"I noticed." for podsa prompts, pairing of your choice?
ahh this is such a good one!! my choice is VIETREAU
The pattern on this hallway carpet is both astonishingly ugly and like interestingly complex. Tommy is spending some time slowly tracing the ornate flourishes of the paisley with the toe of his shoe.
He hears someone emerge from the room - the cacophony inside sharpening and then muting when the door opens and closes - and he pulls his knees up to his chest so he’s not sprawling his legs out blocking the entire hallway like an asshole.
But it’s just Jon, clearing his throat softly and standing over Tommy with his arms crossed over his dumb North Face pullover.
“What’s going on out here, huh buddy?” asks Jon with amusement, nudging at Tommy’s shin with his toe.
“This is where the real party’s at, Favs,” says Tommy seriously, tilting his head back to look up at Jon. “You should join me.”
Jon laughs softly, slides down the wall to sit next to him so their shoulders are brushing.
Tommy didn’t mean to ghost everybody completely - he was just planning to like clear his head, gather his thoughts and then head back in. He’s so fucking tired and his head’s swimming. But now that Jon is out here he thinks that this is better anyway. Everyone else in there was full of bullshit anyway.
Jon has a beer and Tommy grabs his wrist, guides Jon’s hand over so Tommy can take a sip from the cup while Jon is holding it. Jon lets him, laughing softly.
“I’m wasted, Favreau,” says Tommy finally, after he’s succeeded in taking a sip and only spilling a small amount.
“I noticed,” says Jon, fondly. “You were like walking away from people mid-conversation in there.”
“Sorry,” says Tommy. He doesn’t feel sorry.
“It’s okay man,” says Jon easily. “You had a long week. You deserve to unwind.”
Tommy hums. He slumps over, rests his head on Jon’s shoulder, warm and solid next to him. The fuzzy fabric of Jon’s pullover feels nice against his cheek.
Jon reaches up and puts his hand on Tommy’s head briefly, pulling him against Jon and then shoving him lightly away. Jon is still laughing at him softly, but Tommy doesn’t mind; it even makes him feel good for some reason.
“When we win,” Jon is saying, his voice warm. “I’m gonna take you to Fenway. Like we talked about. I’m gonna buy you a thousand lobster rolls and you’ll deserve every one of them.”
“Sounds like heaven,” says Tommy.
–
Tommy’s been sitting outside in his car for almost twenty minutes, scrolling through twitter, seat cranked way back and one foot slung out the open window, when Jon appears and raps his knuckles on the roof of the car.
“Hey Tom,” he says, smiling, resting his forearm on the roof of the car and leaning down. “Whatcha doing out here?”
“Just tired,” says Tommy, letting his head loll back against the headrest so he can look up at Jon, framed there in the open window. The night air is soft and warm. “Wasn’t really feeling it.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” says Jon. “Even for you, your dog to human interaction ratio was a little skewed in the canine direction.”
“Sorry,” says Tommy. He doesn’t really feel sorry. “Your friends are great.”
“It’s cool,” says Jon. “Can I join you?”
“Yeah, man,” says Tommy. “Come on in.”
Jon settles into the passenger seat, clears his throat softly. Tommy lets his phone screen dim, turns to look at Jon in the low light.
“Wanna get high?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.
Jon laughs, a startled pleased chuckle. He rubs his palms against his thighs, smiling softly, looking down. “Well, Tommy, I thought you’d never ask,” he says.
Tommy jerks his chin. “Look in the glove compartment.” He feels too tired to move, pinned by a pleasant diffuse achy feeling of earned exhaustion in his limbs. It’s been a long week.
Jon is fumbling through the glove compartment, pushing aside the first aid kit and the paper maps. “Why the fuck do you still have these in here Tommy?” he asks, laughing.
“You don’t know what can happen,” says Tommy. “When the cell towers go down and we have to flee the city, we’ll need them.”
“Uh-huh,” says Jon. He’s found what he was looking for, is opening the ziploc bag. “I just hope you’ll be there to guide us. I don’t think I could read a map like that at this point even if my life depended on it.”
“Of course I’ll be there,” says Tommy. “Ride or die here at Crooked Media.”
He reaches over idly and puts his hand on the back of Jon’s neck, running his thumb gently over Jon’s warm familiar skin. Jon’s hunched over, intent on rolling. He’s so good at it, his fingers long and steady, not thick and clumsy like Tommy’s.
“You’ll be in charge of that, after the apocalypse,” says Tommy.
Jon snorts. “What, in charge of rolling the joints?”
“Yep.” Tommy squeezes Jon’s neck lightly, runs his palm up over Jon’s hair. He loves seeing all the silver and grey - he doesn’t tell Jon that though, just makes fun of him for being an old man whenever they go to the barber together, listens to his pleased shy chuckle. “And in charge of morale.”
“Great. Raising morale post-apocalypse. Kinda sounds like what we’ve all been in training for here.”
Jon glances over at Tommy, laughing, his tongue poking out a little between his teeth. “Hey,” he says softly. His eyes are all squinty with smiling. Tommy brushes his thumb over Jon’s cheek, takes his hand away and leans back in his seat.
“You’re in a funny mood tonight,” says Jon, looking down at the joint in his hand, licking his thumb to run along the seam. He offers it and the lighter ceremoniously to Tommy, in the palm of his hand.
“Good mood,” says Tommy, taking them. “Just - thinking. Just thinking.”
“Hmm,” says Jon. “That’s good. Good for a CEO to be thoughtful.”
“Shut up,” mumbles Tommy around the joint as he lights it. Jon laughs.
Tommy had been sitting here thinking about this time two years ago, when everything felt brittle and hollow. Being on a new coast, trying to breathe life into a new home and a new job when both felt tenuous and false. The old pain of grief dulled but nothing new to replace it yet.
Everything is so radically different now. Tommy has a home for real again, work to do for real again.
He passes the joint to Jon, who takes it with a grateful little duck of his head, like it wasn’t him who just rolled it and then gave it to Tommy to go first. Tommy is so lucky in so many ways that defy his understanding, but maybe one of the craziest to think about is that this idiot has been here, a throughline of sweetness and stability through Tommy’s whole adult life.
“Hey,” he says, impulsively. “After we flip the House, I’m taking you back to Fenway. Just you and me.”
Jon looks over at him, his eyes wide for a second, before his face breaks into a smile so beaming it hurts Tommy to look at.
“You got yourself a deal, Vietor,” says Jon. “Sounds like heaven.”