TLDR: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, Jennifer Check, and Bo Sinclair's reactions to having a fairly quiet s/o
WORD COUNT: 1k
CW: none, fluff
AO3
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Thomas Hewitt
ironically would not be used to the silence at first; he’s used to chatters and screaming! He’s never met someone who speaks so quietly
will lean towards you when you speak, listening intensely
finds your silence comforting after the initial shock and enjoys your quiet presence as he goes about his business
quickly adapts to communicating with you via body language and facial expressions, etc; it is a method he’s familiar with after all
takes great pride that he’s the only one that can read your mind or decipher your mumbling
He couldn’t help but spare you a glance every so often as you sat at the opposite end of the barn as he worked. You were mending a shirt Luda Mae scavenged from some luggage…or at least trying to. Your bottom lip was swollen from being gnawed on and your brow was furrowed–the needlework must be tedious, he concluded. He turned his attention back to his work, a few minutes passed before he decided to glance up again only to find that you were muttering to yourself, trying to rethread the string through the eye.
Despite finding your frustration amusing, he couldn’t take your suffering anymore. He strode over to you, gently enveloping your hand in his before plucking the needle away. He made quick work of the thread, giving you a knowing look as he set back to work, but not before hearing a quiet “Thank you Tommy.”
Brahms Heelshire
does not enjoy that he can’t coax loud reactions from you; he works so hard to mess with you and you don’t say anything?! How rude!
will switch gears and will purposefully pretend not to know what you’re gesturing to or that he can’t hear you to annoy you; he can play by your game but he won’t play fair
he’s been (watching) studying you through the walls so it’s quite easy for him to pick up on your body language to know what you’re feeling or wanting of him
actually likes your voice and will do everything in his power to get you to use it; even if it means getting a scolding
bedtime is his favorite part of the day because he gets to listen to you read; will pick out exceptionally long books to listen to you just a while longer
Echoes etched the room as you tapped your foot against the dusty rug. He had been in a mood all afternoon: being especially disobedient and ignoring your calls from within the walls. He was being so difficult that you had no choice but to search for him, though it proved to be in vain as you couldn’t find him anywhere. A worried knot began to form in your stomach. There was only one thing you could do. With a deep inhale you rolled your head on your shoulders before letting out a shout.
“Brahms!” Your voice was hoarse–not used to being at such a volume, rolling your eyes in frustration “Please come out!” The scraping of wood met your ears shortly before his long arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You bit the interior of your cheek as you could hear the smugness in his voice, having won his game.
“There’s no need to shout.”
Jennifer Check
“they said no pickles.” embodiment
at first, mistakes your quietness for being flustered by her and she amps up her prowess only to realize you’re like this…all the time…with everyone
will speak for you whether it’s ordering your food or answering a question on your behalf; is actually exceptionally good at knowing what you want without much effort
actually doesn’t mind the silence when you don’t feel like talking—grateful that you two can just share a moment together or that she can have someone to rant to
will not make a big deal if you feel talkative, she’ll casually continue the conversation in hopes it’ll make you feel more comfortable
“-and who does that? It’s bullshit!” she scoffed, gently scraping the tips of her long nails on the back of your hand as she laid next to you. You silently nodded in agreement, staring up at her face: her nose was scrunched and her eyes were glazed over, lost in thought–before suddenly snapping down to stare into your own. “I mean, you don’t think I’m in the wrong do you?”
You couldn’t help letting your lip curl up at her pout, she had definitely been the cause of the altercation but you’d never tell her that; instead, you opted to halfheartedly shake your head. As expected, your poor acting didn’t go unnoticed and her eyes widened before playfully swatting her hand at your stomach.
