[ Maia is grateful, not for the first time, for Csevet's decorum. He's too observant to have missed how flustered his harmless statement had left Maia - and yet he had let it go without comment, without any sideways glances. He'd always had a sixth sense, for knowing when to just let things be, without Maia ever needing to ask, or explain. Maia no longer doubts that Cala and Beshelar both care for him deeply, but even they had never understood him the way Csevet seems to, almost by instinct.

It gives Maia a chance to regain his composure, as the two of them leave the elevator and move down the hall towards his little apartment. When he speaks next, his voice is normal once more - a little too normal, perhaps, but growing more natural as he keeps talking: ]

We have heard that there are such floors, and in truth we are glad we were not assigned one. It- is nice, to have a little privacy.

[ He remembers (and is sure Csevet is remembering, too) their brief, awkward conversation about Maia's lack of privacy, and his worries about disrupting Csevet's. Had that been a strange thing, for him to worry about? Not because it was strange to care about the quality of his servants lives - obviously not that - but because it was... too personal? Maia feels peculiar, remembering that, remembering their strained moment in the elevator just now, but he cannot put his finger on why. It is a mystery, and one he turns his attention away from quickly.

Maia opens the door to his little apartment, holding it open and, feeling a little surge of pleasure, holding the door open and gesturing for Csevet to go in, first. It is a very un-emperorly thing to do. ]

This is our new home.