Despite an elegant speech pattern and a vocabulary to rival a dictionary's, Rose Lalonde scarcely dealt with her emotions in words. Not to say she never engaged verbally, quite the opposite actually, but her conversations tended to be impersonal on her part. She was much more a creature of action, and after two years of living with her, Kanaya had learned to read her like a book.

The soft playing of classical music meant that she wanted alone time. Not that Rose was angry or particularly upset. Just that she wanted to enjoy her solitude.

A small touch on her hip was all the indication Kanaya needed to become intimate, soft and slow and sweet. On the other hand, there was a certain look Rose gave her, a kind of burning in those violet depths, that told her girlfriend she wanted something harder, faster, hotter. Kanaya very rarely denied her in either of those instances.

Teacups on the windowsill, where Rose liked to let some of their dishes dry naturally by the sun's rays, meant she was stressed. She drank tea often, true, but under pressure she often sought out light, not just for herself but for her surroundings as well. Drawn curtains and open windows were often good indicators as well.

All of these things Kanaya knew and more, the quiet fluidness of their life allowing her the time to pinpoint them whenever she pleased. They worked well together like that, her and Rose. There were rarely any fights between the two of them, they were both understanding, compromising, compassionate and intelligent. In many ways they were extremely similar, and in others they complemented each other beautifully. It was all just a balance of their relationship.

Two years in Kanaya became positive her girlfriend loved her. Rose never said anything, things between them remaining calm and cool and lovely as always, but Kanaya knew. She knew because of the books.

Between the two of them, their collection was quite extensive. There was an entire room in their small house dedicated to book shelves and comfy chairs alone. But there were always 'mine' and 'yours' when it came to this room. Kanaya's books were along the left wall, tucked neatly into the corners there while Rose's sat under the window. Her library was sorted specifically if not a little chaotically, each individual shelf (and maybe then some) being for a different genre. From there she weighed the books' value and quality and placed them from highest score to lowest.

It was on a rainy day when Kanaya noticed. She'd gone into the sitting room, fingers trailing over spines as she sought something from her own collection. Many were missing, however. She looked again, and yes, many of the bound stories had indeed found themselves homes on Rose's shelves, tucked neatly against the blonde's own books. Kanaya raised an eyebrow but said nothing, continuing to visit the room several days a week for an entire month. By then there were no longer constrictions on 'mine and 'yours'. Only 'ours'.

Kanaya didn't bother with words either. Soon everything in their home became integrated, a greater sense of the 'ours' that they had found taking over.