max

☺️ -> 😐

It doesn’t occur to him until Wyatt’s opening the door thirty seconds later—shirtless, hair curling at his forehead, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that’s waistband is half-folded over itself, like he only just threw it on—that it’s late. Late enough that Tom definitely should’ve sent a text before coming over, but he can’t reverse it now.  “Harls?” Wyatt wipes his eyes. “Everything okay?”  “Y-yeah.” Tom stammers it out. “I just—” He looks at Wyatt, doesn’t know how to say it; it’s been so long since he had to ask for it. In the end, he just blurts it out: “Did you mean it?”  Wyatt frowns. “Mean what?”  “A couple weeks ago, at my place,” Tom says. He has to resist the urge to make a frustrated sound when Wyatt just keeps looking at him dumbly, because—fuck, you’d think the guy who offered it would actually remember, wouldn’t you? Why does Tom have to be the one to say it? “When you said— you said I could kneel for you.”  Wyatt’s eyes widen in surprise or understanding or maybe a mix of both, and Tom feels his own ears go pink. For a brief moment, he wants to take it all back, stammer out an apology and run back to his room, because oh my god, what the hell is he doing, this is obviously stupid, the stupidest thing he’s ever done, a terrible idea, why would he even— “Of course I meant it,” Wyatt says, cutting off Tom’s spiral. The surprise has melted from his eyes, turning into something more steady, careful as he watches Tom from the doorway. “Do you want to?”  Tom hesitates, but what the fuck, he’s already here. He nods. 

somebody on twitter realized that harls had “every shift” written on his gloves this season

some more examples

somebody on twitter realized that harls had “every shift” written on his gloves this season

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