seen from China
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seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States
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seen from Italy
seen from Italy
seen from United States
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Sick
He was glad when the car ride was over and he could finally sit down on Tom's sofa. He was completely exhausted, but at least he didn't have to be sick in an empty house.
"Thanks," he said softly, while slowly lying down on the couch and attempting to calm down. He needed a shower, and a fresh change of clothes, but he couldn't be asked right now. First he'd sit through this wave of exhaustion.
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an open door
Michael nodded, but had another spoonful of tea, before he started to talk.
"If I see an open door, I always have to walk through it. That's why they tell me to look at my feet when I walk."
"Cold hearted?!" Tom’s hands were clenched into fists. If only he realised now he’d had too much to drink and it’d taken a wrong turn with him. “I’m not fucking cold hearted! I’m just done running after everyone all the fucking time!”
Ben was silent for a moment, not for lack of having something to respond, but he wasn't very good at upholding his end of the conversation when the other end included shouting.
"Then don't run after me." Ben pulled his coat tighter around himself, before heading towards the door.
♤ (Tom)
“You’re cold hearted.”
“My suitcase broke,” Ben spoke, upon entering the student home. He had seen Tom sitting in the living room, when he’d passed the window. He came in from the hall a moment later, to confirm Tom was still there. “I had to carry it all the way here from the station.” One of his hands moved to his shoulder to squeeze it, as it was obviously sore.
Tom got up to give him a hug, before pulling him to the couch to sit down. “I’ll make you a cuppa,” he said. Ben smiled thankfully. “How was your weekend?”
“It was great!”
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"I’m gonna get you!" (Tom)
Ben was standing on the other side of the dinner table, ready to move any which way, if Tom would try to rush towards him. "Oh no you won't! Not this time," he said, while trying to ignore the freezing cold ice cube he clutched firmly in his hand. It was his weapon, after all.
Tom: Strong, clever, lonely.
Describe me in three words. I can only publish, not respond.
Hungover
It took ages for him to finally have the courage to sit up in bed and when he'd accomplished it he found that his pounding headache and protesting stomach weren't all just an aftermath of a bad dream, but a very real consequence of having been drunk out of his mind.
He had kissed Bradley carefully, before getting up to get to the shower. He felt disgusting. He ended up sitting down in the bathtub while showering himself and washing as properly as he could with the little energy he had. Drying off took him nearly twenty minutes and with the towel wrapped around him he dressed in Bradley's room, where he stole one of Bradley's shirts. His own was unfortunately covered in vomit.
Somehow he'd ended up in Bradley's bed, but the memory was only slowly recollecting.
"I'm going downstairs," he whispered softly to Bradley, who was still sleeping. Colin didn't have the heart to wake him up, in case he was feeling even half as bad as Colin was. He figured he was used to feeling nauseous and he was certainly used to headaches. He had his medicine here, anyway. Tom had told him that he shouldn't have to bother with carrying it around everywhere and he should just put some in the bathroom here, since he was spending so much time here anyway. Colin was thankful he'd listened or he would've been without.
Once downstairs, after taking a substantial amount of painkillers and throwing one of Bradley's thick jumpers around him, against the shivers, he looked around. It was silent, but when he peeked into the living room he saw Tom, reading some kind of book.
"Morning..." Colin muttered, perfectly aware that it was two o'clock in the afternoon.
