Desmond returned home from work that night in what was more literally the late hours of the morning. He wasn't sure what it was about Monday nights that got big burly men so angry, but he had worked the bar until well past closing time, listening to the complaints of bikers and gang members alike. He wished he could join in the conversations a couple of times, but what could he add? My two foreign lovers left on a mission to assassinate a major world leader a few hours ago and now I'm at home alone with a guy I'm sure hates my guts?

Yeah. Like that would end well.

Desmond's night had left him strung out and weary, and he wasn't sure that what he came home to made him feel worse or not.

The whole second floor smelled of incense, the very same that he had smelled before when he went parading through Jerusalem as Altair in the animus. Malik's incense. The familiar smell of it burned through his nostrils and reminded him of the bureau back in Jerusalem in the 1100's. He wasn't entirely sure if the memory was a good one or not, but it was triggered, and Desmond found himself following the smoky scent to the guest room.

He knocked at the door gently, and after a moment he couldn't tell if Malik had heard it or not over the soft sound of music coming from the inside of the room. Desmond had just turned away to go back to his own bedroom before he heard the door open, and the familiar voice of the former bureau leader. "What is it?" He asked bluntly, barely any tone in his voice besides annoyance.

Desmond spluttered when he turned to face the other man. "I was uh- I uh... I was just checking in. Seeing if everything was okay. I'm sorry, I always check in on everyone when I come home from work it's a habit I need to break, sorry if I woke you, just making sure that you're still you and not some Templar in disguise or anything-" Desmond cut himself off when he realized that he'd been rambling. "Sorry."

Malik couldn't help but laugh at Desmond's scrambled thought process. "Well, I appreciate the concern, but you do not have to worry, I am still myself." He nodded. "A good practice, this checking in business is. I bet that Altair doesn't bother with anything like that?"

Desmond could feel a light blush dust over his cheeks. "Altair and Ezio are usually in bed before I get home, so I can't really say anything about what he does..." He cast his eyes down to his feet. "We share a bed..."

The other man went silent, and Desmond was sure that the door would slam in his face, but when he looked up Malik was smirking. "Well, that is certainly interesting." He laughed, though it was a tad humorless. "I will have to take that up with Altair later on then..." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Thank you for checking in on me, Desmond, but I am quite alright where I am." He gestured toward his room where the heavy smoke of the incense shrouded most of his belongings. "I will not be loud in the morning, in case you are still asleep. Get some rest, now, Desmond. You look like you need it."

Malik nodded to him once, and Desmond nodded back with a little bit of a smile on his face, before both turned away. The quiet confirmation of Malik's closing door was all Desmond needed to return to the bedroom he shared with Ezio and Altair when they were home, to sleep off the long night at the bar and the awkward conversation with Malik after it.

When Desmond woke up, it was to the same smell of incense and an empty bed. He rolled over, groaning, putting his arm over his eyes when the sunlight hit him through the thin curtains in the bedroom that he usually shared with two other people. The bed that fit the three of them on any other night seemed like it was far too big now that it housed only one person. Desmond felt a shiver go up his spine. A whole week without the two of them there to keep him warm in bed...

After another moment or two of getting used to being awake with his arm over his eyes, Desmond managed to roll over again to check the clock. It was well past noon, and the notion of falling back asleep that he had before rolling over went away completely, replaced by a light weighted guilt. He should have been up earlier to check on Malik.

With a great sigh, Desmond heaved himself out of bed, wondering if he was actually getting fat like everyone teased him. He felt weighted down and heavier than usual, but quickly accounted it to stress. There was no way that he was getting fat. Nuh uh. Never.

The young assassin went about his normal routine in the safety of his own bedroom, stripping off the clothes that he had fallen asleep in and making his way into the adjacent bathroom. He flicked the water on and stood in the middle of the bathroom, waiting until the mirror was so steamed over that he couldn't see himself before stepping in.

The water burned but Desmond didn't mind. At least in there he couldn't smell the strong incense that Malik seemed to burn at all hours, clogging up the house with it's smoky scent. All Desmond could smell in the shower, however, was Ezio, with the vast number of hair products and body washes that the Italian had left behind, it smelled like he hadn't even left at all.

Desmond didn't really remember cleaning himself, but somehow, fifteen minutes later, he was out of the shower and getting dressed, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He pulled on a pair of casual jeans and a t-shirt before rubbing the dampness out of his hair with one of Ezio's towels.

He had no idea how much he missed the Italian until the man was gone.

Downstairs, Malik was sitting on the couch with the TV remote in his hand, flicking through channels absentmindedly. He didn't even look up when Desmond entered the room.

"You smell like hormonal Italian." The pleasant attitude toward Desmond that Malik had gathered the day before seemed to have disappeared overnight.

Desmond scrambled for a come back but only found an explanation. "I'm sorry that I wasn't awake to make breakfast or anything earlier. I had to stay late at the bar, as you know, and I accidentally just slept in... I wasn't paying attention either and used Ezio's hai-"

"I wasn't antagonizing you." Malik finally looked up at Desmond with an annoying smirk that the younger assassin often saw on Altair's face when he was playing the rare prank or making a joke.

The bastard.

"Alright, well... do you want anything to eat?" Desmond asking, looking at anywhere but his new housemate. He clasped his hands behind his back awkwardly, frowning at the floor.

"No," Malik replied simply, returning to watching the television when Desmond silently went into the kitchen.

Desmond sighed, passing his hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the fridge. It looked like this week was going to be long as hell.