[ he has a really bad habit of being a prick when he's upset. chuck had to put up with it a couple times too. he'll feel bad for it once he gets home and sees grey waiting up for him. ]
[ Unwilling to make things worse for Thomas, Grey hides his worry away. Drew is the unfortunate recipient of most of it, but in the end, he can’t distract himself enough to accept that invitation until he knows Thomas is safe. So he waits, beside the cheeseburger bed, and looks up every time there’s a noise in the house. This is a terrible night. ]
[ thomas won't be showing up for a few hours, coming in some time around 4 or 5 AM likely, ragged running shoes dragging on the carpet, mind feeling numb throughout - something that took a long time sitting on the de chima subway, letting his thoughts run widely, until they finally fizzled into something managable.
he's planning to just slide into bed, not even bother taking anything off or get changed, and hope exhaustion alone passes him out. it feels like the scorch again - run and fighting and scrambling and just letting the weariness in your bones take over entirely the second you have a moment to rest. however, it's grey he finds sitting against his bed in the dim light of the room, as thomas stands still in the door frame. ]
[ Grey doesn't know how many hours pass. He doesn't really keep track of it. He was told Thomas was coming, and he is not leaving until Thomas comes.
So he waits, and waits, and then eventually, eventually, the sound is the right one, and he looks up.
He hasn't put the light on. It hadn't occurred to Grey; he'd grown up with the dark, and there's some deep-seated part of him that's still more comfortable in it. That face makes his eyes bright and wide, and rimmed with shadow because sleep is an impossibility tonight.
But the moment his eyes light on Thomas' face, the tension leaves his shoulders. He takes a breath, and his eyes briefly close.
He can't answer that question, so he just lifts his shoulders in an uneven shrug. He puts his hand on the cheeseburger bed. Is Thomas okay? Will he sleep now? Will he be safe? ]
[ for a while, thomas stands there, watching him. unsure how to feel about it - guilty, touched, irritated even? numb, is what comes. empty. all of the caring he's had poured and drained out of him, and he doesn't bother flicking the lights back on. just lets out a quiet exhale, looking down at his muddy shoes, and begins to toe them off.
he doesn't know what to say to grey. certainly doesn't have the energy to explain what happened, and, unusual for them, isn't opening his mind up to the typical connection they converse over.
too much in his head lately. he can't stomach the idea of more at the moment.
thomas's socks follow, and he pads across the floor with his toes dragging at the carpet, and when he gets to the bed, flops forward, chest-first, onto the mattress. he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, but at least he's not moving anymore. as for grey, he's not really sure if he's glad to have him here, and not be alone, or if he'd rather the room be as empty as he'd like his head to be. eventually, he rolls, moving himself to let the side of his head touch the side of grey's, where he's leaned against the bed. hey, buddy. ]
[ Grey doesn't move. He doesn't reach for Thomas' mind, and doesn't touch Thomas, either. Something is badly wrong. Everything is wrong. Thomas had said he was fine, and he's the least fine Grey has ever seen him.
Grey has seen him overcome with grief. Trembling with fear and sickness. He has seen him cry, he has seen him scream.
And in all of that, Thomas has never shut him out. Not like this.
Nothing could be more frightening than that.
Then Thomas touches him, gently, and Grey's head turns just a fraction. He doesn't know if that's an invitation or just an acknowledgement, and none of it does anything to stem his worry. He will kill the person who did this to his friend. He will rend them apart.
Lightly, tentatively, he reaches to run his hand over Thomas' shoulder. What's wrong? Will you talk? What happened? ]
[ it feels like the scorch, after the storm took half of them out. all of them exhausted, couldn't move another inch from where they'd all fallen against the wall in the husk of a building they took shelter in, and just the cold, empty silence between them. the knowledge of how many they just lost, friends they'll never see again.
one second, they were walking beside them; talking, complaining, maybe joking, and not even ten minutes later, they'll never see them again. not even a body left. they're just gone.
that's how thomas feels now. it's all just gone. done, and there's no undoing it or fixing it. but hey, he survived, right? isn't that what everyone keeps going on about? how he'd pulled through it? like that somehow makes it better, or makes him better, or counts for anything at all aside from being one of the last ones standing.
"Sometimes I wonder", he'd told Newt, in what could barely be considered a murmur, while the others sat or laid motionless around them. "If being alive matters. If being dead might be a lot easier."
newt hadn't believed he'd really thought that, then, and thomas swallows, throat feeling raw. maybe he doesn't. maybe he just wants to, maybe that'd be an easier response to process. he doesn't know. he doesn't know anything anymore. grey's hand touches thomas's shoulder, and he doesn't move, not into it, not away from it, not even a twitch if recognition of the contact. but his eyes do, gradually, blink closed, and weariness starts to seep into his bones, sleep edging on his consciousness.
what's under him is a comfortable mattress with plush blankets and pillows, nothing like the hard earth and irritating sand from the scorch, or the biting cold after the sun fell, but somehow it feels the same to him, once his eyes shut. like he never left. like he never will. ]
[ Grey watches him, unhappy and not sure what to think. After a moment, he takes his hand away, but his eyes are heavy on Thomas’ shape. They’re not going to talk, he thinks, and Thomas isn’t responding to his touch. He reminds Grey more of Curtis than ever, because Curtis had moods like this. Black moods. Moods when no one was allowed to touch, and when he just wanted to be alone, in a place where it was impossible to be alone.
It’s not impossible for Thomas, though. They share this room, but that doesn’t mean that Grey has to be here. Thomas is safe now. He’s not at the swear in, he’s not out in whatever happened there. He’s here.
