Sorta finished that thingie I did a while ago. Also wrote a one shot for it (under read more). Not sure about either.
Tom opened his dark eyeholes, staring in front of himself, but not really seeing anything yet. The night rendered everything desaturated, indiscernible. There was one window in his room, a sad square with an even sadder excuse of a curtain. Matt laid on the floor in front of his mattress, head on the back of his palm, his only remaining eye closed.
That one was wrong.
Tom blinked rapidly and sat up in one swift move. Matt laid on the cold floor, and Tom was pretty sure that it wasn't where he left him when they both went to sleep. In fact, he was pretty sure that Matt was supposed to be sleeping on the couch. Reaching his hand out, Tom gave him a firm shake.
“Matt,” he called in a whistling whisper, leaning closer. “Wake up.”
Matt immediately opened his eye, piercing him with a stare, if only a little unfocused, and Tom's breath hitched. The silence hung between them. Eventually Tom reached out, squeezing Matt's shoulder.
“Come here,” he urged, trying to pull Matt onto the mattress with him, but the other just shook his head. Tom sighed.
“Matty, come on,” he tried again, the nickname slipping past his lips unwarranted, and Tom bit his tongue, but he felt too tired this time around to be overly careful with Matt, who was just acting stubborn. So Tom pulled on his shoulder again, not rough by any means, but unyielding, as the other resisted him.
“Come on, baby,” he called, mentally throwing it all to the wind. Matt could be queasy about pet names, but Tom, being just as stubborn as him, if not more, decided to use all of them – whichever came to mind.
“Honey, sweetheart, the apple of my eye,” he half-recited, half-begged, pulling on Matt's shoulder, as the other kept pulling back. “My gingerbread man, my sweetest piece of pumpkin pie with cinnamon and an effing ton of whipped cream on top. Please, don't make this difficult for me. Lay here with me, come on. It's alright, you can do it, hell, I want you to do it, it's okay.”
Matt frowned deeply at Tom's outpour, but shook his head nonetheless, struggling against his pull. After a few more seconds of fruitless fight, Tom finally gave up. Pushing the mattress aside, he got on the floor next to him. Matt's eye immediately widened and he tried to push Tom back on it, but Tom just used that as an opportunity to meet his hand midway, lacing their fingers together.
“No, no, no,” he tutted, settling on the floor next to him, the hard boards digging into his side, but he ignored it. “Either we're both sleeping on something soft, or we're both sleeping on the floor. There's no other way to go about this, Matty. You can get back on the couch if you want, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor by yourself.”
Matt glared at him, but Tom managed to withstand his gaze. Holding it, Matt softly pushed him towards the mattress again, indicating that Tom should get back on it, but Tom resisted it, pushing back with doubled force, his hand gripping Matt's pointedly, and the other had to stop.
For a while they just lay there, staring at each other. Tom watched him, watched the angry white of his eye and tense jaw and felt like his heart was breaking, crushed under that gaze like a brittle thing. He hated it. He couldn't stand it when Matt got into one of those states, where he would go nonverbal and crawl to him, looming at his side, but refusing to get any closer. At first, Tom didn't understand it, thought that Matt didn't actually want to be near him, with him, and it caused him great distress. He threw a tantrum and tried to drive Matt away several times after that, but the other refused to leave, stubbornly following him at a distance, and that's when it hit Tom that Matt didn't actually hate him or the closeness, but, for some reason, he was denying himself to be too close. Like he could hurt Tom or something, or he didn't think he deserved to be intimate with him.
And it hurt like hell. Tom was trying not to show it, and he wasn't going to break, no way, not after everything they've gone through, but when Matt shied away from his touch, when he refused to hug him or kiss him, or lie on the same bed with him, or even sit a little too close, it paralyzed Tom, fear and uncertainty breathing coldly down his neck. It was torture. He was feeling sick as of late already, his head hurting more and more each day, and Matt's mental state, as well as his own guilt and responsibility just added to it.
Tom knew there was something wrong with him, his health rapidly deteriorating. He would get random fevers, and it became harder for him to concentrate on his tasks. Things would fall out of his hands, and he wouldn't know why. His body was weary, limbs shaky, and he could barely drag his ass around the base to go about his daily business. And at the end of the day, he had to deal with Matt being mute, non-contact, and stubborn as a herd of mules. And it killed him more than any of his health issues.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, Matt gave in. He crawled right into his personal space, and Tom melted into it, letting Matt put his hands under him. He knew Matt just wanted to move him onto the mattress, but he still clung to him while he could, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and nuzzling his neck like a weak, pathetic fool he was. Just as Tom had expected, Matt carefully lifted him off the floor and placed him back on the mattress. But when he tried to pull back, Tom only tightened his hold on him, letting out what sounded like an extremely pitiful whine, and it would be shameful any other time, but not now, and Tom was too far gone to care about his pride or things like that by this point. Matt hesitated, and, catching onto that, Tom whined again, louder, knowing that it would work, it just had to, and Matt, unable to resist that, was forced to lay down. He only had his upper half on the mattress, but Tom, ridden with tiredness, decided that it was better than nothing. He buried his face into Matt's neck, aching for his affection, and inhaled.
It was better than nothing, but it was hopeless. He was hopeless. Tom dared to press a chaste kiss to Matt's neck, and the other tensed. Tom immediately tightened his hold around him, scared that Matt would pull away, but he didn't. They stayed like that for a moment, Tom – on edge, not knowing whether he should just let go or keep holding, and Matt – with muscles as tense as a rock, but not really resisting.
Finally, Matt relaxed, moving just a tad closer, and Tom exhaled from relief. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about how he was practically forcing Matt to stay this close to him. Trying not to think about how it was kind of rape-y, and that Matt didn't really want to touch him, or kiss him, or hug him.
Tom felt tears prickling his eyes, but he braced himself, focusing on Matt's smell and his hand on Tom's side. Despite everything, it still felt good, and he was still glad that Matt returned. It didn't go as he had expected it to go, but it didn't matter. What mattered was, that Matt was actually Matt again, and not some brainless dummy, and that he remembered Tom again. It really was Matt, his Matt, and his heart sang at that still. After so many months of looking into Matt's eyes and failing to find him there, this Matt, no matter how traumatized he was, still felt like a blessing, coming back to Tom from the ashes.
Tom nuzzled a little deeper into his neck.
“I love you,” he whispered, and Matt stirred. He had to respond to that, and he strained, trying to get the words out. Tom knew that, knew what he was doing, and he felt guilty about forcing Matt again, but he couldn't help it. He knew that Matt never failed to respond to those magic words, no matter how awful he felt.
“... I love you, too,” Matt finally rasped, and Tom's heart soared. He tightened his hold on Matt's a little.
“I know,” he whispered, as if he actually knew. It still bothered him that Matt was only halfway on the mattress, but he felt so tired that he let this thought slip. Tom closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Matt being this close to him for once, and fell into heavy, dreamless sleep again.
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