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It was a Friday evening and normally, at this time, Thomas would be sprawled across his bed and doing movie marathons. But James had been ill yesterday and honestly? Thomas was only being a good Samaritan by checking up on him and making sure he hadn’t died alone in his house. Sure, it had only been a cough but it could have escalated and James could have had tuberculosis or bronchitis or pneumonia or something. Thomas couldn’t let him die.
He glanced down at his attire; a t-shirt that was definitely too big for him and shorts that were just a little too short to be considered decent. Last time James had walked into his house, Thomas had only been wearing boxers. James’ reaction had been interesting, definitely, and Thomas had wondered if maybe the man was interested in him (it took only a couple of minutes for him to realise how ridiculous he was being). Maybe this time, he would actually dress like a normal citizen.
He slipped off the shorts, picking a casual pair of sweatpants instead. His hair was a mess, with the usually perfectly-positioned strands standing uneven. With a sigh, he pulled it back into a loose bun at the top of his head. That would have to do. He was grabbing the keys on the kitchen table when he saw a movie case that definitely didn’t belong to him.
Thomas stroked the cover of the movie case as he read the blurb at the back curiously. A Holocaust film, La Vita è Bella. It definitely didn’t belong to Thomas and he didn’t know who could have left it there, other than one person:
James.
After their first meeting, the infamous rat incident that Thomas had been trying desperately to erase from his memory, they had sat down and talked about various topics and Thomas recalled James promising to loan him a movie that had been both hilarious and devastating. Perhaps this was the one. He had probably left it on the table and forgotten to mention it.
Still, he should go check with James, at the very least to make sure it really was him who had left it behind. Just as a precaution; certainly not a desperate bid to see the other man again.
And that was how Thomas found himself stepping over the small fence that separated their houses and knocking smartly on his door.
There was enough of a pause after his knocking for Thomas to begin to doubt himself. Maybe James hadn’t even left the movie. Was it weird that he was knocking on his door with no real reason? Should Thomas ask for his number? Was that too straight-forward? Was that too soon? But just when he was seconds away from high-tailing it back to his own house, the door swung open and James was standing in the doorway, dressed sharply in a suit that clung just enough to his frame to make Thomas swallow nervously.
One of the advantages of being a lawyer was the ability to exude confidence and self-assurance even when he wanted to cry. Or hide. Or drown before he could embarrass himself. Unsurprisingly, this was a skill that was particularly useful around James. Was Thomas going to question why he felt so nervous around James? Not really.
“Hey,” he grinned, drawling more than usual to mask any nervousness in his voice. He held up the movie in his hand. “Found this in my house. Is it yours?”
James’ smile was a touch shy of sheepish and, frankly, adorable. He began fiddling with the sleeve of his blazer before answering. “Ah, yeah, about that… I went to give it to you last time but I got distracted. Did you watch it yet?”
Thomas shook his head, a single strand of hair escaping his hair bubble and falling into his face. He pushed it away impatiently, noting the way James watched the movement. “Nah, just wanted to swing by to make sure it was yours first. It the movie you were talking about last time?”
James nodded, a strangely mysterious smile gracing his lips. “You, uh… You said you get emotional when you’re watching movies?”
“Yeah,” Thomas said slowly. “Why?”
James shrugged. “No reason. Just… Can I get your number? You could tell me when you start bawling.”
“I don’t bawl,” Thomas protested, even as he shoved his hand in the pocket of his sweatpants in search of his phone. James’ smile was a touch too patronising to be sincere. “Dammit, I left my phone… Pass me yours, I’ll write mine in for you.”
James retrieved his phone from the back pocket of his trousers. When Thomas began to tap in his digits, it took intense mental concentration to not think about how close the phone, currently in his hand, had been to James’ ass.
“Where are you headed now?” Thomas asked curiously as he passed the phone back, taking the opportunity to slowly rake his gaze across James’ body and make his appreciation obvious. Better to over-dramaticize; it was less likely that James would take him seriously when Thomas was being extremely obvious about his silly schoolboy crush.
“A few of my colleagues are meeting up for a dinner to celebrate the last day of work,” James explained with an embarrassed smile. “Thought I’d at least make myself presentable.”
