@corporatebanana, you asked if they were getting back together, after this
Evan's things went into a box, by the front door.
It would be idiotic to sit around and wait for Evan to contact him.
But Evan was enthusiastic and persistent, so it would be weird if he didn't.
The first week, Tommy kept his phone fully charged at all times, with the ringer turned all the way up. After that, he got tired of pissing himself everytime his phone rang, so he lowered the volume, but kept it charged.
As he approached week three, he was starting to feel a bit pathetic, and worried he wasn't processing things. Waiting around wasn't exactly the same as moving forward.
His captain had already pulled him aside – twice – suggesting maybe it was PTO time. His days off were killing him as it was. He'd been taking on as many extra hours as he possibly could, but his colleagues were running out of dance recitals and doctor's appointments. Plus the legal limit for overtime, which his captain had also pulled him aside for.
”Go home, Kinard.”
”Do I have to? Don't make that face, I'm joking. I'm joking!”
”We both know you're not.”
*
Tommy hated grocery stores more than he hated most things. Nothing good had ever happened at a grocery store. They triggered his anxiety, his PTSD, his vertigo, his body dysmorphia, his everything. But he wasn't about to pay to get his shit delivered. He was a first responder and an adult, he could get his own damn groceries.
His hands shook the entire time, no matter how hard he gripped the cart. He spent ten minutes in the freezer section, staring at everything and nothing.
At home, he unpacked his groceries and checked them against what he'd written on his list. He checked off the items, and put everything away. Afterwards, he got out a notepad, and transferred the items he'd missed to a new list, plus the two items he remembered on the drive home.
There was a cup of yoghurt at the back of his fridge, that was probably out of date. Tommy didn't like yoghurt, but Evan did.
He could toss the yoghurt tomorrow.
*
Tommy cleared the call log on his phone, to get Evan's name off the screen. Looking at his text messages, thumb hovering over the menu, he hesitated. He wanted his name gone, but he didn't want to lose the messages. It had been a month, but Evan's name was still near the top. He didn't text enough people to get it so far down, he'd have to scroll. He'd kept a couple of marketing texts, to knock him down a few spots, but it wasn't enough.
He couldn't do it.
*
The contents of the box grew. He'd pulled on a pair of boxerbriefs, only to discover they weren't his. They went in the box. On a chilly morning, he pulled on his favourite hoodie, only to remember stealing it from Evan, some five months ago. He had to lie down for that one.
As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay in his tear ducts, he thought about whether he had left something behind at Evan's place. It would make sense if he had, but he couldn't remember anything specific. Evan had about a thousand chargers, so he never brought one.
Fuck, there was probably a charger in his car as well.
He never brought more than he needed. He was practical like that. Evan would bring an overnight bag, but Tommy usually just put a pair of clean underwear and a toothbrush in his pocket.
The hoodie went in the box.
*
As he entered month two, Tommy took the time to empty out his phone. When it came to file management, Tommy was not good. He had several years worth of photos on his phone, even though he kept telling himself he would do it more frequently. And take less photos.
He emptied out his entire gallery. Everything from the year 2024 went into its own folder, on his external storage. He wanted to mark it ”Evan”, so his future self would know what it was, but he didn't want his name there. It would only deter him from transferring photos more often. Maybe his future self would have the guts to go through them and remove Evan, one by one. Current Tommy couldn't do it.
Current Tommy wasn't moving on. Current Tommy was spending every waking moment regretting what he'd done.
Six months with Evan was enough to forget just how boring and uneventful his life was. How unhappy he was before.
*
Month three was on the horizon and Tommy couldn't breathe. Nothing was happening. Nothing was fucking happening. Evan left behind a sucking void and nothing was coming to fill it. Tommy was going to die alone and miserable.
The box in the hall was full. His phone was empty and silent. The yoghurt cup was still in the back of the fridge. He hadn't killed Lucy or himself.
He was still working as much as he could.
*
He parked in the least convenient spot, furthest away from the entrance. His feet wouldn't move. His brain was screaming at him, telling him how crazy he was being. Stalking his ex at his fucking job.
He took a couple of steps, then took a break to breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe.
”Tommy?”
Hen was across the lot, with what was probably lunch in her hand. ”Hey,” he said.
”What're you doing here?”
”Is Evan in?”
