Spring Cleaning

“There are so many fun things in here,” Saim’el was saying, plopped on the floor and most certainly not cleaning. “Are you going to throw all of these away?”

Veyron gave him an exasperated look, but Saim’el ignored it. By then, Veyron was used to his dismissive behaviour, mostly because he so often covered it up with ‘I don’t know anything of your customs’, which was a poorly placed lie. He’d been in Candoris long enough to have caught on to social norms, but he liked milking that excuse because Veyron had always let him.

“Keep cleaning,” Veyron told him, “Don’t get distracted, we’ll be here forever if you do.”

Forever was an understatement. Veyron had fetched the boxes from the top of the closet, filled to the brim with clothes he had no heart to get rid of, and Saim’el had tried on every single piece. Then he’d moved on to the kitchen, because he figured out it would be a lot more boring, but Saim’el had spent an hour rearranging cups. Then, Veyron had sent him to the bathroom to look through the assorted chemistry, since he was so prone to sorting things, but Saim’el had spent long, long minutes reading every label he could get his hands on. At that point, Veyron had simply given up and let the man do whatever the hell he wanted.

It wasn’t so bad, anyway. At least he didn’t feel like he was doing all the work on his own, because Saim’el was meticulous when he wasn’t distracted and he didn’t need instructions. In some regards, he was even stricter than Veyron. It was obvious from their time sharing the apartment that he liked his order, and Veyron wasn’t about to yank it away from him because he liked sifting through things he hadn’t seen before.

“It’s even your baby pictures!” Saim’el exclaimed.

“My what?!” Veyron whipped around, but when he turned towards the man, he saw the alien folding some clothes neatly, not at all looking at any photographs. “Ha ha, El. Very funny.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I so wouldn’t mind seeing your baby pictures, though. You don’t keep them here?”

“No,” Veyron hummed while taking things out of the closet. He was careful to separate them into I’m wearing this pile, I’m thinking of wearing this pile and Send this to my mother piles. “They’re at my mom’s. She lives in a house, so I dump all of my things there.” He explained.

“That’s smart if she has the room,” Saim’el commented, and then neither of them said anything for a while.

They just kept sorting things, and they only exchanged small questions and instructions while working. But Veyron was thinking. Something took root in his mind and wouldn’t let him go. It was a rogue, uninvited thought that kept living because the cleaning he was doing was menial, just something to keep his hands busy while his brain churned. Next to him, Saim’el was none the wiser, and Veyron could let the thought pass unvoiced and unheard.

But he wouldn’t do it, because he rarely stopped to think his actions through. His heart was pounding in his ears, because he just had the habit getting nervous with no good reason at all and so he thought— Well, he was already nervous, wasn’t he? Better to get it all over with.

“Hey,” he said after a while as an introduction to a new conversation, just as Saim’el was about to leave the room. “You’ve never met my mother, have you?”

“Can’t say I have,” Saim’el replied, turning around. “Are you thinking of introducing me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking about,” responded Veyron, who was certain that he’d have to explain his intentions in circles, and was now out of things to say. So he pushed some boxes below the bed — those filled with clothes he would think about. “How do you… Do you want to? How do you feel about that, I mean?”

“Sure,” Saim’el said, “But I’m going to need your help with the carpets first.”

Veyron snorted. Of course. He’d worked himself into heart palpitations only for Saim’el to be casual about it, unworried.

“We can haul all of those boxes from the living room to her place,” Saim’el continued as though Veyron hadn’t just had a crisis. “And those from your room, too. Oh! Maybe we can drop your old bed off as well. If she has the space and all.”

“You— What!” Veyron sputtered, finally coming back to himself. “You can’t dump half of my apartment at my mother’s door when we first meet her!”

“When I first meet her,” Saim’el corrected. “That’s your mom. You can drop things off, can’t you?”

“Ugh, you!” If he wasn’t surrounded by all the junk he ever owned, Veyron would’ve stomped. “Get back here and carry these to the living room! We were going to free some space up, not make a bigger mess!”

Saim’el returned, hauling some boxes out, and if Veyron heard him mutter Well, it’s a little bit late for that, isn’t it? under his breath, he ignored him. They’d be fine, he thought. And if nothing else, they could always repay his mother by cleaning his house as well.