“Honey, you always look presentable,” Thomas dismissed, immediately cursing himself for sounding like an idiot. Luckily, James just laughed.
“Thank you,” the other man said warmly. “Well, I better get going. Let me know how it goes-” he nodded towards the movie in Thomas’ hand, “-And you might want to pre-prepare a pack of tissues.”
When Thomas walked back to his house, he couldn’t stop thinking about three things: 1. the ‘pre’ in prepare implied ‘beforehand’, so what was the point of the word ‘pre-prepare’? 2. He hadn’t asked James where he worked, and 3. James was gorgeous in a suit.
Throughout the beginning of the movie, Thomas had wondered why James had even recommended a box of tissues, unless he was going to cry from laughter.
Not even three-quarters of the way through, he was sniffling into a pillow and biting down on his fist to stop himself from crying.
When he realised that Guido had died, he paused the movie before grappling blindly in an attempt to find his phone on the other side of the bed.
Thomas: you back yet?
James: Yeah, why?
Thomas: can i call you?
James: Sure???
Thomas took several long, deep breaths. James had already teased him for crying during movies - why had Thomas admitted that last time? - and he refused to embarrass himself in front of the man again. When he deemed himself acceptably calm, he called him.
James picked up almost immediately. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Thomas said weakly. Just hearing James’ voice was calming. “Um, I kind of hate you right now though.”
James laughed, the sound crackling slightly over the phone line. Thomas imagined him in the next house, wondered what he was wearing. Had he taken the suit off yet? Was he wearing a t-shirt and baggy sweatpants? Coincidentally, Thomas’ bedroom was the room closest to James’ house. Maybe their bedrooms were back to back, separated only by a wall and a few feet.
Maybe Thomas was a nerd who needed to get his fucking shit together, for god’s sake.
“I’m guessing you found it upsetting?”
“Are you kidding?” Thomas said immediately, sitting up in his bed with indignation. “You did not prepare me for that, like, at all.”
James laughed again and, as Thomas wiped the tear tracks from his face, he tried not to think about how pretty James’ laugh was; light and a little bit breathy.
“Have you finished it?”
“Guido was just shot,” Thomas said morosely. “I don’t know if I can finish it.”
A pause. “Do you want me to come over? We can finish it together.”
It was, all in all, a surprising offer, one Thomas hadn't expected. He'd assumed that James would be tired or perhaps just wasn't willing to put up with his neighbour's whining. Had Thomas whined so much that he had guilt-tripped James into feeling obligated to comfort him? As upset as he was, Thomas had been over-playing a bit, if only because he was a dramatic man in nature.
“Thomas?” James' voice crackled through the phone again, sounding more concerned. “It's okay if you don't want-”
“Well, I wouldn't be opposed to it,” Thomas interrupted, cursing himself for sounding so clingy. Good lord, he'd only properly spoken to the man… what, two times? It was so unThomas-like to get attached this quickly. “But don't feel like you have to come. Or stay. Like last time, when you were practically dying of pneumonia or cholera or something and you-”
“I wasn't dying,” James pointed out, sounding vaguely amused. “I'm coming over in five, okay?”
Thomas’ mouth snapped shut. He nodded, forgetting that James couldn't see him. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”
There was a long beep as James hung up.
Thomas threw his phone away from him with a groan, choosing instead to groan into the tear-stained pillow on his lap. Thomas Jefferson was smooth, Thomas Jefferson was suave, Thomas Jefferson shouldn’t embarrass himself in front of his crush and neighbour every time they interact, goddammit.
He cast a disdainful eye around the room. His bedroom wasn't terribly messy, though the books on the shelf were starting to look rather disorderly. His collection was always increasing, but lately Thomas hadn’t dedicated as much time to keeping them perfect as he normally would. He wished he could blame it on work but even he couldn’t deny that James was the cause; if he stopped being so damn attractive all the time, Thomas would spend less time mooning over him and more time actually cleaning.
He started placing the stray books back onto the shelves, setting one aside that he had borrowed from Lafayette and really needed to return soon. He was just putting away the last book when he heard someone knock at the door.
Thomas would later deny that he rushed down the stairs like he was finally meeting him prom date, but he totally did.
