we depend (I depend) on you • jayvik

Jayce - Year Eighteen

Steb keeps things neat. Almost too neat. Everything has its place, from the pillows to the coasters to the lamps. We certainly never lived so orderly. You never cared much for organization. But then I notice something. On the mantelpiece, there's a framed photo of you and Steb on one side, and one of you and me on the other. We look so natural up there, on someone elses' mantel. That makes me happy.

Still, I can't help but look forward to unpacking our things and filling in the empty spaces that seem to stretch on forever. Our clutter, our trinkets... Little pieces of us scattered around and everywhere. That's what will make this place feel like home. Like something we can settle into for a while.

The kitchen is small and simple. The table has only two chairs – just like ours did – but you decided that had to change. Before the first night even fell in this new house, you'd already placed an order for a ramp so that I could properly sit at the table with you. I don't know why we didn't do this sooner. It's such a small thing, but being at the table again feels right. It makes me feel like a person.

You and Steb have your own bedroom. It has everything - a big bed, a closet, and a bathroom with a gleaming porcelain tub. Technically, it's Steb's room, but you moved right in like it had always been yours. He offered me the extra bedroom, but I declined. I hope he doesn't mind, but I can't be without you at night. It would worry me to death not to hear your breathing and the steady beat of your heart. When I told him, he didn't seem bothered in the slightest. I don't know why I expected him to be – that's not like him. He just gave me that warm, easy smile and signed that we'd save the extra room for guests. And that sounded good enough to me.

The house is nice, but it'll take some getting used to. You told me as much while we unpacked, sorting our things into drawers and bins, trying to make this place feel lived-in. It's been a week now, and I still catch you sighing. There's something mournful in your eyes when we go through our daily routines. We don't sit at the table and drink coffee like we used to. Now, we sit in the sitting room, watching pedestrians make their way to work. We don't curl up on our old couch with books in our hands –  no, that couch is long gone. Instead, we read outside on the porch, but the birds make it difficult. They swoop down, stealing from the garden and chattering so loudly that it irritates you. I can't help but laugh when you scowl at them.

Everything is different here, Viktor. So different that I don't know what to do with myself half the time. And neither do you. When you're not tinkering, you're sleeping, and when you're not doing either, you sit in one of the many chairs in one of the many rooms of this house, and you think.

You look tired, like you're carrying something heavy on your shoulders. Perhaps it's a box we forgot to unpack.

I know you're upset, but I also know that you don't want to talk about it.

That's okay. You know I'm here. I'm always here.

This house... it isn't home. Not yet. It's too big, too bright, with too many walls and way too many windows. The floors are real wood, the tiles aren't chipped, the pipes don't groan when you twist the tap, and you can take as many baths as you want without worrying about the water bill or running through all of the hot water.

It's nice, but it isn't home.

Not yet.

But you say it can be. You say that we can get used to it. So I trust you. I believe you. You've never let me down.

∘ ∘ ∘

Having so many rooms makes our home feel like an endless labyrinth. It takes me a while to memorize the layout, especially with doors miraculously opening and closing as you and Steb move about. If I wanted to, I could commit every inch of this house to memory in an instant. It would only take a few clicks of my recording device and a microsecond to generate a full three-dimensional map, but part of me secretly enjoys the challenge of learning it on my own. Besides, it gives me something to do while Steb is at work and you're deep in one of your daytime naps.