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The day after moving in with Mark, Kit wakes up wondering if he’s made a gigantic mistake.
Moving in day was controlled chaos at best. Their friends pitched in to help haul boxes and furniture, and Kit spent most of his time directing people where to put things and begging Mark to be more careful going around corners. When everything was finally inside the apartment in a jumbled mess despite Kit's efforts, Mark insisted on taking everyone out for Korean barbecue. Kit squirmed, watching their friends get drunk at the expense of Mark's credit card, but Mark kept his arm wrapped firmly around his waist the whole time and insisted that he just wanted everyone to have a good time.
When they got back to the new apartment around midnight, Mark could barely keep his eyes open and Kit had to prod him into at least helping put some sheets on the bed so they could sleep.
Now Kit is awake and there's a strange blanket tangled around his legs and a familiar boyfriend tangled around his everything — and Kit is too hot and nowhere near well-rested enough to deal with the piles of boxes he can see from the bed. And he knows: that's just the bedroom. There's still a whole apartment's worth of two people's stuff to unpack. He feels lightheaded just considering it.
So on the first morning after moving in with his boyfriend, Kit pries Mark's arm from around his chest, showers and dresses as quickly as possibly, and then makes an unceremonious escape to the café across the street. At first he tells himself he's just going to order coffee and Chinese donuts to-go. He has every intention of returning, waking Mark up with breakfast, and then setting about the unpacking. But while he's standing in line for his coffee, Kit realizes he doesn't even have a battle plan for how to approach said unpacking. He's been so busy planning the move itself that he forgot about the aftermath where he's going to have to pull things out of boxes and decide where they go.
With Mark.
By the time Kit gets to the front of the line, he asks for a triple shot Americano, nixes the donuts altogether, and ends up sitting at a corner table tapping furiously on his tablet as he attempts to make a thorough list of house rules alongside a list of everything he owns just in case he needs a record someday.
He doesn't realize he's forgotten his phone at the apartment until someone snatches the tablet out of his hands with such a sharp, "P'Kit!" that Kit has the distinct impression that it's not the first time Mark said his name. His boyfriend is standing beside him, out of breath, his usually perfect hair so untidy that it's clear he didn't shower that morning.
Kit shoots to his feet with a guilty glance at his nearly empty coffee.
"Sorry, Mark, I was coming right back, I just had to write a few things down first—"
"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?" Mark interrupts. "I woke up and you were gone, no note, and you even left your phone. Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong yesterday?"
Kit's stomach clenches. "That's not it. I was going to get us breakfast."
Mark raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Kit's singular cup. Kit snatches it up like he can hide the evidence of his clearly neurotic behavior.
"How did you know I was here anyway?" he tries to redirect.
Mark huffs out a breath that seems both impatient and exhausted. He looks tired, Kit suddenly thinks, and when he glances at his watch he sees that he's been at the café for more than an hour.
"I didn't know where you were." Mark's expression tightens. "So I waited for you to come back. And when you didn't, I went looking for you. No one else had seen you and campus isn't open for a few more days so eventually I just started looking around the neighborhood, and..." He gestures vaguely around the café. "We haven't unpacked the kitchen yet."
"We haven't unpacked anything yet," Kit mutters, eyeing his tablet where it's tucked securely under Mark's arm. Then he glances back at Mark's face. His color is high. That and the untidy hair... The way he was out of breath at first... Kit bites his lip. He can imagine Mark running all over looking for him, not even bothering to shower before he left the apartment. All because Kit couldn't be bothered to let him know where he was going this morning.
"I'm sorry," he says again, softly, a little more sincerely. "I meant to come right back."
"Why didn't you?"
Mark's words have an edge to them; it’s not quite an accusation, but Kit feels the cut anyway. How can he explain to his boyfriend that he's suddenly freaking out about living together when it's something that they've been planning to do for weeks? And with Mark worrying over him like this... Is Kit going to have to tell him where he is all the time now? Will Mark get more possessive than he already has a tendency to be? Kit sucks in a breath, new worries cascading through his mind, new items getting added to his mental list of Reasons Why This Was Probably A Bad Idea.
He fidgets with the coffee cup, not meeting Mark's gaze. "I needed to write some things down," he maintains, not sure what else to say.
"P'Kit..." Mark reaches forward, wrapping his fingers around Kit's wrist to still his fidgeting. "Tell me what's wrong."
Kit darts a look at Mark's face, sees the concern there, and looks away again. "Not here," he says, a little more sharply than he intended.
"Let's go home then," Mark suggests. He sounds half-hopeful, half-scared, and Kit's stomach clenches again.