Flinging the door open with more force than necessary, he managed to let out a breathless ‘hi’ before taking in James’ appearance. His t-shirt was tighter than usual and Thomas could see his nipples perked from the cold. Was he staring at his chest for too long? Shit, he was staring at his chest for too long. He blurted out the first thing that he could think of.
“Um, nice t-shirt.”
James looked vaguely bemused, glancing down at the plain white t-shirt. “Thanks?”
Wow, well done, Thomas. Go ahead and embarrass yourself further, it’s not like James doesn’t already think you’re weird.
“Welcome,” Thomas said quickly before ushering James inside and attempting (and probably failing, if James’ strange looks meant anything) to distract James from the strange greeting by babbling about the movie.
“You know, I never thought I’d get engrossed in a film where I have to keep checking subtitles, but here I am,” Thomas was saying loudly as he led James up the stairs. “It’s amazing that they managed to capture the raw emotion despite the language barrier with most of the audien-”
“Nice house,” James interrupted behind him. Thomas turned around to see him stroking the stair railings with a large hand. “I didn’t get to appreciate the design last time I was here.”
Well, James had only ever visited twice. The first time James had been here, he had to comfort Thomas after hyperventilating about a rat, and the second time, he had been too busy trying to salvage Thomas’ terrible cooking. It was fair to say that neither interactions had opened an opportunity for a tour.
“Um,” Thomas said intelligently. “You want a tour or something?”
The smile on James' face was a little too amused to not be condescending. “I'll live.”
Truthfully, he had been rather excited by the idea of showing James around. It was impossible to read the man and Thomas had no idea what sort of things would impress him; and he wanted to impress him. The man seemed barely fazed by anything and Thomas found himself working harder just because he was so desperate for that validation.
Of course, he said none of this, and shrugged it off quickly as he led James to his room, where the laptop was still set up on his bed.
“Make yourself comfortable, man,” Thomas invited as he settled in the middle of the bed with crossed legs and a pillow clutched to his chest.
But James seemed preoccupied and his attention was on the bedside drawer. Thomas frowned, not seeing what was fascinating him so much.
“All these tissues are yours?” James asked finally with a small grin. Thomas’ face flushed when he realised that he hadn't thrown away the small pile of tear-stained tissues he had discarded on top of the drawer. Shit, James probably thought he was so gross.
“Shit, man, I'm sorry,” he rushed, the words tripping over themselves in his haste to apologise. “I just-”
“It's fine,” James soothed immediately, settling on the bed next to him. “I get that's it's pretty emotional. What part did you say you were on again?”
Thomas quickly turned the laptop screen on, thankful for how little of a fuss James had made. “Guido just died and, essentially, so did I.”
“Ouch,” James said sympathetically. He was sitting close enough that their thighs were brushing, and Thomas could feel the heat radiating off his body. He swallowed. How difficult would it be to concentrate when he had such a gorgeous specimen sitting next to him?
“But that's the worst of it over, right?” Thomas asked worriedly. “The rest is happier?” When James didn't say anything, instead electing to smile secretly, he groaned. “Cmon! You can't get sadder than that.”
“I'm not saying it's sadder,” James denied, the deep tenors of his voice rumbling with badly disguised amusement. “I'm just saying that you might not want to throw that box of tissues away yet.”
Thomas pulled said box of tissues closer to himself before pressing ‘play’..
By the end of the movie, Thomas was curled up with his head buried in James’ shirt. His shoulders wracked with the weight of his sobs. James rubbed his back soothingly, cooing gently under his breath. The screen remained black as the two males were too preoccupied to turn it off.
The only sounds in the room were that of Thomas’ sniffles. He felt slightly pathetic, blubbering all over his neighbour whom he wasn’t even that close to. God, this was humiliating.
“Why the hell did you recommend this to me?” Thomas croaked after the silence had stretched on. His head was pounding, as it always did after a good cry. James chuckled, pulling Thomas closer gently and running a hand through his hair. The movement was almost hypnotic and Thomas’ eyelids felt heavier and heavier.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed alone, with the covers draped over his frame and a scrawled note on the bedside table.
I let myself out. You might want to drink some water to fight off the dehydration of crying.
-J
Thomas sighed. Now he’d have to blackmail James into keeping his mouth shut about what had happened today. But, when he recalled the feeling of James’ strong arms wrapped around him, he found that it was worth it.