“No way! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Bo Sinclair
“huh” x5
cannot understand what you’re saying for the life of him and gets annoyed very easily; more so at his own inability to comprehend you when everyone else seems to understand you just fine
interrupts you when you’re speaking, trying to guess what you’re saying instead of just listening
puts on a big show to do as you asked when he does finally pick up on what you’re saying
often wrongly infers what you’re saying but at least he’s trying
“Darlin’…'' he groaned, running a hand down his face “-you’re gunna needa work with me…” You huffed out a breath of air, already annoyed at having had to already repeat yourself twice and repeating yourself a third time honestly wasn’t even worth it; you just wanted the step-ladder to reach something in top-stock, but at this point you’d rather just climb the shelves themselves than have to be stuck in this never ending game of charades. You were half-tempted to do just that, but the look on Bo’s face made you relent; he had been so patient the least you could do was not give up on him.
“I need the ladder…” you said again, this time trying to enunciate your words as best as possible and to your surprise his face lit up. Not a great sign.
“Bladder?” he repeated, not waiting for a response as he sped towards the shop counter, “Don’t worry baby! I’ll get the restroom key!”
TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop. [pt.2]
WORD COUNT: 1.9k
CW: mention of past trauma/abuse, slight nudity
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“I’m really glad you remember me...”
She was sitting with her legs sprawled out in front of her while she leaned back onto her hands, staring out over the lake-top as the warm breeze gently weaved through her hair. The lake was practically still, save for a few ducks that had flown down; she watched as they preened their feathers and dove for fish.
Thomas gave a low hum to let her know he had heard her; he was sitting cross-legged a meter or so behind her, pulling at the grass around him. The ever looming thought of what he’d have to do made him nervous. A part of him hoped you’d excuse yourself right now and leave; Hoyt would find you—take you back to the house and you’d just be cattle again. It would be easier that way. He could put on his face and you’d never know it was him…your dying thoughts wouldn’t be hate for him. The image of you dying caused a pain in his chest; the pain only worsened when the thought of you calling out for him, begging him to save you flooded his mind. Would your final words be his name on your tongue? To his horror, the idea excited him. You had been nothing but compassionate towards him–a beacon of warmth when all anyone else had done was treat him like an animal, a beast. And here he was, daydreaming about slaughtering you.
With a slight groan you pulled your stiff legs to your chest, snuggly wrapping your arms around them with a satisfied purr. His shirt rode up your thighs and rested around your hips, slightly exposing your bottom; with a grunt he darted his eyes away from your flesh. He didn’t deserve to look at you in such a way–not when he was going to be the one to wipe you from this earth. His fists clenched at the dead grass as the situation weighed on him; he didn’t want to do it. He really didn’t. He wanted to stay in this moment forever–wanted to live in a time where you wanted his company, content to sit in his presence without fear or judgment. In this moment you were alive. Alive with him.
He looked to the sky, to whatever god Mama had long since given up on getting him to pray to, for an answer. No one else had ever done the things you had done and it had to mean something. It had to.
It had been him to stumble upon you, no one else, like you were a gift left by the heavens waiting just for him. His. Straightening his back and releasing his grip on the grass, the thought dawned on him. You could be his. Everyone else seemed to have their own company–be it sisters, pets, or working girls–so why couldn’t he? He could be good to you: he would treat you much better than a pet and substantially better than the way Hoyt treated his guests.
He’d take care of all your needs–you’d be his responsibility, he was the one inaugurating you after all. You’d be well fed, he wouldn’t rest until you had a full stomach every night; you’d never get bored, sitting in with Mama and his aunt on their lunchins or more realistically tending to your own chores around the homestead; and though he, himself, didn’t really care for bathing, he figured a respectable woman such as yourself would, so he’d make sure you had every opportunity to stay clean; the house had many rooms but most of them were filled with clutter so you’d have to wait a bit before getting your own room. He pondered for a moment, thinking about what room would suit you best; he liked the idea of you having one of the rooms with the fancy windows that Mama once cherished. In the meantime, you’d have to stay in his room…have to share a bed with him too. His fingers twitched at the thought of sleeping next to you. He had to physically shake his head, when the thought of you waiting-up for him at night after a hard day's work–unable to sleep without him crept into his head; he couldn’t get distracted by such thoughts, there was still so much left to work-out.