"Okay," Kit says, trying to quell his butterflies. "Let me buy you breakfast first though. I didn't eat anything either." He flushes.
Mark's fingers tighten around Kit's wrist, but Kit tugs himself free and makes a beeline for the register without looking back to see if Mark is following. He orders Mark's usual iced coffee and half a dozen Chinese donuts. When the barista hands the order over the counter, Mark is right there, giving Kit his tablet back so he can take the coffee and the bag of donuts. He doesn't say anything to Kit while they make their way back across the street to their building or as they ride the elevator up to their floor. But he won't stop looking at Kit, examining him as if he’s looking for defects in Kit's armor.
"Stop that," Kit snaps finally right as the elevator doors open.
"I can't look at you?" Mark grins. "You're awfully cute in the morning though."
Kit feels himself going beet red. He busies his hands with unlocking the front door, but once he's followed Mark inside he's hit all over again with the mountain of unknowns he's facing. Quietly, he locks the door and slips out of his shoes. There's nowhere to put his bag down yet, so he leaves it resting on top of his shoes for the time being.
The apartment Mark leased for the year is bigger than his dorm and Kit's old apartment combined. There's a huge living area with floor to ceiling windows looking out at Bangkok's skyscrapers. When Kit walked around the empty apartment last week, he envisioned setting up couches and chairs for maximum natural light during the day and optimum city views at night. One of the couches can serve as the division between living room and dining room. There's enough space for a full table and six chairs, maybe even more if they wanted to put a leaf in the table. And the kitchen opposite the dining room is open, with plenty of cabinets and a full-size oven and stovetop. There's even a dishwasher and in-unit laundry. They brought barstools to use at the kitchen island too. And with more than enough space in the bedroom for two full closets and a corner for Kit's desk... It's everything Kit could have asked for.
The problem is it's not really his. It's his and Mark's. And right now, it's a mess of boxes and furniture that are only vaguely in the places Kit intended them to go. Surveying the jumble, Kit feels his palms go clammy. Where do they even begin?
Mark doesn't seem perturbed by the chaos. He sets the food down on the corner of the kitchen counter that isn't taken up by boxes variously labeled Kitchen: Pots and Pans or Kitchen: Glasses and Mugs in Kit's careful handwriting. Then he starts shifting boxes around, clearing space in the middle of the living room before he hauls over a few of Kit's boxes of books.
"What on earth are you doing?" Kit frowns. "Those don't belong in here."
Mark glances up, shoving his hair off his forehead with a grin. "I'm making somewhere for us to sit and have breakfast! The table isn't set up yet, and I'm not sure where the couch cushions ended up..." He looks around with a quirked smile, then gestures Kit toward the book boxes. "Sit. This can be our table for now."
Bemused, Kit sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the assembled book boxes. Mark retrieves the coffee and donuts — and produces a bottle of water for Kit too.
"I saw the label on your coffee cup," he says mock-sternly. "Too much caffeine isn't good for you, Kit."
Kit scoffs even though he knows Mark is right. He can feel the buzz in his head already from too much espresso on an empty stomach. He grabs a donut from the bag and takes a bite before Mark can start lecturing him about not eating breakfast too.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?" Mark asks after a minute of Kit silently chewing goes by.
Kit swallows heavily. He drinks some water, then carefully twists the cap back on the bottle and sets it on the makeshift table.
"Nothing is wrong." Kit toys with the cover of his tablet, mentally reviewing his half-assembled lists. "I was just thinking about how to unpack."
Mark takes a sip of the iced coffee, his eyes never leaving Kit's face. "Tell me where you want things to go, and I'll put them there." He shrugs. As if it's that easy.
"Don't you care where things end up?" Kit asks. There's a itch under his skin, like something he can't quite get at. He nibbles another bite from his donut.
"I care about you liking where things end up." Mark tips his head to one side and gives Kit a soft look, full of familiar warmth. "I'll like anything as long as you're happy."
"Ugh. Shut up," Kit groans. The back of his neck is burning hot.
"Are you still shy around me?" Mark leans forward, dark eyes sparking with sudden fire. Kit knows this look too, and it's way too early in the day for that sort of nonsense.
"Hush, I said!" Kit shoves the remainder of his donut into Mark's mouth. "You talk too much."
Mark makes a face while he chews. Kit squints at him from across the boxes, doing his best to ignore his boyfriend's pout. At least he stopped Mark from spewing any more romantic stuff. Kit needs a clear head so he can figure out if he's actually made a mistake here or not, and Mark’s words always muddle him up.
Mark finally swallows, takes another sip of his coffee, then clears his throat loudly and holds out an expectant hand toward Kit.
