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"I'm moving," Thorne says, "out of my apartment. New place, has a lot of work to be - "

But he stops talking when Aleksy stands on his toes and ruffles his hair out of its styling, eyes flicking for a moment in surprise before closing. He makes a deep, throaty noise of pleasure at the touch and laughs, bowing his head for easier access.

"You'd be surprised," he retorts. "I guess we'll have to find out."

Thorne laughs and leans closer, imposing on Aleksy's space to close the gap in their height. "Is that what you call fixing it?" He asks, his throat crackling with a purr of amusement. But he only shakes his head and pushes off of the car. "Very well. It's a small price to pay for your time."

He looks down at Aleksy, eyes half-lidded. "I would much prefer we don't wait on Finn to come and see me attempting to be a thief twice in a row. I was already caught once." Something thickens in his chest, twists, at the thought. Oh, he thinks. And blinks it away.

"Shall I carry you to your seat, Aleksy, or will that only invoke your wrath further?"

And then he sweeps his arm sideways towards the car door with a cat-like grin.

"After you."

Thorne drives in silence, mostly because conversations in cars have never been something he's invested in. His eyes drift over the scenery, and sometimes Aleksy, but never for long enough for it to be more than a cursory glance. His mouth feels dry and empty, and he exhales slowly to clear it, dragging his lower lip between his canine and worrying it until they hit the gravel drive that makes a serpentine pattern to his new place.

It doesn't look any better from the outside than it had before he'd made the rash decision to buy it. The windows are cleaner, sure, and the graffiti got scrubbed off, but it looks just like something standing in the wreckage of a nuclear fallout.

It looks like trash.

Thorne pushes open his door and steps out onto the gravel, the sound clipping away at the silence. He leans his arms on the car and peers in through the open window at Aleksy, a lazy smile on his face.

"I promise it's not half as bad on the inside," he says, and shakes his head. "Well, depending on who you ask."

Thorne is laughing because he knows that look. He knows Aleksy. He nods at him and walks up the gravel drive, up the stairs to second story door that still opens when you jostle it right. It swings open and Thorne steps through into the hollow hungry space.

There's new flooring, hardwood that gleams in the evening sunlight. There are boxes. So many boxes. And crowded against the cleaned windows are plants. Potted plants and boxed plants and it looks like a quarter of this place has become a greenhouse.

It's unfinished - there's a cove for a kitchen and two doors for a bathroom and a laundry room. And above the catwalk still looms. He still doesn't know what to do with it.

"Well?" He asks, turning to Aleksy, a grin soft on his lips. "What do you think?"

Thorne watches as Aleksy moves, a low rumble of laughter in his throat. He's glad that his plants match Aleksy's standards and lets him examine them as much as he wants. He walks after him, the hardwood creaking beneath his weight, eyes roving up to the high walls and the windows that bleed in the light.

"Contracting out," he says in return. "I have enough on my plate as it is. As much as I'd love to be strong and independent and flex my muscles for everyone to see." The drawl is fraught with amusement, languid and encouraged by praise. Thorne crosses his arms, tilting his weight to one leg and staring around the open space.

"Honestly I'm two steps from turning everything but the bedroom - " he stares at the bed skewn at the apex of the huge space, pillows and blankets from a shameless buying spree spilling onto the floor beneath the intricate patterns of comforters in midnight black and blue, "into a greenhouse. I have a problem, I guess."