You had sealed your fate upon entering the town’s border; in his heart-of-hearts, Thomas knew this was the only way to keep you alive and that’s all he wanted; that’s all that mattered. You’d definitely need some adjusting to their way of life–you were a saint but he knew not even you could understand right away why they needed to do the things they did, but you could learn. He’d keep you alive–even if it killed you.
The sound of a sniffle pulled him from his plotting.
You had hidden your face in the crook of your arms that now rested atop your knees, while he had thought out his plan. Oh no. What had he done? Did you finally realize how disgusting he was and were mortified to be with him? Had you said something personal and he had ignored you–too caught up in his own world? How could he be so selfish! He let out a whine as his thoughts ran wild with possibilities of what he could’ve done to upset you. It felt as though his very world was crumbling around him–keeping you needed the foundation of you not despising him.
“I’m sorry…” you huffed out, raising your head to wipe at your eyes, “I’m just…I’m sorry!” The tears began flowing freely despite your efforts to contain them. You felt pathetic for crying, you had nothing to cry about when it was Thomas who had been the victim.
“They were so c-cruel to you-ou,” you hiccuped through sobs, “and I did noth-hing!”
For years you had watched as they had treated him less-than the dirt beneath their feet and you had been too much of a coward to even defend him. To even console him. Having only been a child did little to console you: even at such a young age, you knew what they were doing was wrong and you still chose to turn a blind eye. You were no better than any of the other children who had run away from him or the townspeople who had mistreated him; you knew you deserved whatever punishment they had coming. Had he not only been just a child, as well? How was it fair for him to be treated like a walking-disease, merely for being different, while other children got to live normal lives at no cost at all. It was maddening and the guilt for not having done anything to prevent his abuse or ease it was tearing you apart.
“Oh Thomas, I’m so sorry! You didn’t deserve-”
The words died in your throat as the sound of settling grass alerted you of his presence. He was kneeling next to you now, holding out an uncertain hand mere centimeters away from your face. His hand was formed as though he was intending to cup your face but wanted permission. His stormy eyes couldn’t keep yours as he shifted his gaze around nervously. How could he be so considerate towards you? He should hate your very being. You wanted to turn your head away from him, you didn't deserve his comfort. He should just leave you to rot! But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away; choking back a sob, you leaned into his touch–allowing him to bring you solace. He wasted no time in sweeping your guilty tears away with the pad of his thumb and gently massaging at your temple. His tender care only made you want to cry more.
Thomas couldn’t help but admire how bewitching you looked while you cried softly against his hand: wet eyelashes pressed against puffy-flushed cheeks and cherry-red lips turned into a soft pout. And when your eyes opened, to peer into his own–he hated to think it but you truly did look pitiful. Looking up at him like he was the only thing that could soothe your pain. The tight feeling in his chest returned. He didn’t care about the past, or rather he didn’t care about what you didn’t do in the past. He knew what you did do and that was enough for him. Everyone else’s actions had nothing to do with you so how could he fault you, the only person to ever treat him like he was worthy of some human decency? He had grown accustomed to the insults and the physical tormenting stopped when he hit his growth spurt; those that continued to pester him after which were no more significant than gnats buzzing in his ear. Even now when unruly cattle would hurl insults at him, he knew it was all meaningless. At the end of the day they were still just that–cattle. To Thomas, you had done nothing wrong and there was no need for you to apologize–it only crushed him to see you so distraught over something you had no control over.
Overcome with emotion, he leaned closer to you and let out a whine into your hair.
The unexpected proximity was startling, Thomas had all but engulfed you into himself. Though you didn’t mind. He was warm and smelled of musk and something else you couldn’t quite place–it was almost metallic. The smell was comforting nonetheless. You leaned into him–absent mindlessly closing the small gap in between you–grazing your nose just under where his mask met his skin, trying to figure out what that smell was. The sudden contact must have startled Thomas as you felt him tense around you, but he made no move to remove himself from you.
