The flat they will live in is smaller than his room back in Tokyo. Gone are the splendor and the lush rugs that will warm his feet in the coming winter nights, and gone is his dog and his furry wag. Gone too, is his porcelain tea set, which, in all honesty, he is not sorry to miss. Gone is everything that he had known, from the garden views he had seen since adolescence to Charles, his butler who had served him his morning coffee and presented him with his set of clothes every day without fail.

These will be the last of the boxes, he thinks, and sets them aside with weariness.

"Ta." Next to him, Ryoma heaves the remaining load and stumbles them in disarray. His glasses, the ones he had recently changed into silver, are crooked and awkward perched on his nose. He sighs and rests his chin on the piles of stacks they will soon need to unpack. "I need food," he declares sullenly, "And Ponta. We need to go shopping."

"Tea," he says absentmindedly, and understands suddenly, that he must get used to buying teabags now. He had not packed his filters.

"And that too, yeah." Ryoma is lanky and young next to him, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that is too big on him. He doesn't give him a smirk but he does snap his fingers. "Oi, monkey king. Don't zone out on me."

"I'm not," he says, a bit prim, and shakes his head. Yes, there is no use in mourning a lost cause. He had chosen this after all.

Ryoma is studying him. His hair has grown, Keigo notes. Black and wispy hair that would gleam in the right light of the sun that is now long enough to tie with a loose knot. His eyes too, they have matured into hazel eyes that contain tiredness, something that would have been unthinkable when the boy was twelve. But at the moment they glint at him in a certain way, and sharp cheek lines move way to lips and a jut of the chin. He wonders how he looks in Ryoma's eyes without the glamour of his background to support him.

"It's out first day," Ryoma says, "You're not suppose to mope yet."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort." He sighs and brushes back his hair. "I'm just thinking of a hot cup of tea."

"And a warm bed." Ryoma flashes him a smirk this time.

Keigo half-returns it. "I wasn't thinking along those lines yet."

"We'll need to by one. A bed, I mean."

"And teacups."

Ryoma laughs. When he laughs, he sounds young, much too young to embark on such an adventure as they are unfolding. They are not yet thirty, he realizes, smiling at the way Ryoma would laugh. As in: they are not yet old enough to know what they want for their lives.

"You and your obsession with tea."

"It's the same with you and that horrendous drink. At least mine has taste."

Ryoma rolls his eyes but he doesn't lose his grin. "We should buy them now, then," he decides.

Keigo gestures to the boxes strewn about them: the ones containing his books, Ryoma's clothes, his own, their life. It is a helpless endeavor. "What about the unpacking?"

"Eh." Ryoma shrugs. "We'll do them when we get back."

"Very well thought out, all of this," Keigo counters dryly, "I feel completely reassured."

Ryoma gives him a look that conveys hidden annoyance. "We slaved away for half the day," He points out, "And it's not as if we're going to finish unpacking tonight. We're both shit tired and hungry, so we should go eat and whatever."

Keigo raises his eyebrow. "You can be very persuasive sometimes," he concedes, "Despite your lack of eloquence."

Ryoma huffs, but the annoyance is gone. "I'm tired of you already," he says.

"As am I." And his mind wanders, and yes, what if that does happen, sometime soon, he worries. It is a feeble trail of thought, but they soon blossom into one of his gnawing ideas, and yes, he is a worrier, Ryoma had always said.

"Hey." He starts, and Ryoma is suddenly in front of him, frowning. Their eyes meet and in Ryoma's hazel iris, he can see a contorted reflection of himself. "You're thinking," Ryoma says, and flicks at his arm. "Stop thinking, Keigo."

"I can't help it," he says, and he also cannot help how his voice sounds petulant and snappish. "There are too many things that could go wrong here." And he regrets those words as soon as they come out, it sounds like a jinx, and he was never the one to believe in superstition. But.

Ryoma narrows his eyes but his lips are already curved into a smirk. "Are you going to be the pessimist one?" he asks. "That, I didn't expect."

"Not pessimism," Keigo corrects, "Realist. There are going to be problems, you realize."

'There were always problems." Ryoma leans forward and back on his feet, his eyes curiously full of mirth. "We'll figure them out."

"Will we," Keigo says flatly, but his lips twitch.

"Yeah. And if it doesn't." Ryoma pauses and shrugs. He doesn't continue on the trail of thoughts but it does not need to be elaborated. It is a future that is better left unexplored.

He lefts out another huff of air. "I daresay," he comments, "We'll kill each other by the end of this week."

Ryoma nods, solemn. "Yeah. I guess so." Arms come up to rest around his neck and Ryoma is close. He smells jasmine and sweat in the closed room. They must open windows. "We should kiss while we can, then."

Keigo obliges, his lips closing the breach between them.