A Home by Any Other Name

Nights are just beginning to get cold, in the early November of Promepolis.

Galo's apartment has a heater, and it does a decent job of keeping the place warm. The microwave beeps, and Lio drops from his seat on the countertop to retrieve two mugs of hot apple cider, which quickly set to work filling the room with the smell of apples. He isn't really sure if he should be calling it cider. Really, it was just glorified cold-pressed apple juice from the supermarket that he'd heated up, for effect.

He presses one of the warm mugs to his cheek as he strides towards the open door to their apartment's tiny balcony. The smell of cinnamon apples reminds him of a memory he can't quite place.

Ah, well. Real cider or not, it was close enough.

Galo turns to meet him as he steps out, over the threshold, face lighting up as Lio hands over one of the warm mugs. Lio's heart skips a beat, and he almost chides himself for doing so. He offers Galo a small smile as he falls into place, next to him. One smile, and it's enough to make him weak in the knees. He's really got it bad for this dumbass, doesn't he?

A comfortable silence settles over them as they lean, relaxed, against the balcony, each periodically sipping their drinks. A cold breeze makes its way down the street, giving the potted plants a slight rustle. Lio shifts, pressing his side up against Galo's. It might not have been freezing in Promepolis, but a winter chill was still a winter chill.

Galo giggles, and moves to wrap a sturdy arm around him. "I've missed this," he sighs, eyes cast down at the city below.

"Winter," Lio asks.

"Cider," Galo clarifies, holding out his mug to meet Lio's in a toast. He takes a sip before continuing, "my mom used to make it for us, every year, when I was a kid. My dad had a friend with this huge apple tree, and he'd always send us all the apples he couldn't eat."

He sets his mug down on the rail, freeing up his hand for gesturing. "My mom had this huge juice pressing thing! It was noisy, too. She let me help. She would cut up the apples, and I would put 'em in the press, and if we had any left over, she'd make these baked cinnamon apples in the oven!"

"We should make them some time."

"I'll teach you! I still make 'em, with Lucia and Varys, sometimes. Last time, they turned it into an apple juggling contest."

After doing his best imitation of the movement, he picks his mug back up, warming his hand with it. As he talks, Lio watches his expression change from its usual brightness to a soft pool of nostalgia. "It took forever, but it was really good." He swirled his mug, watching the liquid spiral around inside. "It reminds me of her."

"Oh," Lio mutters, unsure of how he should react.

Like any of the burnish, Lio has dealt with his own share of grief. As a firefighter, Galo has his. They both have people they couldn't save, or days on the job where things go wrong. They both still have nightmares about the Parnassus. Neither of them have spoken about it much, but Lio knows they've both lost their parents. It's one of the unfortunate things they have in common.

As if sensing his hesitancy, Galo's arm gives him a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright," he says, with a smile that was softer than it had been, before. He turns his face to meet Lio's. "It doesn't bother me to talk about them, you know."

"I know," Lio says, as he snuggles into the warmth of Galo's chest. "I just wish they could still be here." He's referring to Galo's parents, but in that moment, he can't help but feel as if he's also talking about his own.