In my review of the day's events, the conclusion appeared illogical. The result did not make sense, and required further analysis. The details of the day ran through my mind once more as I attempted to identify where the calculation skewed.
It had been an Open Market Saturday in mid-April; Duo had been required to work a promotional spot for the station, and would be gone for most of the day. I'd decided to follow our usual routine and went alone. On and off over the month, I hunted a repairable vid screen, for one of our neighbors.
Knowing my intent had been to peruse the electronics section, it was with no little surprise I found myself picking through the used books at the bookseller's stall. Disconcerted, I quickly purchased the book I held and left, bringing my focus back to my objective.
The potted geraniums reminded me Duo had wanted to plant the flowerbeds on Sunday. I hadn't taken part the previous year, but to my amusement, the nursery owner wrote out detailed instructions on what to do. It took three trips to carry the flower flats and bedding mulch to the truck.
The far end of the souk was reserved for transient vendors and had the appearance of a flea market or a large garage sale. All manner of household and personal goods crammed the open field next to the more permanent stalls; the clash of antique urns and glass vases with rusty tire rims and farm implements befit the overall harmony of the marketplace. I found myself navigating through the haphazard collection of tables, tents and vehicles, idly looking over items.
Making room for the chair in the back of the truck, I'd decided to change my course of action and returned to the house. My search for needed electronic components on my own was not working.
The results of my introspective audit equaled the first. The only conclusion drawn lay in direct correlation with the continuing analysis of my evolving feelings towards my housemate. I no longer considered Duo only a friend; he had become so much more than what that word entailed.
"Heero?" his voice drew my attention from the small appliance I'd be staring at. Standing in the doorway of my attic workshop, he held a slim novel in his hand. "Did you get this - 'Where the Red Fern Grows'?" he read, his expression puzzled.
After my brief nod, his confusion continued, but he returned to his reading room when I offered no further information. The only explanation I had, I wasn't ready to admit. I had yet to tell him of the flower flats on the patio, but there'd be time for that in the morning.
I refused to look at the aberration I'd hidden.
Thoughts of clearing a space, in the corner of the attic, presented themselves. Under the dormer window, I envisioned a chair, a lamp, and Duo. It felt right that he should be there.