frame relaxes into where they are.
He's holding himself up, tensed for K to adjust them or change his mind. Instead K arranges them so they're even closer, and finally, finally the taut-wire wariness in him releases and he lays his head on K's shoulder, up against his neck.
K doesn't rush with anything, but especially anything important; they're negotiating now, though they don't speak or make any other sound or gesture. It's a conversation of bodies, Jesus making the request, K making the offer; Jesus's opening bid and K's adjustment, and now both of them deciding if they're comfortable with the agreement.
Jesus relaxes and rests against him so close K can't see his face anymore, not really; K closes his eyes, fingers curled naturally around Jesus's arm, and lets both of these facts sink in. Then he relaxes, too.
"I'm happy I get to know you," he murmurs, sincere and soft.
"I am too." The unexpectedness of it still catches him when he's with K: how easy it is. How difficult it usually is for him. "You're one of the good parts of being here."
"I'm not used to that." He should be. Hilltop has been at peace for several years now, the biggest worries are neighbors complaining about each other. But that's part of why Jesus never settled into the community: he's never been able to let go of the thought that there just isn't enough time to relax.
He's trying now. He's relaxing right now, for however long he can manage.
"Tell me something else about this place that isn't hard. Or if it is, that's worth it."
"The sky," K says immediately, because he has a list of things that he could love, that would enamor him of this place and this city without exception if he could only choose how he engages with it.
It's simple, but he means it: "I'd never seen it before I came here. Or, well. Sometimes outside the biome of Los Angeles I'd catch glimpses but it was always soupy and dull, like muddy water. Or the sun was too bright and hot and would burn anything it touched. But there are clouds here, and stars, and the sun is... nice. And there's wind that doesn't make you want to hold your breath."
He speaks with quiet reverence, means every word of it and more that he's not saying.
Stars were one of the things he was grateful for in the early days, after all the cities went dark. He grew up in the DC area, where sodium vapor lamps choked the Milky Way into a uniform darkness overhead. He tries to remember the last time, though, that he stopped to take in the constellations overhead and he can't.
He will tonight, he decides. Even if it's just for a minute or two.
"Crowded," he chuckles, but like there is a part of him that was programmed to be angry with rogue replicants to do his job better, there's a part of him that is forever attached to Los Angeles as his city.
"The biome was built to keep the conditions inside it hospitable for human life. You can hear the air purifiers constantly, and the vent systems controlling the temperature. There's a shield to stand in for the ozone layer and to keep out radiation, and walls all the way around to support all of it. So the air always smells the same, and feels the same, and no one that's saying anything knows where the ash that falls all the time now comes from - probably a by product of the vents. There are storms sometimes that get through but who knows what you're standing in."
"I can imagine it. But I don't think what I'm picturing is anything like what it was like." He shakes his head slightly. "I remember smog. I remember there were days the air seemed thick and yellow with it sometimes."
"What city was that?" Jesus has seen one of K's memories but that doesn't sound like this now. That wouldn't be a memory he'd expect Jesus to talk about.
"That was the first major city to collapse in my timeline," he offers, no opinion about it either way. That was before he was activated. It's a name on a map and a handful of surviving pictures.
He hears farm and thinks of the miles and miles of uniform white tents on gray, wasteland sands in northern California. He knows it's not what Jesus means, but like the biome in reverse, he can't really picture it.
"Tell me about it?" Then, remembering that he's seen at least part of it, and remembering how Jesus had reacted outside the Listening Room: "If you want."
"We had cows and horses. We were the first place for more than a day's drive that did. We grew our own crops, corn and beets and turnips. When I first moved in I liked to wake up early and walk around. I could smell the dew on the leaves and it smelled different than waking up in the forest."
He's homesick and it hurts, but he swallows it down for the chance to share the imagery with someone who lived behind walls, away from anything remotely green.
K sighs gently, a slow deep inhale and a soft exhale as he thinks about it. Pictures it, or tries to anyway. He has no idea what corn and beets and turnips smell like; he's only just getting used to dew on leaves.
But Jesus is leaning against him and he feels that hitch of movement, and his fingers squeeze ever so slightly around the other man's shoulder.
"I've never seen a real horse. Or cows, but -" The horses catch his attention. "I used to see them in movies. I always thought I'd like seeing a living one."