“Is this ok?” you breathed out, not wanting to take advantage of his goodwill. You could feel the rumble in his throat and his hair tickle your face as he gave a singular-short nod.
With your new allowance, you leaned fully into him: tucking your arms in between you as you grasped at his stained-shirt, burrowing your face against his neck to ride out the remainder of your tears.
“I really am sorry…” you muttered against his skin, you could feel him shiver but you couldn’t bring yourself to move away. He was warm and the skin-contact was soothing. His breathing was heavy and you could feel another rumble pass through his throat as he just barely grazed against the now-dry shirt on your back–giving you time to push him away–before settling against you. You could feel as he moved to lean his own head against yours, his warm breath showered against your ear. You stifled another sob against him with a whine, this awkward side hug was far more than you deserved.
A fire burned in Thomas’s chest as he clutched you closer to himself. In this moment, with this small act, you had proven to him that he was correct: you were different and there was no doubt about it–you being brought back to him was so that he could make you his. And he would be damned if anyone tried to take you away from him.
The sun felt warm against your skin and the heat that Thomas expelled only heightened it, your earlier swimming and recent crying fit had finally worn you out. Your eyes fought against the pull of sleep, but ultimately the rise and fall of Thomas's chest against you lulled you into the unconscious abyss.
TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop.
WORD COUNT: 2.8K
CW: slight nudity, mention of dead animal [not actively killed], mention of scarring
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The sun heated your face as your body floated at the water’s surface, bearing your naked form to the surrounding wilderness. Cicadas’ buzzing mixed with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind solidified just how alone you were. A flock of birds takes flight seeking sanctuary elsewhere, but you paid them no mind; the lake water lapping at your skin was bringing back memories from when you were young: memories of chasing fireflies in the evening, running around the campfire as mother hummed old songs you have long since forgotten, and swimming in this very lake with other children–making friendships that would only last through the night. Your lip curled as you remembered how the children...screamed? Why were the children screaming...?
You furrowed your eyebrows and tucked your legs beneath you to lightly tread the water. The heat must finally be getting to you. Shaking your head, you look around at your surroundings, hoping to bring back that nostalgic magic. The lake itself is massive, the portion you're in is only an offshoot of a much bigger body of water; the water’s edge is encircled by tall-dry grass, tall enough it had brushed against your elbow on your way down; the oak trees past the grassy-moat encase the path you took to get down here; next to the path sits your pile of clothes that you haphazardly threw off. You eye the small opening between the trees, as if trying to conjure up someone standing there. Only you know no one is coming, up the path sits an empty van waiting for you.
You had been on the road for some time, making your way across Texas was proving to take much longer than you expected. Though you didn’t mind, the long highways were just a means to escape an unsavory situation and to get back to your mother in San Antonio. It was in Lubbock that you decided to make a small detour on your journey, it would add a day but you simply longed to see your hometown. So when your tires popped, having driven over some loose nails, you cursed yourself. Town was a few hours walk away, but you’d surely die walking in this blistering-heat. Not to mention, you had heard about the town’s predicament and were willing to bet you’d have a better chance of finding an open store in the morning rather than the evening. It was settled. You’d just have to sleep in the busted van and get a headstart in the early morning when the weather was still livable. Which meant you had the rest of the afternoon to yourself…and knowing the area, you knew there was a very refreshing lake calling your name.
Another flock of birds cried out as they took flight, fleeing the area. This time you do look, following their shrinking figures against the cloudless-blue sky; you wonder what has startled them. But you don’t have to wonder for very long. The sudden sound of twigs snapping pulls your attention away from the birds. You whirl around and your stomach drops. There, in the middle of the previously deserted path, stands a large hulking man. A choked cry dies in your throat as your fight or flight refuses to kick in–you can only stare at him like a deer in headlights.
