#collinsnathan

Four (and three quarter) drinks into Hallowe’en festivities at Erika’s, and Tommy was - surprisingly - in a halfway decent mood. (He defined a decent mood as not actively frowning, lurking about his friend’s basement, or finding an excuse to sneak outside for a smoke.) He’d greeted, in some way or another, most of his friends already, but the sight of a long-legged, pantyhose-clad Nathan brought a familiar, impish grin to Tommy’s face. He did his best, upon seeing him, to move fast through the costumed crowd, but being tall and badly coordinated made it more of a struggle than it would’ve been for anyone else.

“Nate - Nate! - alright, c’mon, person, could you please - thank you - are you a sexy Ghostbuster? - Jesus, alright, okay -”

and Tommy was out of the crowd, though a little worse for wear. (Read: hair a touch messier than usual, someone else’s drink spilled on his pants.) He completed his arduous trek to Nathan with a dimply grin, and a swig of whatever drink it was that’d been mixed for him. He grimaced at the taste, and shook his head frantically.

“You look awful.” (This was, generally, as good as compliments got in Tommy’s eyes.) He nudged a finger against Nate’s shoulder for no reason other than to be an annoyance. “Are you wearing tights? Your legs are so skinny. What are you meant to be, anyways?”