"I wish we could leave the city. I'd stay in the program, maybe I'd even have an easier time with it, if they'd let us get out into the country." The noise and the crowds make him jumpy sometimes where they never did before. He doesn't want to think about it right now or it will start him listening for trouble where there is none and he knows there is none.
"You like Westerns?" He's not sure how many other types of film feature horses.
"I know someone who has a home outside the city. He let me stay the night there when I first arrived." It had been the most miraculous, unlooked for blessing, even if it would have been too quiet for him to sleep if he hadn't been half dead still.
"Yes. Westerns." Not that he'd forgotten the name but he wasn't sure it would be recognized the same. "They're very dramatic. I like the animals in them."
"My friend lives out there. It's beautiful, his house and the land. I almost wish I could contract with someone who had that freedom." It might make all this a little more bearable.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 12:08 am (UTC)They're going to run into trouble eventually, there's always trouble, but just now it feels worth the risk even to him.
"I want that."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 12:21 am (UTC)"We don't have to do anything, but can I just" this is hard to ask, "stay close? Like this?"
Touching. Not just near, but touching.
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Date: 2022-08-28 12:38 am (UTC)He pulls his hand back carefully, slowly, not because he wants to but because he needs it to settle further back on the couch where he is. He moves the chocolate safely aside, and makes sure he's comfortable. Then he holds that hand back out to Jesus in invitation - anywhere he wants, as close or as far, as much of him touching or not as he's comfortable with in turn, K is willing to offer.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 01:56 am (UTC)Yes, it's okay. Yes, he likes this.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 03:04 am (UTC)Jesus relaxes and rests against him so close K can't see his face anymore, not really; K closes his eyes, fingers curled naturally around Jesus's arm, and lets both of these facts sink in. Then he relaxes, too.
"I'm happy I get to know you," he murmurs, sincere and soft.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 03:13 am (UTC)It means a lot.
"I'm still looking for a guitar."
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Date: 2022-08-28 03:31 am (UTC)Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but what K really means by it is that they have more than only their plans for music.
"If nothing else, this place gives us time."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 03:35 am (UTC)He's trying now. He's relaxing right now, for however long he can manage.
"Tell me something else about this place that isn't hard. Or if it is, that's worth it."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 03:40 am (UTC)It's simple, but he means it: "I'd never seen it before I came here. Or, well. Sometimes outside the biome of Los Angeles I'd catch glimpses but it was always soupy and dull, like muddy water. Or the sun was too bright and hot and would burn anything it touched. But there are clouds here, and stars, and the sun is... nice. And there's wind that doesn't make you want to hold your breath."
He speaks with quiet reverence, means every word of it and more that he's not saying.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 03:53 am (UTC)He will tonight, he decides. Even if it's just for a minute or two.
"What was it like inside the biome?"
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 04:03 am (UTC)"The biome was built to keep the conditions inside it hospitable for human life. You can hear the air purifiers constantly, and the vent systems controlling the temperature. There's a shield to stand in for the ozone layer and to keep out radiation, and walls all the way around to support all of it. So the air always smells the same, and feels the same, and no one that's saying anything knows where the ash that falls all the time now comes from - probably a by product of the vents. There are storms sometimes that get through but who knows what you're standing in."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-28 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 01:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 03:23 am (UTC)"That was where you lived?"
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Date: 2022-08-29 03:26 am (UTC)"I was born there. I grew up there. But before this, I lived in a small farming community. ...I think you would've liked the farm."
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Date: 2022-08-29 03:31 am (UTC)"Tell me about it?" Then, remembering that he's seen at least part of it, and remembering how Jesus had reacted outside the Listening Room: "If you want."
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Date: 2022-08-29 03:45 am (UTC)He's homesick and it hurts, but he swallows it down for the chance to share the imagery with someone who lived behind walls, away from anything remotely green.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 03:52 am (UTC)But Jesus is leaning against him and he feels that hitch of movement, and his fingers squeeze ever so slightly around the other man's shoulder.
"I've never seen a real horse. Or cows, but -" The horses catch his attention. "I used to see them in movies. I always thought I'd like seeing a living one."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 03:58 am (UTC)"You like Westerns?" He's not sure how many other types of film feature horses.
no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 04:05 am (UTC)"Yes. Westerns." Not that he'd forgotten the name but he wasn't sure it would be recognized the same. "They're very dramatic. I like the animals in them."
no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-08-29 05:39 pm (UTC)What he focuses on though is, "Why couldn't you?"
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