The tall grass prevents you from getting a good look at him [and you silently hope that means he can’t see you very clearly either] but from what you can see, you know that to say the man was huge was an understatement. His burly figure couldn’t possibly be hidden by the neighboring trees so you're surprised you hadn’t noticed his approach until now. His wide eyes, let you know he’s just as surprised to see you as you are him. The observation of his face leads you to notice that he seems to be wearing a mask-
A gasp escapes you, as your excitement pushes you slightly above the water. You raise a slicked arm to point at your intruder and he jumps back.
“I know you!” She suddenly exclaimed, eyes wide “Thomas Hewitt!”
Thomas ignored the sound of his name, too busy trying to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been expecting to run into cattle–not out here and not after having just finished a roundup. The last herd members were all accounted for, thrown in the basement by now. So why was this one out here and why was it nude? Usually if one was nude there was another one nearby. Thomas tried to wager where the other one could be hiding but couldn’t think properly as it continued to make noise.
“We went to school together!” it continued at his lack of response.
What was it talking about? Better yet, why was it trying to talk to him? The screaming should've started by now. He let out a hesitant groan, shifting his eyes to the far bankside and grasping nervously at the side of his pants–it continued to stare at him from the water eagerly. He didn’t like this; this one was acting odd and it was making him uncomfortable.
What had it said? School? He tried to rack his memory of when something like that had once mattered. That era of his life was a long time ago and he had since tried to forget about those years: the most prevalent memories had always been the other children rushing to avoid him or the older teens and townsfolk shoving him around calling him a freak. He spared a glance at the meat in front of him now, he couldn’t imagine someone like that would look excited to see him now.
“Though, I guess you might not remember me—[y/n][l/n], I moved half-way through second grade.” it said with a sigh, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t place it in his memories.
[y/n]..? The name did sound familiar. [l/n]...oh. Oh. A wave of shame washed over Thomas, he did remember you.
He slowly nodded his head with a new-found remembrance and stepped out of the shadows of the trees. The sullen look on your face quickly morphed into an enthusiastic grin at the sight of his recognition. The lake rippled as you waded closer to meet him, before remembering your predicament. You quickly sank to the muddy bottom of the lake, being much closer to the shoreline now, the water only seemed to shield an inch or two under your collar bone. Your face heated as you tried to quickly cover yourself by hunching over and folding your arms across your chest. Your embarrassment went unnoticed by Thomas, who was still in disbelief.
To anyone else’s standards, the two of you had never been friends, no but you were also never cruel to him—and that was as close of a friend as Thomas could get. Your encounters were always brief: you’d smile shyly at him in passing; hand him assignments—unflinching if your hand touched his; and occasionally you’d leave him a portion of your lunch on his desk...when no one was looking. You never truly spoke to him, especially not in the presence of others, though he remembered one occasion where the two of you had been left completely alone together.
“What are you doing Thomas?”
With a start, Thomas looked over his shoulder at the girl standing a few feet behind him, just barely peeking out behind a tree. He hadn’t expected anyone to follow him into the shrubbery, so the sudden company made him on edge. Her voice had been just above a whisper and her eyes were focused on his hands. At the dead animal that lay torn underneath them.
His body tensed, readying himself for her to start screaming and calling him a monster like the others. But to his surprise, she only drew closer, peering over his shoulder.
Her eyes were transfixed on the neatly arranged bones that glistened under the specks of sunlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. His gaze was set on her though—waiting for her next move.
“. . .my momma says it’s good to honor the dead,” she muttered, turning to look him in the eyes, “I think you’re doin’ that just fine.”
That had been the first and last time you had spoken to him properly. Well, until now.
