"I only call it fat because I look at it so much. I could always say it's pleasing and a delight to my eyes," John told him casually, over his shoulder, like it was just a typical conversation between them.

Which it sort of was.

Sliding the key home in the front door felt all the better knowing Bobby was home. John allowed himself a small smile as he turned the key, then did the deadbolt, and pushed open the door. The thing needed a scrape or an oiling or a...something. Whatever. He wasn't the carpenter in the household.

"I'll cook something up, and you can go to bed early." John had some more study to do; even in the break, there was always something for research students to do. That was why they called it research.