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"Are you sure about this?" Thomas asks, brow furrowed, looking over at Richard from the other side of their now cluttered living room. Sat at their dining table, surrounded by half filled cardboard boxes, piles of newspaper, and furniture marked with painters tape. Green for things to keep, blue for things to donate, and red for stuff that can just be thrown away.
They had been wanting to give their flat a spring clean, and Thomas supposes moving halfway across the country is a good excuse as any.
Richard looks up at him from his spot on the floor, hair unstyled and flopping against his forehead as he moves. He's wrapping some of their serving dishes in old newspaper — the ones they won't miss when they're all pre-packed in boxes — and setting them in a box already labelled Kitchen - serving dishes in Richard's neat handwriting. He's wearing a faded football club t shirt, a pair of black sweatpants Thomas knows he stole from him, and soft blue socks. He's beautiful.
There's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a quip waiting to be said — but his eyes search Thomas' face, and whatever he sees gives him pause. His face softens, melts, as he tilts his head and replies. Voice soft and honest. "Yes, I'm sure love."
"Just don't want you going all that way for nothing, s'all." Thomas says with a shrug, fiddling with the roll of packing tape in his hands. Picking at the edge, peeling it back with his thumb. Trying to look casual, hide the whorl of emotions inside his chest, churning his stomach. But Richard can see right through him. He always can.
Thomas lets him.
"You're hardly nothing, Thomas," Richard replies, voice even softer, fondness dripping off every word. Cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Placing his now-wrapped plate into the box in front of him, and kneeling up off the carpet. He's framed by the soft light of their flat, the streetlights peeking through the curtains, alighting his hair like a fuzzy halo. He steps across the flat to Thomas as if pulled by a magnet, there to give the comfort Thomas seeks. "I'm right here with you."
He reaches out, hands outstretched, and Thomas reaches back. Lets Richard cradle his hands in his, callouses against callouses, thumb running in gentle circles on the side of his hands. He focuses on it, on Richard, and not the swirl of anxiety and what if and overthinking that's churning inside him.
Thomas had gotten a job opportunity managing — or running, rather — an old family manor house slash heritage estate, turned museum and semi-public gardens. It was an excellent opportunity, paid well, and was what he was looking for. What he and Richard were looking for. Thomas was currently a manager in a high end hotel here in London — which he was good at of course, and paid very well, but he wanted something different. Something not in a hotel, something with hours more conducive to settling down with Richard.
"We both agreed we wanted to move out of London. Cheaper rent, more space," Richard reminds him, smiling at him softly as he squeezes his hands. Tilting his head to make sure Thomas meets his eyes. "And this is the perfect opportunity for you. Why would we waste it?"
They had been talking about it for a while — their work, their flat, their life in London — and then the opportunity at Downton Abbey came across Thomas' desk. It was just that — an opportunity, a chance, a change. One he realised he wanted. And Richard agreed. It would be good for them. Agreed to quit his job, move out of their tidy London flat, and move to a little town called Downton for him. Not many men Thomas' has dated would have even offered as such.
Richard has always been different.
"I'm afraid I'm being silly again," Thomas says on the exhale, squeezing Richard's hands, seeking comfort in the weight and warmth of them.
"I've been talking about leaving royal work for a while now," Richard continues, voice smooth and inching ever closer to Thomas' perch on the dining chair. "You just gave me the final push I needed. So really, you're doing me a favour."
"Oh am I?" Thomas teases back, raising an eyebrow, taking the opening.
"You are." Richard confirms, squeezing his hands back. Pressing comfort into his skin through the warmth of his hands. "You're always good to me, you know that, pushing me when I need it."
"Reminder doesn't hurt," Thomas replies, shrugging a self conscious shoulder, although a small smile starts to creep into the corner of his mouth. It's nice, hearing it from Richard, that he helps Richard just as much as Richard helps him. Simple words that cut through the self-doubt. They're equals, a true partnership, a fact that never fails to make his heart beat faster.
"And I'll remind you every time." Richard replies simply, grin curling at the corner of his mouth before settling into something softer. Inching ever closer to Thomas' spot on the chair, until his thighs are almost pressed against Thomas', warmth emanating through the thick fabric of his stolen sweatpants.
Bringing their entwined hands up to his face — Richard places a gentle kiss to Thomas' knuckles. Warm, and wet, and comforting in the simplicity of it.
Thomas smiles, huffing out a quiet laugh, feeling the tickle of Richard's breath across his skin. He lets Richard continue, placing another gentle kiss to the knuckles on his other hand, before tugging at Thomas' hands. He lets himself be tugged, pulled to standing, shuffling away from the boxes and piles of old newspaper he was surrounded in.
Richard leads him across from the dining table to the centre of their living room — not that there's much separation between the two in their flat — Thomas' own socked feet shuffling against the floor.
"And where are you taking me now, Mr Ellis?" Thomas asks, raising an eyebrow, not quite teasing. He knows he looks quite a sight himself, the stern look he's usually so good at falling short, as he can't keep a smile off his face. He feels dishevelled in a way not many get to see, and happy he gets to trust this version of himself with Richard.
"The couch," Richard simply replies, smiling, eyes twinkling in the overhead light. "I think it's time for a break."
"We still have so much to do-" Thomas starts, before Richard continues, cutting him short with a soft look on his face. Knowing, caring, not-quite stern, and unbearably fond.
"And we will have time tomorrow." Richard says. "Nothing wrong with taking a breath before we work ourselves into a tizzy."
Thomas just sighs, smiles as he rolls his eyes, letting his boyfriend tug him down onto the couch. Almost collapsing into the soft cushions, into Richard's side as he sits down next to him — thigh pressed to thigh.
It's almost as if all the fight leaves him, all the anxiety falling away as he focuses on the warmth of Richard's body, tucking himself into his side as Richard drapes an arm around his shoulders. He sighs contentedly, adjusting in place and entwining their hands once more.
"Thank you," Thomas says quietly, letting the words fall into the air.
"It's no problem at all, Thomas." Richard immediately replies, before placing a kiss to the top of Thomas's head. He feels it, more than he can see it, squeezing his hand in response. "And if you ever need more reassurance I'd be happy to give it to you. You're going to be incredible at Downton Abbey, and I'm insufferably proud to be able to watch you do it."
"Careful," Thomas replies, smile not leaving his face, heart fluttering pleasantly in his chest. "I haven't gotten there yet."
"And yet, I know I don't need to worry at all."
"Flatterer," Thomas teases, halfheartedly swatting at Richard's side.