Thomas had pushed his way through the tall grass and now stood at the edge of the shoreline. You couldn’t help but smile at him despite your discomposure. You truly were pleased to see him, albeit a little surprised to find that such a scrawny kid had grown to be such a heavy man. He looked strong–well fed and taken care of and judging by his worn attire and toned arms you were willing to bet he was taking care of others as well. His eyes had stayed the same over the years, a stormy blue that reminded you of the sea. You had always liked his eyes.
Having gotten closer, he could confirm it really was you. Your position and his height allowed him to fully take you in. He had never really cared for looks in general–meat was meat after all and a pretty face wouldn’t change that–but he allowed himself to acknowledge that you had grown up to be a rather charming young woman. His eyes trailed from your wet hair that clung to your face, to your crinkled eyes that no longer seemed to meet his own–your bottom lip quivered slightly, it must be cold in the water he thought. He followed a water droplet down to your goosebump-covered shoulders, confirming his suspicion.
“Ahem. . .” You feign a cough, face having gone completely scarlet as you curl tighter around yourself.
He startled and shuffled backwards. He was so accustomed to looking at people like cattle he had forgotten some societal rules: like how men weren’t supposed to lay eyes on a woman’s nude form. He took another step backwards, ashamed to have disrespected you so openly; Mama would be so disappointed in him and surely you hated him now. His breath hitched as the thought and panic settled in–scrunching his eyes closed and hunching, he dug his fingers into the meat of his biceps with a whine–he didn’t want you of all people to hate him.
“Ah! It’s alright! It’s ok, Thomas!” The panic in your own voice distracted him, he opened his eyes to look at your worried expression.The sight of it released the tension in his fingers, even after all this time you were still being kind to him. He had disrespected you and yet you still worried for him. A sudden tightness overtook his chest.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s my own fault for thinking this was a good idea in the first place.” you continued, letting out a breathy laugh.
“Actually, could you do me a favor, Thomas?” he straightened and nodded, eager to make up for his offense, “could you bring me my clothes, please?” You gestured past his shoulder with a nod of your head and he followed your movement, peering through the swaying blades of grass for the clothes in question. His eyes landed on them sitting on a rock just a little ways in front of the old beaten down path. At the sight of them, he began to feverishly shake his head as if you had just asked him to cloth you himself; on top of the pile sat your undergarments–now that he saw you for what you were, a respectable woman, he couldn’t possibly do such a thing like touch your private garments. The irony of him staring down on you naked escaped him.
“Wh- Thomas!” You were laughing now, seeing his mortified expression “I can’t just keep talkin’ to you like this!” the water splashed around from you rocking around barely being able to keep yourself upright and your sides hurt from laughing; you let out a snort which only made you laugh harder. Getting stranded, naked, in front of your former classmate had definitely been last on your list of possible things to ever occur.
Thomas couldn’t figure out what you found to be so funny, but he was glad you were enjoying yourself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed around him so genuinely and not at his dispense…he wasn’t sure it had ever happened before. Giving the pile of clothes another side eye, he snorted out a huff of air through his masked-nose. He was going to do right by you and get you out of that water with as much dignity as possible.
Your laughing fit had died down but you were still gasping for air and wiping a tear from your eye when water splashed up onto your face and the sun disappeared. Thomas stood over you, knee-deep in the lake; he had removed his button down, and was now extending it to you in a crumpled heap.
“Oh! Th-thank you, Thomas!” You gave him a small smile, extending your arm out to take his offering. Once it was in your grasp, he gave a grunt of acknowledgement and marched away–he kept his attention on the surrounding trees and away from you when he got back to shore.
You watched him for a moment, having removed his outer layer exposed his off-white sweat stained t-shirt that hugged his body. The short sleeves of the shirt exposed old scars that varied in severity. The sight of them made your heart ache. Poor Tommy. You always knew how poorly the others had treated him and you hated yourself for not doing more; no one deserved to be treated that way, especially not Thomas. You sighed, unfolding the crumpled shirt in your hands wrapping it around you and fitting your arms into the baggy sleeves, making to start buttoning up the frayed buttons–your fingers faltered as your eyes shifted back to Thomas. He had crossed his arms in front of him in his wait for you to finish, causing his tense shoulder and back muscles to strain against his shirt. Your eyes raked over the muscles that only years of hard labor could produce. You were certain the flush on your face could be seen from a mile away; grateful he couldn’t see you, you forced your attention back onto the buttons.
