It shouldn't be a surprise, really. But it is.

When the lease was up they planned on renewing it - because why wouldn't they? They had already done so before. They'd been here for three years, almost four!

But the owner of the building was retiring; selling it off. And the new owner didn't want to accommodate Chica, even though she was an emotional support animal, and wanted to renovate the apartments to make them smaller, so they could sell more individual flats.

So there was no choice in the matter.

They would have to move.

Mark and Dan spent their time searching for somewhere for all of them, while Jack and Phil packed. Chica wound around them, whining.

They didn't need Dan's abilities to know they were all mourning.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" Phil mutters, wrapping plates in newspaper. He sets them in the box carefully. "We're just moving. An' I'm sure we'll find a place for all of us - or a building we can all live in. No ones dying."

"Well," Jack squints through his glasses, checking the date on a can; he's packing the non-perishable food. "It's death of a kind; an end. Plus," he looks fondly through the kitchen through the living room. "This place is fulla memories."

Phil sniffs, and wipes his eyes wit the back of his hand. Blinks to fix his contacts. "Yeah," he says, voice watery, "it is."

Thankfully, they do find a few potential places. Mark even discusses with Dan if they have the finances to buy a house - they'd probably have to move out of London, so Dan is hesitant to commit to that idea.

But the idea is there; it's an option.

"Oh gosh dammit," Dan mutters, pulling out another plastic Shrek ring. "Phil!" He hollers, loud enough to be heard through his closed door. "Where the eff did you get all of these?!"

"You wish you knew!"

"You motherfluffer!"

Jack is half shoved under the couch, his voice muffled. "I finally found mah toothbrush!"

Mark turns to Phil, "isn't that from four months ago?" Phil gives a horrified grimace.

It's quiet except for the rustling of paper, and the occasionally scwip-zip-click! of tape stretched and cut. There's boxes and newspaper and even an empty pizza box from dinner, strewn about.

". . .so."

They glance at Mark who doesn't look up. Chica's tail thwumps as she hears Mark speak. "I think," he swallows, pauses a moment; he's not a materialistic person by any means, but this is the hardest move he's ever done. "that we should shampoo the couch before we take it to the new place. Clean up the other furniture a bit too."

"Yeah," Jack agrees. Sam is in his hood and snuggles in.

"Okay," both Dan and Phil say. There's melancholy loss fondness between them.

"Hey, remember when Seàn burned a salad," Phil pipes up suddenly.

"Lester!" Jack squawks.

Mark and Dan bust out laughing.

"Oh my gosh, and it smelt like burnt Kale for weeks!"

"Who cooks a salad?"

"It was a new recipe you effers! And it wasn't a salad!"

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

"Yeah, well what about the shower head, huh? Broke that shite with your skull!"

"I think it broke my skull."

"What about-"

And the rest of the evening was recounting tales and mishaps and fond memories; laughter amongst the packing.

It turned to bittersweet, instead of sad.

"Well, that's the last thing. Ready to go?"

Phil held Loki, his potted plant, gazing at the empty apartment. Dan and Jack were in the hallway with Chica, and Mark was in the doorway, ready with the key to lock it up.

Even though it was empty, it wasn't really. Phil could see where the furniture had been, even though the carpet was fresh and shampooed. He could smell burnt eggs and hear laughter, and memories of who stood where.

It had been their home.

But it wasn't just the house, was it? It had been them; the four of them. Laughter, and mock anger, and mishaps, and secrets shared. Tears and fear and nightmares. Banter and baking and company.

It was them together that made Home.

With one last sweep of his eyes, he turned to Mark and smiled. "I'm ready."