Third Person's POV.
The air in Nana's house was a thick, comforting blanket of cinnamon and vanilla, smelling exactly like the holidays were supposed to. Gemini's Thanksgiving break was the exact palette cleanser he hadn't realized he desperately needed. Nana's love—stable, predictable, and pure—was a world away from the high-tension, confusing intensity that was Percy's constant presence.
He devoured too many of her famous biscuits, talked until his throat was scratchy about college, classes, and everything but him, and let the comfortable, familiar routines of home iron out the anxiety the preceding weeks had created. It was the simple clarity of just being alive, a clarity he could never get while trying to decode Percy.
Yet, by Saturday morning, the well-worn relief had frayed. It was replaced by a strange, hollow restlessness that no amount of Nana's sweet tea could soothe. The silence was too gentle. The air was too soft. He packed his duffel bag with a sudden, near-frantic energy and found himself cutting his break short by a day, catching the first train back to campus.
He tried to convince himself it was to get a head start on his reading, but as the key turned in the expensive lock of Percy's front door, he faced the cold truth: he was desperate to dive back into the confusing, yet incredibly comfortable space that Percy had somehow managed to create around them.
"I'm such an idiot," the thought sliced through him. "I just traded peaceful, uncomplicated joy for this crushing, high-tension place. I can't believe I ran here like a fool. Something is definitely wrong with me."
The apartment was immaculate, airless, and, worst of all, empty. The silence was not peaceful; it was a loud, high-pitched absence that instantly amplified the low-grade anxiety he had managed to suppress at home. Percy was still gone. The bed was made with hospital corners, and every volume on every shelf was perfectly aligned, spines forming a rigid, unbroken line. The space was purely Percy's again—austere, luxurious, and cold enough to steal warmth. Gemini dropped his duffel bag, retrieved his laptop, and found himself staring at the sleek, unoccupied sofa, suddenly drowning in the memory of the past week's emotional chaos.
He didn't sleep well that night. The bed was a vast, cold expanse, and the simple fact that there was no one on the other side—no solid, warm weight threatening to cross the unspoken boundary—left him feeling profoundly stranded.
The following afternoon, the front door finally clicked open. Gemini was perched awkwardly at the kitchen counter, trying to look preoccupied with a textbook, when he heard the familiar thud of a weighty suitcase being dropped. Percy walked in, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal coat, looking simultaneously impeccable and utterly spent. He tossed his keys onto the marble island, the sharp chime cutting cleanly through the quiet.
"Hey," Percy acknowledged, his voice dry and low, already scanning the room with that proprietary gaze, checking that nothing had been disturbed in his absence. "You're home early."
"I had to leave before Nana got too excited about me being home," Gemini lied, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. He suddenly felt awkward, gangly, and like an intruder in a space he had, days ago, called home. "Got a lot of work to do. How was your trip?"
Percy didn't reply immediately. He simply looked at Gemini. It wasn't the usual sharp, analytical survey; it was something heavier, slower, and perhaps a little bruised beneath the surface, like a deep, internal ache had caught up to him. He looked like the intense schedule had taken its pound of flesh. He pulled off the charcoal coat, revealing an expensive cashmere sweater and a crisp, white collar. He took one step toward the kitchen, then another. Gemini tensed, bracing for the inevitable lecture about recklessness or inefficiency.
Instead, Percy stopped directly in front of him, and with a swift, decisive movement that left no room for thought or preparation, he reached out and pulled Gemini into a hug.
It wasn't a sweet, lingering embrace. It was a fierce, demanding clench—fast and completely proprietary. Percy's arms wrapped tightly around Gemini's back, pressing the air from his lungs, grounding him. He buried his face briefly in the side of Gemini's neck, a single, deep, soundless exhale escaping him, before he immediately stepped back, putting the precise, familiar amount of personal space between them that his personality required.
Gemini stood frozen, heart hammering against his ribs, his arms still raised halfway, unsure if he should have reciprocated or if he had just witnessed a strange neurological tic. The sheer impossibility of the moment stunned him. Percy, the master of control, who hated inefficiency and demanded structure, had just wasted three seconds on an act of pure, spontaneous emotion.
"Did that just happen? He really hugged me. He actually did it. Does that mean he missed me too?"
Percy took a small, steadying breath, his face now a controlled mask once more. The exhaustion was still visible, but the vulnerable expression was gone.
"My trip was demanding," Percy stated, his voice flat, completely ignoring the previous seconds as if they were a slip of the tongue. He ran a hand over his impeccably styled hair. "Far too many tasks that needed my attention. Did you see the text books I had delivered? The housekeeper was supposed to leave them where you would see them."
Gemini swallowed, feeling a strange mix of shock and dizzying, overwhelming relief. Percy was back. He was no longer alone. The tension, the confusion, the comfort—it was all back. Everything is okay.
"Yes, I found the books." Gemini managed, his voice slightly shaky. "Everything is where it should be."
Percy gave a sharp nod. "Good. I'm going to freshen up." He turned and walked upstairs toward his bedroom, leaving Gemini at the counter, still vibrating from his sudden presence. Percy had just hugged him—a simple act, perhaps, but one that perfectly explained the sudden relief in Gemini's chest. And something told him, he wasn't the only one who felt like he had just come home.