Work Text:
Wednesdays were long, but the air was warm and the last of the sunlight hadn’t quite faded as Mialek made his way home. The street lamps had come on; the world was gold and green and deep blue, and ahead on the corner he could see the window of the apartment lit warmly, and Jeoan standing inside at the sink, washing up. He smiled, adjusted his bag on his shoulder and hurried the rest of the way to the door, up the dark stairs, and home.
He called to them as he came in, hanging his bag with the coats and kicking off his boots. Syra was on the sofa in the living room, just visible as he passed through the hall; Jeoan turned to him with a weary smile as he entered the kitchen. “Good evening, my king,” he said, a hand on Jo’s hip as he leaned down for a kiss. When he turned round Syra was in the doorway, raising an expectant brow; he grinned, took her hand and kissed it too, the knuckles and then the palm. “My queen. How was your evening?”
“We missed you,” said Syra. “Jo’s cooking isn’t as good as yours.”
“My cooking is fine,” said Jeoan.
“How was work?” Syra relaxed against the doorframe again, pushing her hair behind her ears.
“Terribly long. Perhaps I should have told them I needed to rescue a fair lady from culinary disappointment.”
“Disappointment is going a bit far,” Syra admitted, just as Jeoan turned around to narrow his eyes at both of them, and Mialek laughed and took him in his arms, kissed the corner of his mouth. Ever fastidious, Jo held his soapy hands carefully out of the way, pushed Mialek back with his forearms and a fond shake of his head.
“I’m sure it was delicious,” Mialek said, winking; Jo rolled his eyes and went back to the dishes. Syra snorted, waltzed past Mialek to run a hand down Jeoan’s back and press her lips to his cheek.
“Anyway, I can’t sleep for an age tonight because I’m supposed to be running a meeting tomorrow,” she said, “so if either of you wants to keep me company…”
“Last time I tried to keep you company you complained I wasn’t letting you get anything done,” Jo said over his shoulder.
Raising one elegant eyebrow, Syra looked at Mialek when she spoke. “Well, you made a great human blanket but I can’t type like that, hon.”
“Mialek, she doesn’t love me,” said Jeoan flatly.
“Jeoan, I would betray all my values for you,” said Syra.
“Except your work ethic.”
“Someone needs to pay the rent,” she shrugged. “No offense, Mia.”
He shook his head, fond, tired from the long day and glad to be home. “None taken. Jo, can I help you study while Syra works?”
“I’d welcome that.” He shook the water from his hands, dried them on a towel, and looked from Mialek to Syra with his usual inscrutable expression, half-irritated, half-amused. “Kiss me, Syra,” he said, holding out a hand without looking at it, and she took it with some ceremony, drew herself into his arms and pressed her lips to his, running a sharp-nailed hand through his curls. Mialek smiled. They were beautiful. He wanted very badly to touch Jeoan’s hair now, too, but instead he took his arm when Syra pulled away, leading the way to the living room. The flat smelled good — whatever Jeoan had cooked probably had been lovely — and the light was all gone now, but Syra had bought fancy lampshades that made the room a wash of color and warmth.
Syra flung herself down on the couch where her laptop and papers were scattered, and Jeoan kissed Mialek's jaw idly before leaving to get his notebook from his bedroom. Mialek settled himself in one of the chairs with a sigh, rested his cheek in his palm and looked at Syra. She was already absorbed reading something, thick-framed glasses out of place but charming on her face, hair twisted back and held messily in place with a pencil.
"Mialek," she sighed, "I need a vacation."
"So does Jo," he said — it had been a hard semester, and though Jeoan insisted rightly that he was equal to it, they had both noticed how dark the circles under his eyes were getting. "And I wouldn't say no to one. Did you have somewhere specific in mind?"
"Somewhere warm," she said, "and far away."
Jo came back then, settled himself in Mialek's lap and handed over his notes. Syra smiled at them — a warm, amused smile — and pulled on her headphones, burying herself in her work as Mialek and Jeoan started to review.