Hen looked at the door, then back to Tommy. ”Yeah, he's in.”
”Could you tell him I'm here? I don't think I can go in.”
He couldn't tell what her face was doing at this distance, but she nodded. ”I'll tell him.”
His hands were shaking again. It felt entirely too fast, when Evan came around the corner, coming from the bay, not the side door.
”Tommy?”
His throat closed up, so he waved instead.
Evan's long legs ate up the pavement, and then he was there. ”Wh-what's up?”
”I'm sorry.”
Evan frowned. ”What for? Are you OK? You don't look … great.”
Tommy laughed, making his nausea kick up a few notches. ”I'm good.”
They just looked at each other for a moment. Evan was wearing the hell out of that uniform. The thigh of his pants looked kind of white. It was lunch time, so maybe he'd been doing something with flour.
”Maybe this was a bad idea,” he muttered.
”What is?” Evan asked.
”Showing up here.”
Evan looked at the firehouse, then back. ”Depends on why you're here.”
”I'm not sure.” Tommy tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs rattled in his chest. Evan just looked at him. Which was fair enough, it was fucking weird showing up, without a plan or a speech or anything. ”I have– I have a box of your stuff.” Evan looked over Tommy's shoulder. ”Not with me, it's at my house. You left some stuff at my place.”
”Oh,” Evan rubbed his neck. ”Probably a charger, right?”
”Four, actually. And some other stuff. Do you want it? Your stuff.”
”Do I want my stuff?” He took a step closer. ”Tommy, I don't … I don't understand.”
Tommy's heart was slowly clawing its way up the back of his throat. He rubbed his face, but it only made everything worse. The tears he was trying to fight, the nausea, the fear, the sweat. He was sweating through his shirt. He wanted to run. He wanted to get in his car and drive, until he hit an ocean.
”What's happening?” Evan asked, voice so gentle Tommy wanted to scream.
He could feel his face smile, like it always fucking did, at the worst possible time. ”I don't know what I'm doing.”
”OK,” Evan nodded, eager to understand. ”Right now, or in a more general sense?”
”I can't fucking breathe with how much I miss you.”
Evan's eyes went a little wide. ”You miss me?”
”I don't know what the fuck I did with my time, before I met you.”
The hope in Evan's eyes dimmed a little, which Tommy couldn't blame him for. He was smiling like a maniac, and made it sound like he enjoyed having a busy schedule, which had nothing to do with Evan.
He felt a tear run down his cheek. He tried to catch it and take a step back at the same time, but Evan grabbed his forearm, making both things impossible.
He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say, didn't know how to fix things.
Evan's arms closed around him, pulling him tightly to his body, and time stopped.
”I miss you, too,” Evan whispered.
Tommy hugged him like he'd never hugged him before. He didn't think he was ever going to touch Evan again. Maybe a polite hand off, when they exchanged boxes, but not this. Evan's arms tightened in response.
”I got scared. You were so far ahead of me and I didn't know what to do.”
Evan's voice was wet and a little choked, ”I do that. I always go fast.”
”I like that about you.”
Evan turned his face into the crook of Tommy's neck, laughing a little. ”No, you don't.”
we collectively as a fandom did not freak out as hard as we should have about old maniel's naked form gracing our screens. he was there, with his scrumptiously fine cheeks out, and there was maybe a singular yay on my tl. unacceptable.
i need to see armand do unspeakable things to that backside so we need to cheer our old man on guys!!! channel ur inner armand and start drooling over him!!!
I would imagine it starts with small things and tiny steps… And drinking buckets of your maker's blood, but that's a matter for some art in the future.
As we move towards (pending AMC green light) season 4 QOTD, I sincerely hope we will have a culturally diverse writers room for next season. This season’s writing for TVL, a culturally diverse show had…issues. For anyone who may be thinking what’s the big deal about diversity, I did a post about why it’s important a while back using the character Jasper from Talamasca as an example:
💬 0 🔁 3 ❤️ 17 · Why the Character Jasper Works and Why Diversity Matters · When I thought about how AMC can produce high quality Immortal
AMC can easily provide a budget for hiring a diverse group of creatives. The executive for AMC Networks recently got a multimillion dollar raise. AMC has the money, they just don’t want to pay.
2087
vaporwave
ellievsbear