"Show me," he says.
Kit frowns. "What are you talking about?" He's half-afraid to ask, expecting more of Mark's ridiculous flirting. He tries not to squirm.
Mark bounces his hand in the air. "Whatever list you've made of all this stuff and where you want it to go," he says, eyes gleaming. "Show me. So we can get started."
Kit's flush spreads. "How did you even—" he sputters.
Mark smirks at him. He drinks some more of his coffee and grabs another donut while Kit mumbles and pretends he doesn't find it endearing that Mark knows him this well. Then Mark says, "I'm guessing you made a list of house rules too. Hand them over so I can memorize them already."
Kit blinks.
Mark takes a thoughtful bite of his donut.
Part of Kit wants to run, right now, while he still can. He's a little horrified that Mark can read him like this. Does that mean he also knows about Kit's secret doubts and worries about this whole living-together-thing? But the other part of him is melting into an unrecognizable puddle of goo, strangely thrilled that his boyfriend not only understands him, but doesn't seem to mind his obsessive list making or need for rules.
He opens his mouth to say something, he's still not sure what, when Mark cracks a grin and points at Kit's tablet.
"I peeked while you were ordering food," Mark explains. And Kit is sure that something of the wild mix of relief and crestfallen emotion crashing through him must show on his face because Mark suddenly leans forward again, hands outstretched as if to stop Kit from leaving. His grin disappears behind an earnest stare. "I knew you wouldn't tell me, so I looked, okay? I'm sorry, Kit. But I was worried about you this morning. I'm still worried about you because you haven't told me what's been bothering you, and I know something is or you wouldn't have forgotten your phone. Or forgotten to come home."
Kit fingers clench so hard around the edges of his tablet that his knuckles turn white.
"I'm not used to this yet," Kit mumbles. "It hasn't even been a day, but you keep using that word."
Mark's mouth quirks, not quite a frown, not quite a smile. "You mean when I call this 'home'?" He casts his gaze quickly around the apartment before landing on Kit again. Then he reaches across the makeshift table to close his hand over Kit's. His touch is warm and comforting despite Kit's inner struggle to ignore those feelings. "It is our home though, Kit," Mark says softly. "Our first home together."
Kit makes a noise he can't identify in the back of his throat. He sets his tablet aside and grabs Mark's hands in his, clutching him tightly.
"Are you sure about this, Mark? I'm not the easiest person to live with, you know. I won't tolerate messiness or you forgetting to turn the lights off or not running the dishwasher, and you know that I—"
"I know," Mark interrupts. He turns his hands over in Kit's grip, holding him back, lacing their fingers together. "I know what you like and don't like. I promised to always stay beside you no matter what, remember?" He smiles gently. "I know you're scared. It's a big change. But I love you. I want to be with you. Don't you feel the same way?"
Kit wishes his reply wasn't stuck so deep down inside his chest. He tries to speak and can't. He pauses, gathering his thoughts, trying to pry his feelings out of the shadows they've all decided to flee into. And Mark waits patiently the whole time, his hands warm and familiar and steady as they hold Kit's.
Finally, Kit bows his head and talks to the box top instead of to Mark.
"Yes," he whispers. "Yes, of course I feel the same way."
Mark's response is instantaneous. "I know you do. That's why we did this." He squeezes Kit's hands, and Kit glances back up at him, heat suffusing his cheeks. Mark's dark eyes twinkle. "So show me your lists, and let's get to work making it feel more like home for you. Okay?"
What else can Kit do? It's absurd to sit here and go in endless circles, pondering all of the bad things that could happen when really Mark has only brought good things into his life. Kit made multiple lists of pros and cons before he agreed to this move, and in each iteration the pros outnumbered the cons ten to one. Kit knows that his fears are largely unfounded; it's just him feeding his own anxieties instead of focusing on the present and making things work.
He takes a deep breath.
"No lists needed," he says slowly. "We can decide together." He looks around, trying to see the haphazard stacks of boxes as an adventure to tackle side by side with his boyfriend rather than an insurmountable obstacle to overcome on his own. He looks back at Mark. "Where should we start?"
Mark breaks into a grin so dazzling that Kit almost shields his eyes in response. He leaps up, hurrying around the boxes so he can pull Kit to his feet too. Mark wraps an arm around Kit's shoulders and hauls him closer, squeezing him as he starts pointing to the furniture and babbling about where they can set up the tv and whether or not they should get another gaming system.
Kit shakes his head, but Mark's smile is infectious and he finds himself grinning too as he attempts to keep up with Mark's unending stream of suggestions. He slides his arm around Mark's waist and squeezes him back, too grateful for mere words.