KAEDE HADN'T SPOKEN throughout the car ride. Instead, he'd sat in the back, watching the city zoom by as he listened in on his grandmother's conversation with Quentin upfront. He'd felt it rude to intrude, since he is, after all, a stranger in their relationship.

By the time they'd arrived at their place, he ended up learning some things about Quentin. Like that he's a swimmer but hasn't participated in any big competitions. And that he's a top student. But there were also many things that he didn't seem to specify or had dodged altogether, like his status at school, his friends. When it came to his mother, he'd only answered a curt 'she's fine'.

It felt a bit odd, but he'd decided to ask him about it later.

Preferably once they're closer. And actually friends.

Now, Kaede is sprawled across his new bed, phone in hand. And it turns out, as he searched, that the person currently in his living room doesn't have an easily findable Instagram account. He'd expected it to be obvious, due to popularity (because of his looks) or the now availability of his phone number. But it hasn't appeared.

With a sigh, he puts his phone away and opts to stare out his curtain-shielded windows instead, glimpsing only silhouettes of the other apartment buildings and glowing streetlights. Night has already fallen, and it's one of his wishes to witness the heart of Manhattan at night. But he can't, not today.

He'll get to see it eventually.

The sound of the door opening prompts him to glance down. He notices Quentin enter, his figure wavering as he saunters over and collapses at the edge of the bed. A sound of exhaustion tumbles out of the boy's lips.

"I'm tired," Quentin tells him, twisting his neck to look at Kaede. "Can I lie down?"

Immediately, Kaede scoots over to the side, sensing the bed sink as Quentin plops down next to him. Kaede finds himself gazing at his splayed blonde hair, the scent of citrus zest tickling his nose. He faces back to the spinning fan above, his presence next to him somehow way too prominent than deemed comfortable.

"So," Quentin speaks. "What do you think of this place?"

Kaede peeks a peripheral glance at him. "Which one? This apartment, this room or New York?"

"You haven't even seen the city itself yet," he says. "I'm talking about this place in general."

He replays recent images of the place, stringing up a suitable answer. "It's small," he notes. "But it's enough for the two of us. And it's relatively quiet, so seems peaceful."

"Do you like it then?"

"I do." He looks to him, lifting his head a bit. "Do you?"

Why do I ask? It's not like he lives here.

Quentin shifts, musing. "It's...quieter than where I live. Honestly, I don't think I can stand this complete lack of noise."

Oh.

"Didn't you say you live a bit more into the city itself?"

"Mm."

"Doesn't that make the school farther away from you though?"

Quentin looks at Kaede as though the answer is blatantly obvious. "There's always the train. And a car."

"Oh." Right. Slapped with the realisation of his dumbness, Kaede ignores his pointed look and lets his head fall again, shifting onto his stomach. "I forgot you have a personal driver too." He recalls the time when he'd watched them leave, a man in a suit steering the wheel instead of Sophia or Quentin.

"I don't actually."

He perks up, his eyes darting back to Quentin. "Then the one..."

"That's Sophia's driver," he answers, voice clipped. "I drive alone."

Kaede furrows his brows, wondering aloud, "She doesn't just let her driver send you?"

"Her driver isn't here to send me," he says. "I live alone. I don't have anyone taking care of me. No aunts or uncles, nor distant relatives. I just get phone calls from time to time."

"Wow," he mumbles, his view on Quentin morphing with those words. He has a slightly different picture now, more of someone rather independent. Although now it leaves him to wonder, how much he exercises said freedom. "But doesn't it feel lonely?"

Quentin shrugs and rolls onto his side. "Sometimes."

Kaede slides his arms up, tucking his chin into his folded arm. "What's that on your neck?" he blurts out.

Quentin stills, eyes flitting to Kaede. "What do you mean?"

Only then, Kaede realises what he just said, face flushing in shame. "Nothing."

Quentin stares at Kaede, shocked. "You're not..." Then his face steels itself, scarlet painting his features as he states seriously, "How boldly curious of you."

Kaede laughs nervously, refusing to meet his gaze. "I asked without thinking, sorry."

Quentin's stare lingers on him, unreadable. Then he looks away, shutting his eyes right after.

Taking advantage of his lack of sight, Kaede peers at Quentin's face. His lips are pursed, eyes and dark brows relaxed. Admiring the elegant, sharp features, Kaede thinks aloud, "Who are your friends?"

In an instant, Quentin's eyes snap open. "They don't go to our school."

"Oh. Do I get to meet them?"

Quentin pauses. "Nope."

Kaede frowns. "So all I have is you?"

Quentin snorts, smirking. "What's wrong? Do I seem like boring company?"

His brows raise, slightly taken back by the answer. "Hm," he murmurs, rubbing his chin. "Not bad."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Hmph. If you want to find other friends, sure. I just can't help you in that department."

"Are there other scholarship students like me?" he questions. 

"There are. But I don't know them."

"Then who do you know?"

"No one. I told you, all you have is me."

So you don't have friends nor a partner. Kaede pauses, cocking his head. Then, with a smile, he nods and says, "That's alright."

Quentin stares at him silently. Looking back away, he pushes his hands beneath his head. "It's just you and your grandmother?"

Kaede makes a hum of agreement. "And you're really living all alone?"

"Yep."

"Which means you know how to take care of yourself. Makes sense that my grandmother told you to babysit me."

Quentin squints at him. "Do you really need a babysitter?"

Kaede smiles at him. "I definitely do."

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Moments later, Kaede has disappeared into the bathroom, Edith having announced that they'd go out for dinner together. Quentin sits upright, chin in palm.

He listens to the sound of water streaming from inside the other room.

He's pretty cute.

Quentin looks down at the carpeted floor, frowning at the touch of his cold hands, yet feeling a bit hot on the inside.

Looks kinda like him.

He sighs, putting his hands down.

Because really, out of all the people out there, he's a terrible choice for a caretaker and a friend. These past few days, he hasn't even been in a good mood. And right now, it hasn't exactly lifted.

How unlucky for both of us.

Suddenly, he senses a vibration in his pocket. He takes out his phone and checks the new message.

| are you coming over?

Quentin furrows his brows, unable to remember whose number this is. He scrolls up and realises that this was some guy he'd slept with two weeks back.

He clicks his tongue, laying down.

| can't

He thinks of the cute boy, with his stormy grey eyes and awkward smile, reminding him of a childhood dream.

| i'm busy Quentin lets his phone drop to the side.

He wouldn't have agreed anyway, since he barely even recalls the other person. Doesn't know him at all, only viewing him as a container of lust.

It's just that, this time, he has an actual excuse.