So, knowing that, Grey can give him his space. He retreats to the window seat and texts Drew again, even though it’s late. He’d said it was okay, and now Grey is just hoping that’s true. His eyes flick from the screen to Thomas. He feels like his concentration is skittering, warring between the need to give Thomas what he wants, and the urge to keep him safe, to protect him, to not fail him, the way he’d failed Gilliam. But it’s already too late for that, isn’t it? Thomas has already been hurt, and Grey wasn’t there. This is the result.
No wonder he doesn’t want to talk.
Drew replies. It’s fairly instant, and Grey’s fingers tighten around his phone. He looks at Thomas again, that dark, silent shape. His heart constricts, and then he opens the window, and drops out of it. He will give him space to be alone. That’s the least that he can do. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He doesn't want to, but he does. He always does what Thomas says. ]
come home please
[ Please. ]
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i'm on my way
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[ Unwilling to make things worse for Thomas, Grey hides his worry away. Drew is the unfortunate recipient of most of it, but in the end, he can’t distract himself enough to accept that invitation until he knows Thomas is safe. So he waits, beside the cheeseburger bed, and looks up every time there’s a noise in the house. This is a terrible night. ]
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he's planning to just slide into bed, not even bother taking anything off or get changed, and hope exhaustion alone passes him out. it feels like the scorch again - run and fighting and scrambling and just letting the weariness in your bones take over entirely the second you have a moment to rest. however, it's grey he finds sitting against his bed in the dim light of the room, as thomas stands still in the door frame. ]
How long have you been there?
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So he waits, and waits, and then eventually, eventually, the sound is the right one, and he looks up.
He hasn't put the light on. It hadn't occurred to Grey; he'd grown up with the dark, and there's some deep-seated part of him that's still more comfortable in it. That face makes his eyes bright and wide, and rimmed with shadow because sleep is an impossibility tonight.
But the moment his eyes light on Thomas' face, the tension leaves his shoulders. He takes a breath, and his eyes briefly close.
He can't answer that question, so he just lifts his shoulders in an uneven shrug. He puts his hand on the cheeseburger bed. Is Thomas okay? Will he sleep now? Will he be safe? ]
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he doesn't know what to say to grey. certainly doesn't have the energy to explain what happened, and, unusual for them, isn't opening his mind up to the typical connection they converse over.
too much in his head lately. he can't stomach the idea of more at the moment.
thomas's socks follow, and he pads across the floor with his toes dragging at the carpet, and when he gets to the bed, flops forward, chest-first, onto the mattress. he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, but at least he's not moving anymore. as for grey, he's not really sure if he's glad to have him here, and not be alone, or if he'd rather the room be as empty as he'd like his head to be. eventually, he rolls, moving himself to let the side of his head touch the side of grey's, where he's leaned against the bed. hey, buddy. ]
no subject
Grey has seen him overcome with grief. Trembling with fear and sickness. He has seen him cry, he has seen him scream.
And in all of that, Thomas has never shut him out. Not like this.
Nothing could be more frightening than that.
Then Thomas touches him, gently, and Grey's head turns just a fraction. He doesn't know if that's an invitation or just an acknowledgement, and none of it does anything to stem his worry. He will kill the person who did this to his friend. He will rend them apart.
Lightly, tentatively, he reaches to run his hand over Thomas' shoulder. What's wrong? Will you talk? What happened? ]
grey ur such a good bro and tommy is such a shit
one second, they were walking beside them; talking, complaining, maybe joking, and not even ten minutes later, they'll never see them again. not even a body left. they're just gone.
that's how thomas feels now. it's all just gone. done, and there's no undoing it or fixing it. but hey, he survived, right? isn't that what everyone keeps going on about? how he'd pulled through it? like that somehow makes it better, or makes him better, or counts for anything at all aside from being one of the last ones standing.
"Sometimes I wonder", he'd told Newt, in what could barely be considered a murmur, while the others sat or laid motionless around them. "If being alive matters. If being dead might be a lot easier."
newt hadn't believed he'd really thought that, then, and thomas swallows, throat feeling raw. maybe he doesn't. maybe he just wants to, maybe that'd be an easier response to process. he doesn't know. he doesn't know anything anymore. grey's hand touches thomas's shoulder, and he doesn't move, not into it, not away from it, not even a twitch if recognition of the contact. but his eyes do, gradually, blink closed, and weariness starts to seep into his bones, sleep edging on his consciousness.
what's under him is a comfortable mattress with plush blankets and pillows, nothing like the hard earth and irritating sand from the scorch, or the biting cold after the sun fell, but somehow it feels the same to him, once his eyes shut. like he never left. like he never will. ]
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It’s not impossible for Thomas, though. They share this room, but that doesn’t mean that Grey has to be here. Thomas is safe now. He’s not at the swear in, he’s not out in whatever happened there. He’s here.
So, knowing that, Grey can give him his space. He retreats to the window seat and texts Drew again, even though it’s late. He’d said it was okay, and now Grey is just hoping that’s true. His eyes flick from the screen to Thomas. He feels like his concentration is skittering, warring between the need to give Thomas what he wants, and the urge to keep him safe, to protect him, to not fail him, the way he’d failed Gilliam. But it’s already too late for that, isn’t it? Thomas has already been hurt, and Grey wasn’t there. This is the result.
No wonder he doesn’t want to talk.
Drew replies. It’s fairly instant, and Grey’s fingers tighten around his phone. He looks at Thomas again, that dark, silent shape. His heart constricts, and then he opens the window, and drops out of it. He will give him space to be alone. That’s the least that he can do. ]