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❛  home isn't always a place, is it?  ❜

the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse.

★ — Gregory shrugs.

It's not like he has much experience with the concept of home. For so long, home wasn't a place he was happy ; home was the FEDRA dorms, strict and heartless, a place where he was just a name and number in a long list of orphans in the apocalypse. Devoid of any warmth. But at least they kept him fed and housed.

( for a brief, flickering moment of hope it had seemed like tony ... maybe tony, gregory could have gone anywhere with tony and been happy so long as they stayed together. but that came crashing down around him as soon as the thought had formed ).

They're at the commune. A few months after everything, since Gregory and Michael both returned. They're settling. Except — except Gregory doesn't know how to settle into this.

It's supposed to be home, but it doesn't feel like a home. It's far too unfamiliar for that. A sense of peace Gregory's never known, slow and easy and he cannot bend himself to it. The thought of it makes him anxious ; certain he sticks out like a sore thumb, that somehow all the others ( who were already there, long before he was ) know he doesn't belong. That they somehow know he will never be able to adjust, that he will always be an outsider.

So he's been sticking close to Michael, the only sense of familiarity he has here.

He must not have been as subtle as he thought he was being. Wasn't long before one of their late night conversations ( sleep never came easy to either of them, finding it far more comfortable to spent the long nights together ) turned to the subject of their new home, and Gregory's seeming discomfort. So he's honest.

Space between them falls silent for a long moment after Michael answers, Gregory's brown hues flickering from the space between them up to his guardian. Nervous.

"If it's not a place, then, uh — ... could we be home? The two of us, together?"