The sound of splashing water alerted Thomas that you were now decent. He looked over at you only to find that seeing your clothed form was so much worse than just seeing you nude.
You had chosen to leave the buttons closest to the collar unbuttoned, giving him a clear view of your sternum while the hem of his shirt swayed at the middle of your plush thighs. The damp fabric clung snuggly against your wet skin–leaving little to the imagination. Thomas felt terrible. How could his working shirt feel so improper? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen scantily clad women before: they showed up a dime a dozen in the sweltering heat and Hoyt kept magazines of women bearing themselves to the world but he had never paid any of them any actual attention. He had a job to do and even if he didn’t, he was certain that none of those women would revel at the thought of being touched by him. He resigned himself to knowing that he would never know the touch of a willing partner and had grown indifferent to the sight of a naked woman, but this felt different–you were different. He must have looked visibly distressed because you gave him a quizzical look before glancing down.
“Oh that’s alright nothing a lil sun won’t fix,” you gently pulled the sticking fabric away from you, “ ‘sides nothing you haven’t seen before right?” you winked at him and let out a giggle when he leaned away from you, his face flushing a deep red at your teasing.
“Come on, your pants are wet too y’know, let’s go dry off over there.” you smiled up at him before making your way to a clearing a few meters down the bank; the grass was flattened from sleeping deer, you presumed, and it looked like a nice place to sit and overlook the lake.
Thomas watched as you waded through the tall grass but his own legs seemed unmoving. Reconnecting with you had been so nice–too nice, it had made Thomas shirk his responsibilities to his family. His heart sank, he knew that sooner or later this was going to have to come to an end and you would no longer look at him with such kind eyes. You had stopped walking and were waving him over, trying to get him to follow. He sighed, turning his attention to the position of the sun in the sky.
It wasn't time for supper yet, so it couldn’t hurt to keep pretending a little while longer.
Sloan wore them so bad eyes could be genetic or is just something that happens overtime with age or circumstances
Him working in that dark basement is definitely putting a strain on his eyes so that’s not helping
And sewing in the dark! Oml yeah he needs ‘em
Would be in denial 100% it’s going to take a lot of convincing that it’ll improve his way of life and work (that’s what gets him)
Not leaving to go to an optometrist so having to scavenge through victims’ belongings until you find a pair that isn’t broken and the closest prescription (lvl: hard mode)
Doesn’t fuss over the design of the frame so that’s helpful
Is amazed at how much clearer the world is
extremely grateful that you went through all that trouble to help him
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“Mornin’!” You called cheerfully rounding the kitchen corner “Did you- Tommy where are your glasses?”
The large man stopped his descent down the stairs and shuffled awkwardly in his place, embarrassed to have been caught. They had been lost or better flung off in the last round up. It's not like he hadn't tried to look for them! But searching without them. . .proved difficult.
Averting his eyes from your quizzical gaze, he lamely waved his hand around in a general motion with a gruff huff.
“They’re . .around?” You raised an eyebrow “Thomas Brown Hewitt did you lose the glasses I slaved to find?”
He would’ve paled at the sound of his full name being used had it not been for the upturned quirk in your lip. You were just teasing him. Thank god. His shoulders relaxed. Losing the glasses you personally searched for him was one thing. Losing them and having you mad at him was another. He could die somewhat at peace with the former.
Reassured that you did not hate him for his transgression, he gave a small nod
“Well. . .that’s on me,” you sighed making your way up the stairs “I knew I should’ve put one of those chains on it!”
You squeezed past him on the landing, grabbing his hand as you passed and pulling it with you—forcing him to follow back up the stairs. Thomas hung his head and obediently followed without complaint. No longer able to feel embarrassed with his new focus being your hand on his. Leading him past a handful of doors, you stopped in front of your own bedroom.
“Now, we’re not going to make this a habit.” you smiled playfully waving a mock-accusatory finger at him before pushing your way into the room.
Not make coming into your room a habit or not losing his glasses a habit?
He hoped you meant the latter.
Dropping his hand, to his dismay, you made your way to kneel next to the bookshelf that sat snuggly between your bed and adjoined bathroom. Glancing up and noticing he was still in the doorway, you raised your arm to give your bed a pat.
“Come on I don’t bite.”
Thomas hesitated but decided it was probably best to do as you say. He quietly shuffled across your room, watching as you moved objects out of the way attempting to reach something hidden. He tried to sit down as gently as he could but the bed still creaked angrily.
“Yeah she’s a bit noisy, right?” You huffed pulling yourself onto the bed next to him having seemingly found what you were looking for on the bottom shelf. In your lap sat a moderately sized jewelry box. He shot you a questioning glance.
“I didn’t want Jedidiah to come scavenge the frames.” you explained with a shy smile.
You flipped the lid and exposed the gutted interior of the box. Instead of compartments for rings or earrings and such sat a heap of a dozen or so glasses. Thomas leaned over slightly to examine more closely what you had done only to realize you two were sitting shoulder to shoulder, he quickly pulled back and tried to scoot away but the bed, being too small, only gave a small grace of an inch or two between you.
“I figured it might be a good idea to keep whatever intact pairs I could find,” you continued, not seeming to notice his retreat, “just in case something like this happened.”
Thomas stared blankly, not only were you keeping spares for his sake but you were protecting them...for him? You’d secretly done him an act of service that most likely would have gone unnoticed had it not been for this exact scenario. The thought of you keeping him in your thoughts while he wasn't around made his stomach churn and his face flush.
You let out a breathy laugh and picked out a pair, “Well let’s get to work, we don’t have all morning!”
Thomas remembered the previous time you had helped him find a relatively useful pair so the process was not unfamiliar at least. You’d hand him a pair to put on, he’d shake his head if it wasn’t any good, you’d hand him a different pair in response while moving the duds into a pile for Jedediah to make his crafts with, and so on and so forth. Though the process was tedious and repetitive, he could never get used to your hand gently brushing against his or the way you peered up to him eagerly waiting for his response. That was something he was remorseful for, without his glasses he couldn’t see your face as clearly.
“Well this is going exceptionally better than the first time.” you hummed recalling how he had slapped a pair out of your hands at your first attempt to put them on his face or how he accidentally snapped a pair’s temples having forgotten to be gentle with them.
Thomas smiled behind his mask in agreement. Moving to take the current pair off, he froze. You had placed your hand on his masked cheek and slowly turned him to face you so you could place a new pair on him yourself. You let your hand linger on his cheek as you gazed into his eyes. Thomas swore you were bearing your eyes into his very soul and branding his skin, through the mask, with your touch.
As if it couldn’t get any worse, the hand that didn’t hold his cheek in place absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair behind his ear and caused his breath to hitch. If you hadn’t noticed how red he was before, you certainly noticed his heavy breathing and beet red face now.
“Um how’s that?” you coughed out, quickly shoving your hands into your lap and looking everywhere but at him.
Snapping back to the task on hand, Thomas gave a small jump trying to discern whether or not the pair was working. And wait a minute. He could see clearly! Much more clearly than the last pair at that too!
Thomas hummed happily and nodded his head at you.
“Wait really!” You exclaimed, clasping your hands together “Wow what luck you look so handsome in this pair too!”
He let out a choked wheeze and quickly stood to avoid your beaming gaze. Thomas didn't care what anyone else said—you certainly knew how to go in for the kill.
